You were about to head downstairs, your bag slung over your shoulder, ready to leave for school when your mom’s voice stopped you.

“Hold on a second, honey,” she called from the kitchen.

You hesitated at the top of the stairs, hearing something in her tone that made you pause. You descended, a knot forming in your stomach as you reached the bottom. Your mom was standing in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hand, but it wasn’t just her there. A boy, around your age, was sitting at the counter. His dark hair was neatly styled, and he looked calm—almost too calm—like he’d been sitting there for hours.

You narrowed your eyes as you stepped into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

Your mom glanced over at you, her expression unreadable, before turning back to the boy. “I think we need to talk, sweetie,” she said gently, her voice laced with a bit of hesitation. “You’re not going to school today. Or for a while, actually.”

Your stomach dropped. “What do you mean? Why?”

The boy at the counter stood up then, his smile a little too wide, a little too friendly for comfort. “Hey,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge of professionalism, “I’m Dean Stavros. I’m a drug and alcohol abuse counselor.”

You froze, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. Your mom’s eyes were on you now, waiting, watching your reaction.

“You’re what?” you asked, trying to wrap your mind around it. You were confused, your heart racing, and it suddenly felt like the air in the room had thickened.

Dean’s smile didn’t falter, though there was a flicker of understanding behind his gaze. “Your parents hired me to help you through some things. We’ll be working together. Just for a little while, alright?”

You blinked, trying to process the unexpected bombshell. You weren’t sure if you were angrier at him or your mom for not telling you sooner, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t want any part of this.

“What does that even mean?” you muttered under your breath, taking a step back.