A week later, Makayla was wishing that there were such things as fairy godmothers and magical wishes as she stood in the office at Westwood High School. She stumbled forward when another group of students walked down the narrow corridor. There was nowhere to sit and barely any room to stand as she waited for a guidance counselor.
Henry had signed her up two days ago. The front receptionist had been overworked, trying to process the people waiting with the ringing phone. Another woman had come out to help, but she was even more harried than the other. The woman had shot out instructions so fast that Henry had growled for her to slow down. The exasperated look hadn’t been lost on Henry, neither had his temper.
“Next,” a tall, slender woman with thick, black hair and a tired smile called. “
