9
The day I returned I realized everyone in school knows about my little run-in with the office.
The students, the teachers, even the janitor. And no one fails to leave a harmless comment hanging about in the dense air to attest to the fact that they are aware.
Thus, as soon as I walk into Behavioural Mod., aside from the inquisitive shock on Ana's face, Miss Jane smiles at me and announces, "Look who is back from his little exile. Welcome back, Brooklyn!"
"How are you, Brooklyn?"
How many times in the last two weeks have I been asked this like it matters?
"I am fine."
"Would you like to tell the class what happened?" She asks and I want to punch her smug little face into the wall.
No. "I got suspended."
"Why?"
I can tell she knows. My jaw stiffens.
"I got into a fight."
"For what reason?"
"Name-calling."
She sighs. In a distance, Anastasia rolls her eyes.
"How do you feel about all of that? The fight, the suspension, everything."
It's like she just refuses to take the goddamn hint.
"I don't know. I don't think about it too much," I say.
Miss Jane smiles, maybe at my nonchalance. "You do, Brooklyn. You always think about things."
She chooses not to pursue after me anymore and moves on to Jennifer with anorexia, congratulating her on the newest three pounds, leaving me scrambling to make eye contact with Anastasia.
Upon dissolving the class Miss Jane calls out to me before I could hasten my exit.
"Brooklyn, may I have a word with you?"
Anastasia and I share a glance. "Sure," I turn back and say.
We move into her little office. "Take a seat, please."
"How are you liking the support group?" She tucks her palm under her sharp chin.
"It is nice." It is the bane of my existence.
She scrunches her forehead.
"I can tell when you are being dishonest. I am a Behavioral expert, if you remember."
I give in. "It is not my most favorite thing in the world."
"Why?"
Well, first of all, you ask a lot of questions. "I don't know, I feel like I don't belong here."
She smiles. "No one does, Brooklyn."
I look at her, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Look around you. Do you think these are your everyday people?" She turns a picture frame she keeps on her desk to me, a picture of the class. Minus the newest additions, of course.
"We had this taken when we took a trip to the Museum of Natural History" She smiles proudly and unmindfully caresses it.
"Martha was the first one I had. She made her first cut at thirteen and by sixteen, three trips to the Intensive Care Unit had already been made. Then George. He spent a year in correctional facilities after his father shot his mother point-blank in the chest. The authorities found him after three days holed up in some dark alleyway. None of the occupants of those twenty chairs in that hall fit anywhere else."
Bile rises up my throat. I force it back down.
"I wasn't always a Counsellor. In fact, I taught psychology. We did not always care for these kids, and this-" - She points to me - "-is between you and me."
She pauses until I nod when I realize why.
"This support group did not last as long as it did because people see through the glass walls and decide this is a merry place to be or because they fit in. It exists because every single one of you has something in common. You are all misfits of varied levels. You all hope and pray to get by to see the light of another day. You all seek peace more than anything else. You all run from the darkness within. Every story is so unalike and yet so alike."
"You do not produce solidarity out of thin air. Sometimes to fit in, you have to let people in."
I scoff. "I wish it was that easy."
"The things to cherish do not come easy, Brooklyn." She playfully spins her coral paperweight subconsciously. "I do not know what your story is or what your darkness is like. But someday, you will want to talk about your story. Someday, you will want to grab on to something or someone and never want to let go. The world is prepared to wait. So are we."
I had to look away from her.
"They may not be the best role models out there or have the most tried and tested advice, but these are exactly the people you can count on to crawl out of their own rubble and help you up when you desperately and truly need it."
The harsh clinging of the school bell signifies the end of the third period. I realize I missed the Math class completely.
I get up to leave. "Thank you, Miss Jane."
"Just Jane." She gets up as well.
I nod before walking out.
Anastasia's wild waving catches the corner of my eye when I walk into the cafeteria. She gestures me to come over.
I stop short when I see Harvey sitting beside her.
He smiles timidly. "Hello, Brooklyn." A far cry from the annoying and pushy Harvey who casually strolled up to me on my first day.
I detest myself for the sympathy I feel for him broiling up in the depths inside me.
Anastasia clears her throat gingerly. "We have lunch together, thought you'd like to join."
I set my tray down, still fumbling with the predicament.
Harvey jumps the gun. "Brooklyn, it is okay. I am still the same person. You can forget about it."
Can I?
I swallow and mumble thanks under my breath.
"When were you going to tell me you are starting school?" Anastasia punches my forearm.
"Today, when I showed up." I take a massive bite out of my sandwich, the bread feels like sandpaper against my tongue.
"So what happened?" She leans in closer, as if to keep the secret from diffusing in the air between us and escaping. I push the sandwich down my throat and grin at her impatience.
"My 'promising background' happened."
"And Miss Jane? Why did she ask you to wait after class?"
I shrug. "Just wanted to talk."
"About?"
"The class. How I like it or not."
Her eyes widen. "What did you say?"
"The truth. That I don't like it."
Her mouth falls open. "And what did she say?"
I coax myself to take another bite of the sandwich and eventually choose to wash it down with the bland mango juice.
"She told me to try."
Anastasia's lunch was left untouched.
She smiles, moves away, and proceeds to pick at her fries.
I spend the rest of the recess in silence amidst loud screaming of jocks fighting, the geeks typing away at their laptops until one of the bigger guys snatches one out from them, and makes his owner run around the entire hall, the mindless chattering about some Zaeden being great in bed along with some glances being thrown at my direction while lower lips were voraciously chewed and the occasional disgusting spitballs whizzing past overhead.
Anastasia and Harvey, oblivious to their audience, talk among themselves. Harvey says something that makes her throw her head back in laughter. Unapologetic, unrestricted.
A thousand butterflies crop up inside my stomach, the flutter of their wings sending frenzied sensations throughout me.
Maybe, it is inside this derelict bubble that I am the most at home.
New cover btw.
Thanks for reading!