I cringed at her mother’s words, and by the looks of it, Lillian did too. I also noticed something odd about her behavior. She seemed to be clutching a pen, but instead of holding it normally, it looked as if she was digging it into her thigh. Furrowing my eyebrows, I tried to get a closer look. She was definitely digging it into her thigh, and not continuously. Instead she was doing it over and over, and for some reason her mother did not notice because of the constant badgering she was doing. Deciding enough was enough, I pushed my cart forward and headed over to them, putting on a smile.

            “Well hello Miss Conrad, how are you today?” I asked, motioning towards Lillian.

            She seemed shocked to see me and quickly pulled the pen away from her thigh. “Hi, Mr. Matthews.” She greeted followed by an oh-so fake smile.

            I then turned towards her mother and gave another smile, even though I didn’t want to. “Hello, I’m her psychology teacher. I’m guessing you’re her mother?” I asked.

            The lady smiled sweetly at me and held out her hand. “That is right. It’s nice to meet you.” I shook her head and nodded.

            “Well I must be going. Was nice meeting you, Mrs. Conrad, and I’ll see you on Monday, Lillian.” I told them, then started walking again.

            As I turned at the end of the aisle, I looked back over to the two and Lillian was staring at me, as if in shock. She was probably thinking I had seen what she did to herself, which I did, but I knew that people like that were often over paranoid. Sighing as they left my vision, I quickly finished my shopping and headed back to my house.

            The whole rest of the weekend I couldn’t get my mind off of what happened. How was someone supposed to react when one of their students was obviously hurting themselves? But was I taking things too far? Did I just imagine her doing it? No, it was obvious, and even her expression gave it away. But what if it was a one time deal?

            My last question to myself didn’t seem to be true. Her body movements during class the whole week seemed to give away a lot of things. She would always fidget with her sleeves, and I didn’t know why. She’d also press down on her arms and wince every so often, which made me even more concerned. I knew I had to get down to the bottom of it or else it would bug me to no end, but how?

           

------------Lillian’s POV----------

            I was freaking out. Okay, more than that, but I didn’t know a word for it. After Mr. Matthews had walked away, I knew it by the look on his face that he saw what I was doing to my thigh. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. Usually I hurt myself self consciously when my mother or father scolded me and I didn’t generally pay attention to who was around. It was if I had to do it no matter what.

            When I got home from the grocery store I immediately ran up the stairs to my room and locked myself in there, trying to think of excuse after excuse incase he asked me about it. What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, sorry Mr. Matthews, I wasn’t hurting myself, I was just scratching my thigh with my pen because I was wearing skinny jeans and it’s hard to itch something through those.’

            I stopped myself right there; that was a perfect idea. A little cheesy, but it still worked. A small smile crept over my lips in contentment. Relief flowed through me as I laid my head down on my pillow and prepared for a peaceful sleep sure to come.

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            I had rehearsed it over and over, knowing I could do it in my sleep if I needed to. My lame but creditable excuse was set, and there was no way I was backing down. As I neared the school, I could feel myself begin to get nervous. What if he didn’t believe me? I hoped to God he did as I walked into the front doors and towards the psychology classroom.

            I couldn’t pay attention during class at all. I felt that if I looked at him and our eyes met, then he would know that I was a liar. He would know my biggest secret, something Milly didn’t even know. She seemed to sense my nervousness, because all throughout the class period she would poke me and ask if I was okay. I gave her the same answer every time, lying and saying that I was just tired because I was working on our paper.

            When the bell rang, I hurriedly grabbed my bag and headed towards the door to exit the classroom. I was stopped by his stern voice, though. “Lillian, can I see you for a second.” I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding it and turned around.

            Hesitantly, I walked over to his desk and stopped a couple feet in front of it. “Yes?” I asked and gave him an innocent smile.

            He looked at me for a second before speaking. “Lillian, when I saw you in the store the other day, I noticed something quite, well, odd.” He pointed out.

            I cocked my head a little, I needed to make this as convincing as I could. “What was that?” I asked.

            He sighed and tapped his pencil against the desk, seeming to try to find the right words to say. “It looked like you were digging your pen into your thigh over and over, can you please explain that?” He asked.

            If I answered too fast, he’d know it was a lie, so I furrowed my eyebrows and pretended to think about that day. I then rolled my eyes and looked back over to him. “Oh that?” I asked and laughed. “I was scratching my thigh with the pen. I’m pretty sure you don’t know this, but skinny jeans make it hard to scratch anything under them.” I lied, hoping it sounded believable.

            He stared at me with a questioning look. “It didn’t seem that way, Lillian. I heard what your mother was saying to you, and then you just kept pushing that pen into your thigh. You can tell me the truth.” He said, concern residing in his voice.

            I bit my lip; he heard what she was saying? I couldn’t help the feeling in my stomach when he said that. I felt so ashamed and mortified. Not because of my mother, but because it was true, and he had to hear it all. I swallowed the lump in my throat and gave him a dry smile. “Oh that was nothing, we tease each other about that kind of stuff all the time. Can I go now? I’m going to be late for class.” I said innocently.

            Mr. Matthews sighed and nodded his head. “Okay, would you like a pass?” He asked.

            I shook my head, knowing all too well I wasn’t actually going to class. “No thank you.” I said, then turned on my heels and quickly headed out.

            I could feel my body trembling as I walked into the nearest bathroom and locked myself in the stall. Putting the lid on the toilet seat down, I sat on it and reached into my backpack for the only thing that could make me feel the slightest bit better.

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