𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 ━ transformers

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

Monday morning brings Mrs. DeMarco to my door bright and early. I wake, wiping the drool from the side of my mouth. No sun blinds me as I blink my eyes open. Mrs. DeMarco leaves after making sure that the covers are off my body and I'm actually getting up, and I groan into my pillow, picking myself off the bed.

Too early. It's too early to be going to school. I check the clock beside the table and find that it's only six thirty in the morning. Certainly Mrs. DeMarco didn't think I needed that much time to get ready.

Mom calls as I am getting ready. She is about to head out to work--a hard case has given her nothing but early mornings and late nights--and asks me if I'm excited to start the internship.

I try to be as cheerful as I can, but mostly my answers are murmurs as I pull my jeans on, followed by my white t-shirt and blazer. I scrub my eyes when I get to the ensuite bathroom, squinting at my reflection in the mirror, phone pressed against my shoulder as Mom talks on.

The scar on my face looks vibrant in the LED lights of the bathroom, pink glaring against the white of the light. I trace it, nerves wrapping around me and pulling me apart. Maybe this isn't such a good idea.

Maybe I should just stay here where Mrs. DeMarco feeds me vegan pancakes and acts like I'm a ray of sunshine on her dim days. Perhaps the school doesn't really need someone to assist their art teacher. Perhaps it was all a ruse, one the school created to send their children to different places in the state.

I'm mulling over the idea of the principal sending us out of town as a joke when my mom says, "You'll do fine, El. It's just an art class. You probably won't even be doing much."

How do I tell her that it's not the class I'm worried about but the students in it? All of the students in the high school, all of them circulating from class to class, bored out of their minds but looking for something exciting.

I'm that. I'm the excitement, the spectacle that they will behold. The new girl that they will whisper about when they think that I'm not looking.

Oh, God.

I can't do this.

I take a deep breath, let the air release from my too-tight lungs, and focus on my mom's words. She's saying something about her client, about how she doesn't want to go to work, it's too cold for it, but she's got to go now.

"Okay," I say. "Bye, Mom. I'll call you later." I hope my voice doesn't sound as panicked as I feel.

It must not because she says a quick goodbye, and the line goes dead. I stand in the bathroom, glaring at my reflection, cheeks rosy and eyes blurred with tears. I clench the sink in front of me. My body feels like it's floating, like I'm a balloon and the string has been cut and I'm hurdling into the sky, far, far away.

If I don't go, I won't have to experience the stares. If I don't go, it won't be like after Theo died. I'll be safe in the house, away from Trent and his leers and the gossip of other students.

The blazer is a striking navy blue, one that shines in the bathroom's light. I pull on it, press the fabric against my fingers--try to plant myself in the present.

Deep breaths.

I can do this.

I have to.

If I don't, it means that I haven't moved on. It's almost been a year. A year since the accident and a year since Theodore has been gone. If I can't go to this measly school, it means that I won't be able to move forward with my life.

I take another inhale of air, resting my shaking hands on the cool marble of the counter.

Better.

A knock resonates through the bathroom. "Eleanor. Are you ready there, honey?"