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Lindy rested her chin on her hands. Although she was a sickeningly sweet piece of glittery fluff, as evidenced by her office, her yellow-orange eyes were trained straight on Ylaine's face. "That's not a yes or a no," she said. "That's a non-answer! I am fairly good at spotting non-answers. Remember, everything inside this office is totally confidential; you don't have to name names if you don't want to. I'm just going to ask the question again: have you, or are you, being bullied?"

The school counsellor's jaw dropped open. It dropped open and stayed open; it was with satisfying horror that Ms. Lindy gaped at the girl in front of her. Her fingers froze on the keyboard, and it was a very long five seconds where the silence stretched out between them.

"Maybe not," she said eventually with an admirable amount of composure, "but you have to admit, you're one of the few people who knows those things about me and mine; Jack managed to take 'Elisha' off his birth certificate when he was fourteen. There's true confidentiality, and then there's -- there's keeping things confidential from the rest of the school. Who. Probably don't have access. To what you just told me." She got a case of the nervous giggles; these were choked back after a few moments. "At all."

The girl could stare like a long-distance runner could run. Lindy relaxed back in her chair -- or at least tried to relax, genuinely jolted by what Ylaine had rattled off the top of her head, nerves jangling. She met the girl's stare with composure, and she settled her hands down on the desk: her nails were painted different colours, blue, yellow, pink.

"You know," she said, "socialisation -- choosing to socialise with only the 'peers' you respect, Ylaine, that's sort of a failure at a very real human level. Building relationships, forging relationships, that's all things you're going to have to deal with as an adult. How many people, and I'd like a number, do you really genuinely respect as your intellectual equals?"

"At home, then?" Lindy's voice was quite gentle, soothing. It was not that she was unruffled by Ylaine's diatribes, or aggression, or by frankly everything that she was saying; but she had had a lot of experience with small, screaming people, and in fact big, screaming people, and knew enough to not snap back. "Do you have any 'peers' at home, Ylaine?"

"It is, actually," said Lindy with false cheer, "because I am your guidance counsellor, and because part of this school's policy is that learning occurs in both the home and the school and we are an extended part of your home community!"

She steepled her multicoloured fingers together. "Ylaine," she said, "there is more to life than brilliance. There's more to people than their intelligence. There's warmth, generosity, kindness, strength, bravery, passion, love. Let's say you're right, and there's every chance you might be, because you're a supergenius, that you're cleverer than anyone in this school; that's a fine thing, that's so great. But I can say right here and right now that there are little babies in the nursery school who are kinder than you are. We're not just here to teach you content, Ylaine!"

The golden-eyed women grew animated, and it was obvious she was fired up about this, that she sincerely believed it. "We're here to try to help you to become an incredible person. You are so clever. Why are you so clever, but not able to see those things in other people?"

Lindy giggled despite herself, if only because Ylaine was so radiantly and sweetly lovely, and watching a little doll talking about s**t-slinging monkeys was cognitive dissonance of the most incredible kind. Then she sat back again.

"I'll argue with you," she said, "that there are kids here more than worthy of your time and your respect. But I know that we can sit here and debate that all day, because the only way I'd win that argument is by showing you."

She tapped the desk again enthusiastically. "Ylaine, how about this: describe to me what a student should be when they leave this school, what they should know. In a perfect world, let's leave your personal thoughts about the school out of this, knowing that you think Liberty Center is a total sad slum. What should a successful student here come away knowing? Lay it on me."

Silence fell in the office for a little while. Lindy appeared to be thinking deeply. Although she was, indeed, an overly bouncy flake, she did have the virtue of -- or at least appearing -- to take in what Ylaine was saying, respect it, and try to respond to it, communicate with her and not patronize her. Being sent to the counsellor was patronizing anyway. But still.

"I knew a kid once," she said, "a kid who probably should have left school at the same age as you, because they were different; not a genius, but their mind worked differently. This kid hated rules. This kid hated authority. Giving into authority was like a failure in his mind; but it made him a person hard to get along with, and people bullied him because his brain made him cruel, because he looked different too, because of his attitude. Everything. And you know, it's weird, but once he told me that he hated laughter, too; and that when he heard laughter his first instinct was just to punch whoever was laughing, and just hurt them until the laughter stopped, just lash out until it was over. Because at least then he had control of it."

She smiled. "Different than you," said Lindy, "because you're more mature in some ways. But I get this feeling you're not too into following the rules, either, because you don't respect them. Ylaine, if I sign this slip saying that you're free to leave exit counselling and go and leave school, what're your plans? Do you want to get married someday? Get a job? Rule the world as its dark queen?"

"You don't want a career of your own?" Lindy looked puzzled. "Or to, to create something, or help people with your talent?"