The Class Agreement

9

"Mrs. Jolie, I'm afraid Nova's "behavioral problem" is actually a disorder."

"What?" My parents said in unison.

I'm too young to understand what that means. I just know I'm in trouble at school. They want to kick me out. Now I'm here at the hospital, getting a check-up —that's what Mom said.

"Have you ever heard of Intermittent Explosive Disorder?"

"No. What is that? Can it be cured?" My Dad asked.

"It's a condition where the person experiences outbursts of rage, aggression ... violence. These reactions tend to be heightened and sometimes irrational to the situation. It also involves frequent episodes."

"So she really does have an anger problem?" Mom said. "Like a medical anger problem."

"In other terms, yes. This disorder cannot be cured. However, we can stabilize her moods with pills if things get worse."

My Dad looked upset. He folded his arms and shook his head, "I'm not putting my ten year old on pills."

"There's nothing else?" My Mom asked.

"Rehabilitation. As she gets older she can learn to control her anger and impulses through rehab and therapy."

My Dad rubbed his temples. I know he's upset, but I don't really understand why, "Is this thing common? We've never heard of this before. How many people are diagnosed with this?"

"It's actually not that rare Mr. Jolie. It's more common in men than it is women though. Obviously, for children, it is a lot harder for them to control their emotions and impulses. The best thing you can do is try to talk to Nova. Help her understand and be patient."

I started to stir around on what felt like a cloud underneath me. I feel myself being resurrected from whatever deep sleep I fell into. Every sense is coming back to me one by one. I groan in response to the pounding in my head. My stomach is also hurting because of starvation. I don't even want to wake up now I'd rather just go back to sleep.

I can't wait to take a shower and wash my mouth out.

"Nova? Are you awake?"

My eyes shot open to hearing my name, but I close them again. They hurt so bad.

I groaned and put my hands over my eyes, "Fucking shit."

A hand grabbed my wrist, which made me shoot up and grab an arm. It took me a few seconds to come to terms with what the hell was going on.

How could I forget? Ms. Frost was the one who helped me last night.

"Shit!" I said letting go of her arm. "I'm sorry. I forgot—"

"It's fine, it's okay. I probably shouldn't scare you upon just waking up," She said rubbing her arm.

We stared at each other. She's in a wool sweater and her hair is up in a bun. I notice her lavender pajama pants. It seems she can't look bad no matter what she puts on.

I'm also on her couch.

In her house.