I hadn't said anything to Sam in two days besides, "Can you please grab that pen I just dropped? It rolled underneath your desk." And he handed it to me, no sarcastic look, no glare, nor an evil eye. I supposed that was progress.
The determination inside of me decided that I needed to make an effort again. When I was finished with the assignment in Study Skills, I turned to him. He was reading, like he usually was in empty class time. I thought it was how he escaped from people.
Attempting to make conversation, I asked, "What are you reading?"
He didn't look up. "The Scarlet Letter."
"Oh," I winced. "I read that one in ninth grade. My teacher made us all come up with a negative character trait we had, and then we had to wear the letter that represented it for a week."
Sam seemed to humor me out of boredom, turning his page and asking, "And yours was...?"
I smiled in remembrance and my reply came out before I really thought about it. "I didn't wear one. My trait was rebelliousness."
Sam turned and looked at me for a minute. Sudden regret tore through me. Why in the world did I tell him that? He was finally really looking at me. Not just looking, he seemed to be judging every aspect of me, looking into my past with those warm, brown eyes. I shrank back into my chair and folded my arms, resorting to stare at my thrifted boots.
I was fantastically glad that the dark circles under my eyes were fading, the inky, bruised-looking things that had appeared over the last couple years slowly seeping away. Plus, Birdie had found me some thick concealer for the time being, but I wondered if Sam could tell.
I wondered what he saw in me.
An eternity later he responded. "I find that hard to believe," he said. But there was something in his voice, something that sounded like mild interest. Perhaps he really had seen something inside of me. Maybe somewhere in my eyes when I said it, there had been a sparkle of something unknown, hidden away, and human. Something of the person I used to be so long ago.
I only shrugged.
Two weeks after arriving at Hartford, I was called into the counselor's office for a conference. Mrs. Hansen was a bit of a cupcake, overly enthusiastic and so sweet she left you with a toothache, but her intentions were so sincere that I couldn't hold it against her.
"So, tell me: how are you doing here, Miss Abby?" Mrs. Hansen asked as she offered me a sucker from a bowl of bright candy on her desk.
I happily took a lollipop and sat down. Candy was almost as good as soda in my book. The couch, to my surprise, practically gobbled me up, and I had to clutch the arm to avoid disappearing into the depths of old leather. "Um, I'm alright, thanks."
"Have you made some friends?"
"Yeah, sort of," I replied as I tried to shift myself to the edge of the couch. "Mina Lui and her friends have taken me in, and I've been hanging around the volleyball team."
"Congratulations, but the way. I know you'll be a fantastic addition to our team."
Maybe, but I wasn't making any guarantees yet. I nodded anyways. "Thank you. I'm really excited."
"Excellent, that's great. We encourage every student to join some sort of extracurricular activity, not just for college applications, but because it's so good for you young people. You know, they've done studies..."
I smiled as she went on about extracurriculars, and I took the opportunity to brace my feet against the edge of the couch so I wouldn't fall back into it. It was a bottomless pit of worn green leather. How many kids had gotten lost in the depths?
I came back to the conversation as Mrs. Hansen wound up her tangent. "Now, have you gotten all the bumps in your schedule figured out?"
I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"Have you had any trouble catching up? Your grades for the last few weeks seem excellent."
"I'm an insomniac, so I have a lot of time for studying."
She frowned at me, displeased. "Oh, that's not good. Studies show that teenagers need eight to ten hours of sleep a night."
I shrugged. "I do alright."
"Hm," she hummed disapprovingly. "You should definitely work on that. Maybe see a doctor?"
I certainly wouldn't plan on it. They'd make me talk about the nightmares, and that wasn't a road I was going down. "Good idea," I lied.
"Do you have any questions that I can help you with?"
"Yes, actually, I do have one," I said, trying to sit forward in the greedy green couch and mostly failing. "I have Ms. Reynolds for Humanities, and she uses an outside program for homework submittals, and I've been having a hard time getting in."
Mrs. Hansen waved her hand in dismissal. "Oh, computers aren't my thing, sweetheart. We'll see if we can get someone to help you out. Let's see, who's in that class?"
"I sit by a boy named Sam," I offered.
"Sam Durand?" Mrs. Hansen asked, her eyebrows rising in surprise.
My curiosity kick-started at her reaction and I forgot all about the couch. "Yes." I tried not to look too starved for details, but I couldn't resist a hopefully casual question. "Is there something I should know about Sam?"
She looked around slyly, like someone might hear her even though we were the only ones in her office, then leaned closer. "Naturally, I don't promote gossip here," she insisted in the low voice of someone about to impart gossip despite that claim, "but I think it would be in your best interest to not associate unnecessarily with Mr. Durand. On the social side, he's not very pleasant."
"Huh." This threw me off guard. I'd expected something like, 'bad home life,' or 'drugs,' or something like that, something dramatic. Not 'unpleasant.' I said, "Like socially awkward?"
"No. He avoids people like the plague, rejecting everyone, and the kids return the sentiment." She heaved a big sigh. "But he is handy with a computer, so we'll get him to show you the program. Beyond that, though, I wouldn't recommend associating with him too much. You know how people talk. I'd hate for you to ostracize yourself because of some boy."
Some boy. She was his counselor, too, wasn't she? Shouldn't she talk better of him?
After some unimportant small talk, I walked out a few minutes later, alive and freed from the hungry green couch, and completely shocked that the school counselor had just instructed me to be careful of another student, all because it might put my reputation on the line.
How completely terrible.
After school was my tryout for the volleyball team. I changed nervously into the athletic clothes I had brought from home in the girls bathroom—I didn't feel like I'd earned a place in the locker room just yet—laced up my sneakers, and made my way to the gym.
I had quickly understood that volleyball was a big deal at Hartford High School. The team worked all year long, not just for the season--they were part of a club system that played all year. The prospect of playing volleyball for my entire senior year made me smile, but it was small because of the anxiety. I had been forced to quit the team as a sophomore and hadn't played for nearly two years, though I had longed to be back on the team in Sacramento. I would have made it, too. Varsity.
Now, I wasn't so sure.
I had trained at Birdie's ever since Mina told me she had scored me a tryout, but I wasn't at the level I used to be at. Would it be good enough?
Volleyball was my own personal therapy, and it boosted my tiny self-esteem to be good at something. I'd like to feel that again. I could sure use it.
I was nervous about having a new coach. I was nervous I had lost my talent for the sport, since I didn't even get the chance to practice the past two years. I was nervous about being judged and hated by the rest of the team. Being with a large group of girls I didn't know was intimidating. It would be hard to integrate myself into an established team, and if I did get a place, I hoped everyone didn't resent me for it.
And as stupid as I knew it was, I was self-conscious because I didn't look athletic. I wasn't strong anymore, only average height, and I was painfully skinny. I only cared now because I wanted to be an athlete again, and I wanted my athletic body back.
The last two years I hadn't really cared, I had too many other things to worry about than something as trivial as my appearance. If I was still that self-inflicted invisible girl, I wouldn't have worried. I'd look in the mirror occasionally with a few pokes and prods of myself with a frown, then forget about it. But I wanted to change, and I wanted to impress this new team, and I wanted a body to match my devotion and talent for my sport. That is, if I was still any good.
I pulled my long red hair back into a ponytail where it wouldn't get in the way, and pushed into the gym. Coach Dunlap—who was married to Mr. Dunlap, the chemistry teacher who apparently spat while teaching—was there waiting for me. The team was starting their warm ups, music blaring from a speaker as they stretched and chatted.
"Hi," I said to Coach Dunlap when I reached her side.
"Hey there," she said, looking down at her clipboard. "Abigail?"
"Abby's fine. Abby Shea."
"Nice to meet you." She seemed sincere as she smiled at me, making me smile with a grin that matched her own. I relaxed just the slightest bit. "Ready to get started?"
I nodded and we went to an empty corner of the gym. The girls all watched me curiously as they moved on to sprint exercises.
Sprints. I hadn't done sprints in a long time. I missed the aching muscles of doing too many sprints in one afternoon. Maybe that was a weird thing to miss, but it was true.
The tryout went surprisingly well. Coach Dunlap worked me hard, doing all sorts of exercises and sets, and I eventually practiced with the actual team. My side won the practice scrimmage. An hour and a half after starting, sweat matting my hair to my head, Coach called me back over to her.
"You're good," she said, right to the point.
My heart lifted, my lips curling into a smile. The adrenaline from finally being back on the court was making me giddy. I had missed it so badly. "I'm rusty," I admitted because it was pretty obvious and needed addressing.
"When was the last time you played?"
"I was on my freshman high school team."
She watched me curiously. "And you're a senior now? Why did you stop?"
My response was reluctant and slow-coming. "I didn't want to quit," I admitted, needing to insert some truth into my necessary lie. "I really just ran out of time."
"You're going to have to be dedicated to the team," she stated bluntly.
"I will be," I said, adding, "My schedule has cleared up significantly."
"You'll need to train hard, get your strength back up," she said, referring to my obvious scrawniness.
"Yeah, I know. I will."
"Alright." She flipped through some papers on her clipboard and wrote something down. "Varsity alternate."
Varsity? I felt excitement from the top of my head to tips of my toes. "Thank you so much," I gushed. I couldn't help it, I had wanted it so much. I resisted the victory dance bubbling up inside me, but I didn't stop the grin plastered wide on my face.
"You'll start tomorrow. Practice is from 3 to 5, got it?"
"Got it."
I beamed as I jogged out of the gym, heading towards the bathroom to change back into my regular clothes. Mina accosted me as soon as I entered the hallway outside the gym. "So?" she said, bouncing on her toes in anticipation.
"I'm in!" I cried.
She threw her arms around me and started jumping for joy. I joined her and we sloppily jumped up and down together, laughing and celebrating.
Having a friend was so much better than I remembered.