My career councilor, Ms. Brunne, leans back against her chair and fixes her beady brown eyes on mine.

“So, dear,” she starts. “It’s about time we started talking about career options. What are you good at?”

What am I good at? Well, let me think, Ms. Brunne. According to my mother, I’m good at styling hair. According to my father, I’m good at screwing things up. I guess that means I can either be a hairstylist or a screw up.

“I don’t know,” I mumble, instead. “I’m on the track team…”

Ms. Brunne’s face takes on a motherly quality. “Well, dear, I hardly think that being a professional athlete is something you should aspire to be. Weren’t you in Business Club, freshman year? Before it went under?”

I wince. I only joined Business Club because I had a crush on one of the captains. “Um, yeah, I was, but-”

She cuts me off. “Great. We’re making some progress. Next time we’ll talk about business-related careers for you.”

I smile and nod. Thus, somebody else’s future begins to become my own.