“Here we go.” Jodi shoved a piece of paper in front of him. It was a computer printout that resembled the student form—all the information she had typed up on him was there and in the center of the page, a schedule of classes for the week. He saw the words course 236, woodshop, drucker in bold print blocking out his entire afternoon. Too late to change his mind. She held a pen out to him, prodding his hand when he didn’t take it immediately. “Sign and date the bottom, would you? We’re almost through.”
Stacy scrawled his name across the last line of the form, then scribbled the date at the end the way some people wrote Jror III. Glancing at the darkened kitchen and the lights from the senior side beyond, he asked, “What’s going on over there?” Everyone who left the counselors’ tables headed in that direction. What had Darian said? Stop by when you’re done.And he almost was. Couldn’t he leave already?