Alex | 18+

Are You... Metally Stable?

Once I am able to calm down a bit and my tricep starts aching, I open my eyes slowly to meet the blank white paper and immediately switch arms, feeling like I just did a meditation session.

I also wonder what to do next. Do I act like nothing happened or do I make a run for it and never come back?

I'm debating the latter.

After a few moments, Mr. Dubois leans to the right from his seat—very cautiously—to meet my vision over the edge of the paper I'm holding up, his face full of genuine concern and bewilderment, and my efforts to chill the fuck out went back down the drain.

I immediately move the paper to the right, covering his face from my vision once again, and I, on reflex, purse my lips to keep from smiling. My cheeks are burning, fucking hell.

That's what she said.

"Aliza," Mr. Dubois calls out, his voice laced with worry. He peaks his head out from the left side of the paper, features still in concern. "Are you... mentally stable?"

My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. I gasp the most offensive gasp of the century. He's so dense, jeez, and he asked just the right question—quite seriously actually.

And the number one 'Biggest, fattest, most enormous lie ever uttered on this planet since human existence' award goes to—

"Yeah." Me.

But my hesitation ranks it lowest on my chart of  'The Most Convincing Lies I've Ever Told". Tsk, do better.

Mr. Dubois snatches the paper away from me before I know it and retrieves it back on his dark wooden desk. He looks at me dead in the eyes with the most bewildered expression he could ever muster. Or one I've ever seen him muster.

He mutters "Don't think so" under his breath, eyes wide, seeming unaware that he voiced his thoughts out loud.

He thought right.

What? That's absurd!

Name one normal thing you've ever done, dumbass.

Fuck, good point. But was it that obvious?

I'm kind of sobered up by now, so all I do is sheepishly smile back at him. I think I just made this ten times more awkward. Oh well.

"You done?" He asks warily, and I nod, confirming. "I'm done."

He takes a moment to eye me up and down again, as if looking at someone who should belong in a mental asylum—which probably wasn't wrong—but once he's done with that, he reaches down for the handle of the cabinet behind his desk, pulls it out, and starts shuffling through the papers and documents he stores in there. Mr. Dubois's eyebrows slightly rise when I assume he finally spots what he is searching for.

Thud. A beige folder is slammed onto his desk. I straighten my back to peer at it, and on its top left corner, I make out the upside-down words:

Aliza Brooks.

I slump back down again. Well shit. Isn't this just the best day of my life?

He begins prying the folder open, not before adjusting his silver wristwatch, keeping his eyes on mine as he does so. "These are your grade reports in the previous four years. All subjects." He states matter of factly, eyeing my expression.