Francie hadn’t mentioned any time that I was supposed to meet the psychologist, and she hadn’t rung over the weekend. Maybe it wouldn’t happen? But it did. During second period Monday I was fetched from class by one of the administrative staff and delivered straight to a small, almost empty room.‘Dr Sharon is on her way. She’s hit a bit of traffic, but we expect her any minute now,’ the secretary said and then left me to sit in one of three chairs.It seemed like hours before the doctor – was a psychologist a doctor? – arrived. I had almost memorised every word on the three posters on the wall by that time. Finally the door opened and Dr Sharon came in, looking every bit the doctor or professional type. Her hair was held back in a bun and she wore a navy skirt and matching jacket. Despite being apparently very late she walked in calmly and took her time taking her jacket off. Only when she had methodically arranged a notepad and pen on the table did she fully look at me.
