1. The Rule
Tyler Grant had one rule when it came to surviving high school:
> "Don't talk. Don't get noticed. Don't get involved."
It wasn't that he hated people. He just preferred... not dealing with them.
Parkside High was like a reality show on steroids—fake smiles, hall passes forged with Sharpie, drama brewing between lockers like ticking time bombs. Tyler had no intention of starring in anyone else's chaos. His goal was simple: Get into university, preferably one far away, and disappear into adulthood with minimal trauma.
That was the plan.
Until lunch period on Wednesday.
He was leaning against the vending machine, trying to decide between sour gummies and trail mix, when Marcus Bell—varsity swimmer, straight B-student, and barely an acquaintance—burst in, looking like someone had kicked his puppy.
"Dude," Marcus hissed, glancing around, "I need advice. Urgently."
Tyler blinked. "I'm not a therapist."
"Yeah, but you're smart. You read, like, books and stuff."
That wasn't technically a compliment, but Tyler didn't argue. He sighed, punched in the code for the trail mix, and asked, "What's the emergency?"
Marcus leaned in. "Jessica's acting weird. Like, texting late at night and hiding her phone kind of weird."
Tyler froze mid-chew. "...So you think she's cheating?"
"I know she's cheating! But I can't prove it. And I can't ask her, or I look paranoid. So what do I do?"
Tyler wasn't sure why he answered. Maybe he felt sorry for him. Maybe he just wanted the conversation to end.
He swallowed the almonds and said, "Start by texting her something simple tonight. Not accusing, just... checking in. Gauge her tone. If she pulls back, or deflects, you'll have your answer. People lie with their words, but they slip up with their tone."
Marcus stared like Tyler had just quoted Einstein. "That's... actually genius."
"It's just common sense."
"No, man. That's next-level."
The next day, Jessica came to school furious. But she was holding hands with Marcus again by lunch.
And Tyler's locker had a Post-It on it.
> "Hey, are you free after school? Need advice — J.C."
He didn't realize it then, but that was the moment his life at Parkside High changed forever.
---
2. Tyler's World
Tyler wasn't popular. But he wasn't bullied either.
He lived in that strange in-between zone where no one looked too hard at you unless they needed your chemistry notes. His clothes were always clean but never stylish. His hair looked fine in the morning and bad by third period. He didn't own a hoodie with any band logos or brand names. He wasn't invisible. Just...skippable.
At home, his mom was a nurse. His sister, Emily, was in grad school for psychology. Their apartment was small but neat, full of shelves and medical journals. Tyler didn't talk much, but he listened. Especially when Emily practiced therapy sessions on him for mock exams.
He'd never admit it, but he liked learning how people worked.
Maybe that's why the advice thing stuck.
By Friday, four more Post-Its had appeared. Then texts. Then notes slipped into his locker under the name "T."
And then came Zara Ray.
---
3. The Goth Girl and the Deal
The bell rang at 3:15.
Tyler was at his locker, collecting his books, when a shadow fell over him.
"Tyler Grant?"
He looked up and froze.
Zara Ray was not the kind of person who talked to people like him. She wore combat boots, black eyeliner like war paint, and carried a sketchbook she guarded like a diary. Rumor said she got suspended in sophomore year for drawing a caricature of the principal with a clown nose and tattoos.
She tilted her head. "You're the 'Virgin Shrink,' right?"
Tyler's ears turned red. "I'm—what?"
Zara rolled her eyes. "Relax. It's a compliment. Kind of. You're the guy who tells other people how to fix their sex lives while being a total innocent, right?"
"I don't… do that. People just asked. Once or twice."
Zara smirked. "Five people in three days isn't 'once or twice.' You've got a rep now. And trust me, it spreads faster than herpes in drama club."
Tyler blinked. "Wow. Okay."
"Anyway," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, "I want in."
"…In what?"
"The advice business. I think we can make this a thing."
Tyler stared. "You want to… partner up? Like a… therapy club?"
Zara laughed. "Please. Therapy is for rich kids with daddy issues. This is different. You've got logic. I've got sass and trauma. Together, we're unstoppable."
Tyler wasn't sure if this was real or a prank. "What would we even do?"
"We meet after school. You bring the brain. I bring the students."
"And we… help them?"
"Help, guide, judge, mock—whatever gets results."
Tyler hesitated. "What's in it for you?"
Zara shrugged. "Honestly? Watching people cry over their messy love lives is the only entertainment I have left at this school. Plus, it might be nice to fix something that's not myself for once."
Tyler didn't know what to say to that. But the idea tugged at something inside him. Not excitement, exactly. But… curiosity.
He gave a slow nod. "Okay. One trial run."
Zara grinned. "Art Room. Monday. After last bell. Don't be late, Shrink."
Then she walked off, leaving him wondering whether he'd just made the best or worst decision of his life.
[Chapter continues...]
4. Monday Sessions
The art room smelled like turpentine and acrylic paint. Half the tables were stained with dried glitter glue and sharpie doodles. A whiteboard in the corner still had the words "Still Life Midterm" scribbled in angry red marker.
Tyler sat at a desk by the window, notebook open, chewing the end of his pen nervously.
Zara burst in five minutes late, dropping her sketchpad and a Starbucks drink on the desk. "Ready for the circus?"
Tyler swallowed. "Who's coming?"
"Three people today. A couple and one solo. Don't worry, I screened them."
"You screened them?!"
Zara smirked. "Relax. No creeps. Just one cheater, one liar, and one chronic oversharer."
Tyler's eyes widened. "This is going to be a disaster."
"Exactly," she said cheerfully.
Their first client was Brady Nguyen, a junior who had an on-again, off-again relationship with two people—neither of whom knew about the other.
"I think I'm poly," he said, spinning a paintbrush between his fingers, "but like… only if they don't find out?"
Zara didn't flinch. "That's not poly. That's just cheating with extra steps."
Brady pouted. "I just want everyone to be happy."
Tyler leaned forward. "Do you even want a relationship? Or do you just want attention?"
Brady blinked. "Damn. That's... fair."
The next girl—Maya Torres—was upset because her boyfriend refused to post her on social media.
"He says he's private," she sniffled, "but he posted his lunch three times last week."
Tyler raised an eyebrow. "Did he post his ex?"
"Yes!"
"That's not privacy. That's hiding you."
Zara clapped. "Dump him. Immediately."
By the third client, word had spread.
Someone knocked on the door. Then another. And another.
Tyler panicked. "We can't do all of them!"
Zara handed him a soda. "We can if we skip the empathy."
He groaned.
But somehow, they made it work.
Each student brought new stories, problems, secrets. Tyler asked questions. Zara called out the lies. And somewhere between sarcasm and brutal honesty, people started listening.
It wasn't professional. It wasn't perfect.
But it was real.
By Tuesday morning, everyone in the junior and senior classes had heard of "The After School Advice Club." No one called it that—names like "Heartbreak HQ," "The Shrink Sessions," and "Zara's Drama Den" circulated instead—but the impact was the same.
In homeroom, Tyler kept his head down while whispers spread around him.
"—he told Maya to break up with Lucas. And she actually did—"
"—heard Zara made some guy cry. Like, full sobbing—"
"—I think they fixed Jacob and Alina's situationship—"
"—he's cute, in a 'has read every Tumblr post about mental health' kind of way—"
Tyler wanted to crawl into his locker.
"Enjoying the fame?" Eli Torres, his best friend, grinned as he slid into the desk beside him.
Tyler groaned. "Make it stop."
Eli snorted. "You created a monster. Now you get to feed it."
Eli had known Tyler since fourth grade. He was quick-witted, good-looking in a soft, easy way, and carried himself like he belonged in two worlds at once—the soccer field and the theater stage. He also had a way of making every interaction feel personal.
"Seriously though," Eli added, "people are talking. You could actually be… liked. Popular, even."
"That sounds terrifying," Tyler muttered.
"You'd get used to it. Maybe even get a date."
Tyler flushed. "Not interested."
Eli gave him a long look. "In anyone? Or just… no one specific yet?"
Tyler blinked, thrown off. "What?"
Eli smiled—carefully. "Nothing. Just teasing."
But the question stuck.
---
2. The Club Finds Its Voice
Wednesday's session was busier than ever. Zara had posted a barely-legible flyer on the school bulletin board with the words:
> "Got problems? Love sucks? Come cry to the Virgin Shrink. Room 3B. After school. No cops."
Tyler cringed when he saw it, but it worked. By 3:20 PM, Room 3B had seven students waiting outside the door.
Zara handed him a pack of sticky notes. "Write names. Assign numbers. We're a clinic now."
"I'm not licensed for this."
"You're not even licensed for driving."
"…Fair."
The cases were all over the place.
A cheerleader who wanted to break up with her boyfriend but didn't know how to do it without ruining her prom pictures.
A closeted football player who asked, "How do I know if I'm actually gay?"
A senior trying to reconnect with an ex who now hated her.
A non-binary sophomore asking if they could come out without losing their only friend.
Tyler listened. He didn't always have answers. But sometimes, just being heard was enough.
Zara never made anyone feel small. She teased. She pushed. But she never laughed at anyone's pain.
After two hours, they closed the door. Tyler felt drained.
"Was that too much?" he asked.
Zara leaned back, looking at the ceiling. "No. It was honest. Real."
"I didn't know we'd have to handle everything."
Zara looked at him. "People are messy, Tyler. And scared. But if you give them a space that doesn't judge them... they'll come. Over and over."
Tyler stared. "That's… kind of profound."
She shrugged. "I've had a lot of therapy."
---
3. Trouble Brews
By Friday, the club had a name: unofficial, unsupervised, and now—apparently—unwanted.
Mr. Reeve, the vice principal, called Tyler into his office.
"Sit down," he said, eyes sharp behind wire-rim glasses. "Tell me about this 'club' you're running."
Tyler blinked. "It's not… really a club, sir."
"Then what is it?"
Tyler hesitated. "Just… talking. Students come. We talk. That's it."
Reeve raised an eyebrow. "And who gave you permission to counsel students after hours?"
"I don't—counsel. I listen."
"Tyler," Reeve said, folding his hands, "we appreciate initiative. But unlicensed emotional guidance—especially on sensitive topics—can become a legal liability. Do you understand?"
Tyler swallowed. "Yes."
"You'll stop. Effective immediately."
Tyler nodded. But the knot in his chest stayed.
---
That evening, Tyler sat on the school bleachers as the sun dipped behind the goalposts. Eli found him there, as always.
"You look like someone kicked your favorite book."
"Mr. Reeve shut us down."
Eli frowned. "Seriously?"
"Apparently I'm an unlicensed emotional hazard."
Eli laughed—just once. "Sounds badass."
Tyler didn't smile.
Eli nudged him. "You okay?"
Tyler shook his head. "It felt… good. Helping. Like maybe I mattered."
"You always matter," Eli said softly.
Tyler glanced at him. "Do I?"
Eli's smile faltered. "More than you know."
There was a pause.
Tyler asked, "Why did you ask me earlier… if I was interested in anyone?"
Eli looked out at the field. "Because sometimes I wonder… if maybe you are. And maybe it's not her."
Tyler's throat tightened.
Eli stood up. "Anyway. See you Monday."
And he left.
Leaving Tyler with a heart that didn't know how to answer.