I feel as though my parent have been a little more busier than I thought while I was in rehab. They had not only bought a new house, they also got new cars, mom got a new job at a dential office, dad got promoted, and they had the time to enroll me in some kind of private school. I figured this is the school Zakia was talking about last night.
Once you step inside, the oak wood floors and the statues of old dean's are not what drew you in. For me, it is the smell of old money floating through this place. A catch a glimpse of a few female students walking around in their uniforms. Uniform plaid skirts and button up shirts, knee high black stockings and some weird looking shoes. I could not help but stare until I almost walk into a wall, thank goodness my mom guides me into the lobby area where there are three other teenagers waiting with their parents.
Before I went in, they went in. By the first two teenagers' grim and depressed facial expressions, they did not get accepted. Their parents walk with them soothing their children and promising them they will get them into a better private school. My parents are called into the dean's office first causing me move into the area in the office where you wait, before you go into the actual office of the dean.
A few minutes later, "Nubia Lockenight?" A voice startles me from eavesdropping on the parents.
I look up at the open door of the dean's office. The voice without a body is nowhere to be found, I step into the office and the door closes behind me.
"I would like to speak to, Nubia alone please." Ms. Hammonds nods to my parents.
"Of course." My mom and dad leave me with Ms. Hammonds.
Ms. Hammonds looks at a few papers on her desk, then looks to me. "You have a very impressive and creative side to you, Nubia."
"Thank you."
"Tell me what would you like to do with your life? Let's say in the next five years?" She shrugs her shoulders throwing a number out there.
I fiddle with my sleeves of my shirt. "I am not sure. I have not thought too much about it lately."
"Ahh, well...would you like to be a designer of fashion or Web design?"
I nod. "That would be lovely. I have a lot of clothing ideas and such. But, I am not so sure if they would be good enough."
"I see." She shuffles through the papers on her desk. She holds up one of my drawing from my first grade year of school. My eyes widen. "If this is the kind of work you did in the first grade," she hands me the drawing. "Then I am sure it will be good enough and you will be successful."
I take the drawing and look over it. I can't believe my parents kept this. "Wow."
"You can do it. With our help you can do it."
I look up. "What is it you do here?"
"We test you then based on your scores, we place you in the classes that best suit your needs."
"A placement test?"
"Don't look so worried, Nubia. There is no pass or fail. It is more to figure out your goals, interests, and weaknesses."
My face relaxes. "I am good with art, writing, reading, creating things. I can do that." I hand her back the drawing. She takes it and places it in the file it came from.
"Nubia, we would love to have you here. Your two sisters are here as well."
My hand covers my mouth, "I am accepted?"
"Yes. However, I would like to know why you were in rehab." She looks at another paper.
"I went through some things at another school and it caused me to have horrible anxiety and suicidal tendencies. So, my parent put me in rehab and I am a new success story." I make light of my situation. I do not want to relive too much of it. I do ponder if this is apart of the interview or if she just wants to know why.
"The reason I asked is because we want you and all of our pupils to feel safe and secure here. We don't want anyone to be picked on for their past."
"I can understand that."
"Great. Open house is Wednesday and school starts in three weeks." She stands up and extends her hand. I stand and shake her hand. "Welcome aboard, Nubia."
"Thank you, Ms. Hammonds."
She nods. I open the door and slide out with a smile on my face. My parents stand up.
"So, what happened? What did she say?" My mom kills me with question after question.
"I'm in."
My parents embrace me as my dad says, "Congratulations, sweetie."
"Thanks."
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