The Girl With OCD

Chapter 1

    I sigh. Hopefully today will be better. How bad Cage is changes day to day, week to week. Today is Monday, though, which means I can't cower in my house all morning. I walk to my closet, avoiding the white flecks in my carpet. I wouldn't want to kill my teacher, and by stepping on those flecks I would. It's what Cage has told me. I believe it, even though it hasn't given me reason to trust it once. I just don't want to doubt it the one time it's right. I have been avoiding these seemingly insignificant flecks for six years. Six years. I look into my drawers, and almost as soon as my pink shirt is is pulled out the thoughts come barging in:

     If you wear that pink shirt, you'll go to hell, and if you put your left leg into those pants first, then your mom will go to hell!

     I clutch my arm.

    Please, not this early in the morning. It's only 7:30...

    Nope! It's 8:30! If you believe that it's 7:30, you'll go crazy and kill your mother!

    Shut up! I won't!

    I hope.

    I decide to wear a green shirt instead of my pink one, hoping that it's different enough to appease my unwelcome "friend". I manage to get dressed in 40 minutes. A new record. My mom smiles wearily as I enter the kitchen.

     "Rough morning?" Her brown eyes search my face.

     "40 minutes today," I shrug and slump into a kitchen chair.

     "Yesterday you didn't even get out of your PJ's."

     "We missed church."

     "Honey, it's okay, we'll go next week," She places a hand on my arm and puts a plate of breakfast in front of me.

     "You have a test today, right?" Mom gently slides into place across from me, and stirs her tea.

     "Yeah," I pick up my fork and unenthusiastically prod my egg.

     "Well, try not to to let the OCD disturb you during it," She looks at me hopefully, as if those simple words will change the future.

     I smile as best as I can, but can't quite manage it, "Mom, I can't control it."

     At school, I open my locker. Then close it. Then open it. Then close it. This performance just keeps on repeating. The second-last bell rings for class. I start to sweat. My head starts spinning. A young guy from my English class comes up beside me. I think his name is ... Cody? Whatever. I just don't want him to notice what I'm doing. 

     "Having problems opening your locker?" He gestures to my door.

     "Uh...yeah."

     "Here. Let me help. Open the lock."

     I do so. He pulls on the door. Thankfully, the door sticks, adding truth to my grayish lie. Cody pushes the ironically gray door to the side, and then jerks it open.

     I mumble a thanks and gather my books.

     "No problem. If you need help with it again, just let me know. I'm a few lockers down."

     I nod and sort-of smile.

     "Well," he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, obviously expecting a more friendly face first thing in the morning, "... see you in class!"

     He continues on past me and strolls down the hall. I stop pretending to "smile" and toss my books in my blue messenger bag, accidentally sticking myself on an open pin in the process. I glare at the offending accessory, then close the latch. I love covering my bag in pins, but sometimes they come undone. I have all sorts of pins on my bag- ones from bands, speakers, clothing stores, you name it. Realizing I'm another two minutes late, due to the struggle with the pin clasp and accompanying OCD fight, I dash down the hall to my class. As I come through the door, I notice that Cody is already seated.