Guidance Error

Wyatt sat in front of Mr. Kirkling's desk, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, trying not to kick her heel like a restless kid. The office smelled faintly of coffee, a scent that seemed baked into the guidance counselor's sweater vest. Outside, the late-afternoon light came in through the blinds in narrow, slanted bands, striping the wall like prison bars.

This was a room that Wyatt had been in many times before, normally under other circumstances. A bullying incident in gym class. A bullying incident in the hallway. A bullying incident on the bus.

Looking back at her old life, it had been relentless. No matter what she had done, what she had tried to do, or even who she had tried to become, it was like a buzzing gnat, always distracting her, reminding her that it was there, that it could bother her at any point in time.

Mr. Kirkling was typing something on his computer with the delicate precision of a man who still thought typing required effort. Every few seconds, he glanced up at her, then back at the screen, as if checking to make sure she was still there.

"So, Wyatt," he began, adjusting his glasses. "I wanted to touch base with you. I saw you this morning, and you seem to be holding yourself with a new confidence. It's like you've turned a corner."

Wyatt smiled, leaning forward just a little, aware of the show her cleavage was putting on. "You were watching me?"

He smiled. "Of course. I take an interest in all the students at Shermer, and from our conversations we've had in the past, I'm sure you remember that I've always been concerned for your well-being."

"You're going to make me blush! A big strong man like you, taking interest in little old me, that's positively delightful!" She said brightly, feigning embarrassment.

The words came out far flirtier than she expected, almost sultry. She wasn't trying to flirt, not really, but something inside her seemed to be coming alive without her bidding. Her body language had started running on its own. Her knees angled toward him; her fingers toyed with a lock of her hair. It was strange, being aware of it and unable to stop.

Mr. Kirkling, however, didn't seem to notice. He turned back to his computer screen, read a note, then back to Wyatt. "I also saw you and Lisa talking at lunch."

Wyatt blinked. "Lisa?"

He nodded. "Yes, Gary. Gary..." he turned back to his screen, "Gary Wallace. You two are close friends, aren't you?"

Nodding dumbly, confused by the name mix-up, Wyatt watched the older man through heavy-lidded eyes. That was the name of their experiment. Lisa. Had it just been a mistake? Had she misheard?

Mr. Kirkling went on, oblivious. "I know you two haven't had the easiest time here at Shermer, but you have each other. I'm glad. It's good to have someone to talk to when things feel… unusual."

Wyatt tilted her head. "You said Lisa."

"Yes, I said Gary," Mr. Kirkling replied, smiling but seemingly a little confused. His tone held the gentle, patronising way teachers did when they thought they were right.

For a moment, Wyatt just looked at him. The name hung in the air between them, faintly electric.

Then she laughed, too loud, a nervous little giggle that turned into something flirtier without permission. "Right. Gary. Totally."

Mr. Kirkling rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I just want to make sure you're both comfortable, Wyatt. Not just adjusting, but thriving. High school can be… fluid. Identities evolve. People experiment. I don't judge."

His tone was careful, rehearsed — the voice of a man who had sat through too many sensitivity seminars.

"I'm great," Wyatt said, flashing him a grin. "Actually, better than great. To tell you the truth, sweetie, I'm not sure I've ever felt this good before."

She crossed her legs again, deliberately this time, watching his eyes flicker down and then back up. He looked back at his computer, typed a couple of notes, then back at Wyatt, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Confidence is good," he said stiffly. "That was what I noticed this morning. Just make sure you're focusing on your studies too. Part of becoming a man is taking responsibility seriously. And while you have really begun to grow into your manhood, you have to remember to put in the work as well."

"I can focus," she said, lowering her voice, licking her lips as she locked eyes with the older man. "Sometimes a little too hard."

Mr. Kirkling paused and seemed to consider her words for a moment. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, no words to be found. He turned again to his computer, as if to reference a note, but as he turned he bumped his pen which had been lying on his desktop. It rolled off the desk and landed between them.

Without thinking, Wyatt bent down at the same time he did. Their hands brushed — just for a second — and she looked up and locked eyes with him, their faces only inches apart. For a moment they both froze, staring at each other. Wyatt could feel a pull, a draw, that she'd never felt before. If she only leaned forward a little bit, pushed her head toward his, their lips would touch. She could feel his breath, almost taste his lips. Her eyes began to close, she began to move...

Wyatt gasped, eyes widening quickly, sitting straight in her chair.

Mr. Kirkling sat up, pen in his grasp.

"Thank you, Wyatt," he said with a friendly smile. "That's what I'm talking about. That's the kind of man we hope to produce at Shermer: helpful, generous, and contributing members of society. You're becoming a fine example for your classmates."

She wanted to laugh. Wanted to scream. Instead, she smiled. "Thanks, I guess."

He cleared his throat again, looking a little dazed. "Anyway, so your friend, Lisa—"

Wyatt sat bolt upright. "You did it again."

"Did what?"

"You called him Lisa."

Mr. Kirkling blinked at her, utterly lost. "Of course I did. That's his name, isn't it? Gary?"

She stood, a little unsteady on her heels. "I think I should go. My parents want me home right after school today."

"Yes, yes, of course," Mr. Kirkling said quickly, rubbing his temple as if trying to remember something that had slipped out of his grasp. "But please tell Lisa I'd like to see him tomorrow."

Wyatt hesitated at the door.

"Sure," she said quietly. "I'll tell him."

When she stepped into the empty hallway, the light seemed off — too bright, too white. She leaned against the lockers, breathing hard. Her head was spinning. What had happened in there? Why had she acted like such a slut? And why hadn't Mr. Kirkling even noticed?

And what was going on with Gary?!

She needed to get home. Or to Gary's. Or somewhere. She loved the changes that had given her this new life, this new confidence, but something told her that the changes were just getting started.