Maya, why did Uncle Julian ask if I was ready to move to Florida without you?
The school hallways smelled like disinfectant and forgotten locker lunches, a smell that usually made me think of freedom. This morning, it just felt sterile. My stomach twisted with a cold knot as I walked into Ms. Reed’s office before the first bell.
Ms. Reed, my high school guidance counselor, sat behind her cluttered desk, her usual warm smile tight around the edges. Her gaze felt heavy, like she was looking at a stranger, not a student she’d known for years.
“Maya,” she began, her voice softer than usual. “Your uncle Julian reached out to me yesterday.”
I felt a jolt of alarm, but tried to keep my face still. “About what?”
She pushed a stack of printed pages across the desk. The top sheet showed a screenshot of a digital journal. The interface looked vaguely familiar, something I might have browsed once, but never used.
My eyes scanned the lines. Vague ramblings about feeling ‘unstable’ and ‘needing to escape.’ Mentions of ‘self-medicating’ with things I’d never touched. My own name was littered throughout.
“He expressed deep concern,” Ms. Reed continued, her finger tapping gently on the page. “These… entries. He said he found them on an old tablet of yours.”
My hands went cold. This was not my journal. I didn’t have an old tablet, and I certainly didn’t write things like this.
“Ms. Reed, this isn’t mine,” I said, pushing the papers back slightly. My voice felt thin, like it might crack. “I don’t use drugs. I don’t feel unstable.”
She sighed, a sound heavy with professional pity. “Maya, I understand this is difficult. Given everything with your parents, the grief… it’s a lot for a sixteen-year-old.”
“This is a lie,” I insisted, my voice rising a little. “Uncle Julian made this up. He’s trying to get custody of Chloe, and he wants to make me look bad.”
Ms. Reed picked up a file marked with a red tab. “He also filed a formal request with the school board last night. It’s an emergency motion.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What kind of motion?”
“He’s requested your temporary removal from your apartment,” she said, her eyes meeting mine, full of a strange mix of sympathy and resolve. “He cited these entries, and your alleged neglect of Chloe, as reasons for an immediate evaluation. Child Protective Services is already involved, as you know.”
The air in the small office seemed to thicken, pressing in on me. Julian wasn’t just talking about taking Chloe; he was trying to take *me* out of the picture entirely, using fake evidence and the very systems meant to protect children. I stared at the fabricated journal entries, the words blurring, feeling like a phantom limb had just been severed.
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