Saving Laurel

12. A New Girl

Wes Thompson

When the bell rings Friday signaling the end of school, I hang back knowing Brett never leaves his chemistry class on time. He loves it. The weirdo.

I, on the other hand, hate chemistry and I'm also not a fan of the advanced algebra class I have sixth hour so when everyone filters out, I head for the music room to give Brett the fifteen minutes it usually takes for him to realize that school is in fact over plus usually I can avoid Sawyer this way too.

My life is one big maze of avoidance. Avoid stress, avoid anxiety, avoid anything that might make my tics more prevalent. Avoid compulsions and the thoughts that urge them on. Avoid distractions, which is hard when anything and everything can be a distraction. Ya know, just avoid everything basically.

But as I round the corner the music room is down, my feet slam on the breaks when I see Sawyer up ahead. Thank god his back is to me.

What is he doing down here?

He's never down here.

Why are all his friends with him?

Actually scratch that last one, I'm almost certain they all feed off the same brain.

As much as I'd love to know why this mishap has appeared in the hallway cutting me off from my sanctuary, my desire to not wind up in a tic fit wins out and before any of his goons see me, I slip back around the corner.

And then I tic.

I guess chemistry it is. I try not to fixate on the disruption in my routine and what this could possibly mean.

————————

"Hey baby, I'm home!" My mom calls her usual greeting into the house. "Hi Brett!"

"Hi Grace." Brett says from where he's sprawled out on the couch, the history channel recounting something about a long lost shipwreck.

I haven't really been paying attention.

"Hey mom. Everyone's coming over." I inform her.

Her purse lands on the counter nearby with a thunk, keys following shortly after. Routine. "Want me to order some pizza?"

Discarding the book I've been half reading onto the coffee table I walk the short distance to the kitchen and sit on a barstool.

"Pizza sounds good." I say and my mom smiles at me.

"You always say that." She muses.

I shrug, then whistle before I say "pizza always sounds good."

She laughs and my smile grows. I love seeing my mom happy. I don't know if things are finally getting easier or if it's because of Ryan but my mom seems less stressed lately and I can't help but feel relief myself.

I know my parents divorce and everything with me and all my problems hasn't been easy and even though my mom says it all has nothing to do with me, I can't help but feel at least a little responsible.

"Well pizza it is then. The usual, vegetarian for Savannah, the works for Ellie and two pepperoni's?" I nod, confirming the order. "I was going to go out with Ryan tonight, you guys will behave yourself, right?"

"I don't know, I think we were going to try and get some illegal drugs and see who passes out first." I tease.

And my mom doesn't miss a beat as she heads for her room. "Don't share needles!"