“Last year, your professors gave you a pass due to the situation with your sister, but according to this report, your grades are barely above passing.”

My advisor tosses a sheet of paper onto his desk and leans back in his chair. He steeples his fingers, and I can’t tell from where I’m sitting if they’re touching his mouth or not. He looks like a police officer, giving an interrogation, yet I’ve done nothing wrong unless you count being a terrible student, focused on everything other than school. George Tesh has been my advisor from day one, kissing my dad’s ass the minute we stepped onto campus at the beginning of my senior year. It was the worst display of brown-nosing I have ever witnessed, and believe me, I’ve seen a lot.

“This is normally where you give a response,” he says.

I shrug. “I don’t know what you expect me to say. Guilty as charged. I haven’t taken my studies seriously this year.”

“And why is that?”

Who does this man think he is, my dad? It’s not a crime to slack off in school. It’s not like I’m on scholarship or grants. My parents pay for my tuition, so if anyone should have a problem with my grades, it should be them, yet I don’t see them sitting here.

“I’m not sure I have a valid answer for you.”

“You do realize graduation is coming and at this rate, you won’t walk with your class.”

I say nothing.

George leans forward, his chair propelling him forward causing him to slam his hands down on top of his desk. Papers scatter as he tries to right himself. I stifle a laugh, but the scowl on his face tells me he’s not impressed.

“Listen, Elle. We were all sympathetic to the situation with your sister, but from what I understand, she’s doing well and is thriving in her own studies.”

How does he know this? What’s he doing, stalking my sister on the WAG’s of the NFL?

“We’d like to see the same for you.”

“I’m sure my parents would as well.”

George sighs. “Which brings me to another point. I spoke with your father—”

“Dad,” I say, interrupting him.

“I’m sorry?”

Why do people say “I’m sorry” when they don’t understand something? Shouldn’t they say, “Can you please repeat yourself” or “What do you mean?” Telling me, he’s sorry does nothing for him or me.

“For what?” I counter.

This time the sigh George lets out is so overly exaggerated his lips bounce off each other. I wonder if he has kids, and if so, whether they’re girls? My uncles say girls are the worst to raise.

“I don’t understand why you corrected me in reference to your father.”

“Oh, because he’s my dad, not my father. It’s a long story and one I’m not willing to share right now, but would appreciate it if you referred to my dad… well, as my dad.”

George shakes his head. I get it, it’s complicated, but it’s mine and Peyton’s complication, and we’re pretty adamant that the parental distinction stays in place.

“As I was saying, I spoke with your dad…” he looks, maybe for confirmation? I nod and smile, waiting for him to continue. George clears his throat. “As you can probably assume, he’s worried about you and your grades and asked that we do whatever we can to get you back on track and prepared for your quarter-final.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice in the manner, Elle. As of right now, you’re on academic probation.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“Meaning, moving forward you must attend and pass each and every class. You are also required to attend mandatory study and tutoring session.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m not. Elle, you’re a good student who has had a rush of bad luck. You still have time to fix your grades and graduate with your class, but you have to put in the work. Your dad agrees.”

“This is unbelievable.” I’m on the verge of tears and do everything I can to keep them at bay. George Tesh doesn’t need to see my weaknesses.

“It’s for the best. If you choose not to participate in the plan, you’ll be expelled at the beginning of next quarter.”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from lashing out. Something tells me this guy is trying to win my dad over. This feels like George is going above and beyond for his own cause. Who cares if I want to drop out of school or fail? Shouldn’t that be my choice or one I make with my parents?

“Am I done here?”

“Sure,” he says, nodding.

As soon as I’m out of the building, my phone is to my ear. It rings three times before my dad’s voice answers. “How could you do this to me?”

“Hello, Dad. Even though I saw you the other day, I miss you terribly.”

I roll my eyes. “Be serious.”

“I’m always serious when it comes to you, and your sister and brother. You’re my life. You know this.”

“But why this? Your brown-nosing buddy is threatening to expel me.”

“I know, and believe me, your mom and I thought long and hard about it, but things have to change, Elle. You can’t continue down this path. It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” I say through my clenched jaw. “Why couldn’t we talk about this when I was home?”

My dad sighs and I can tell he’s moving from wherever he is to another room. He’s probably in the studio, which means he dropped whatever the band is doing or working on to take my call. That thought has my tears flowing. Most of my friends don’t have parents like I do, I should be grateful and appreciative of what they’re doing for me.

“Princess, it’s not that your mom and I think you’re doing anything wrong. We’re concerned with the partying and your grades. Before Peyton’s accident, you were a straight-A student, on the Dean’s List, and receiving awards. Now—”

“Now I’m just a giant fu—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Elle James.”

“But it’s true, right, Daddy?” A sob breaks out before I have a chance to cover my mouth in order to hold it in. I can disappoint everyone around me, but it kills me to think my parents might feel this way about me.

“Elle, you’re lost at the moment, nothing more.”

“Well, maybe I can’t be found.”

“Now you know I don’t believe that for a second.”

“But what if I am, Daddy?”

“I won’t let you be. I’ll do what I have to, to find you and bring you back from whatever it is that’s going on. I can’t even imagine what you experienced when Peyton was lying in that hospital bed. To see your twin sister like that, it had to be the hardest thing you’ve ever gone through. We each coped a different way, and thinking back, your mom and I should’ve put you and Quinn into some sort of therapy.”

“Quinn? Why him, he’s perfect.”

“He’s not, and he suffered as well. We all did, and once we knew Peyton was going to be okay, we sort of went back to our lives, or at least we’ve tried to. I often lie awake at night, wondering what she’s doing, what you and Quinn are doing. As a parent, you never stop worrying. You never forget the bad things.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“I know. For as long as I live, I’ll never fully understand the bond you share with Peyton.”

“It’s a twin thing,” I tell him. “We can’t explain it.”

“And no one is asking you to, but what your mom and I are demanding is an effort. Your grades are not acceptable, Elle. The partying has to stop. I understand wanting to hang out with your friends on the weekends, I get it, but school comes first.”

“Or what?” I hedge.

My dad sighs. “You’ll be cut off. We will no longer fund your education or your apartment. If Quinn chooses to allow you to live there, it’ll be his choice.”

“All because I’m getting bad grades? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s not, but we don’t know how else to get through to you.”

I look around campus, watching as my peers enjoy the springtime sun, wishing I could be out there. I could if I want to defy my dad. My tears start to flow heavily, and my heart aches. It’s not broken but damaged. The one person I want to lean on is not returning my calls, and I know, deep down, it has to do with last weekend. I woke up naked and in his bed, yet he tells me nothing happened. I’m not buying his story, but don’t have the guts to ask him to tell me the truth, mostly out of fear of what the truth is. If Ben and I have crossed the line, I don’t know how I’ll forgive myself for putting him in that situation.

“Daddy…” I can’t finish my sentence without another sob taking over.

“I know, princess. Believe me, it breaks my heart to say these things to you, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m worried about you and think you need some help. If you want to take the last two quarters off and go on a retreat, we can set that up.”

“I’m not a drug addict.” My words sound hollow.

“No one is saying you are.”

“But you want to send me away.”

“No, Elle, we want to get you the help you need in order to succeed. Right now, you’re your own worst enemy, and you’re self-destructing. I’m sorry, but I won’t stand by and watch you ruin your life. You won’t be a Hollywood statistic.”

“Is that what you’re worried about, your image?”

My dad groans and I picture him rubbing his hand over his face. It’s what he does when he’s frustrated. “No, but I’m worried about yours. You aspire to be something in this crazy industry, and as much as I’ve pushed for you and Quinn to seek out different careers, you’re both hell-bent on working in music. I’ve supported this, against my better judgment, but if you think your name is going to get you places, you’re mistaken. Currently, social media presence is everything and right now, your image is that of a party girl. Is that what you want prospective clients to see?”

He said prospective clients, which makes me believe he has faith in my ability to lead a music group to stardom. It’s what I want most, especially after the way my dad’s band was treated early on. I have notes on their former manager, Sam, on how not to act and conduct business, and have vowed to be better than she was personally and professionally. One thing’s for sure; I’ll never get involved with my talent. Crossing that line would be worse than crossing it with my best friend.

“No, it’s not.”

“Then fix it, Elle. Get serious about life and your future.”

“What if it’s too late?”

“It’s not. Just do what Mr. Tesh says; go to the tutoring sessions, meet with the groups and participate. Your grades are what they are this quarter, but next quarter they can be better. Right now, all your mom and I want is for you to be happy, healthy and to pass this current quarter. If you fail a class, it has to be made up before graduation.”

“I know,” I say meekly.

“Elle, your mom and I love you more than words. We only want the best for you, and if that best isn’t college, tell us now so we can help you transition into a different field.”

“Okay.” The right answer would be for me to tell him I want to stay in school, but the truth of the matter is, I don’t know that I do. Right now, I hate it, and maybe it’s because I need a break or something, but this place fills me with so much dread, it’s like I’m on autopilot. I show up because I’m supposed to, but mentally I’m completely checked out.

“I suppose I ought to get to class.”

“That’s probably best.”

“I love you, Dad.” I hang up before he can respond. I’ve cried enough in the last half hour or so, hearing him tell me he loves me will surely rip my heart to shreds. Before I even move, I send a text to Ben, asking him if he wants to have dinner tonight. I wait for the chat bubbles to appear, but they don’t. I have a feeling this message will go unanswered like my phone calls.