Page 7 of The Misfit

Starting summer classes has been the death of me. I’ve done my best not to stand out, even while wearing nitrile gloves. If my OCD doesn’t scare people off, it’s the rumors that have been spread about me.

That’s the primary reason I chose to start school early versus waiting till the fall. I thought there would be fewer students in the summer, and I’d have plenty of time to make a couple of friends and become accustomed to classes. As I look around the library, scanning the faces of other students, I have to wonder if I made a mistake. Why are so many students attending summer classes?

I’ve managed to survive three weeks, so I think I can do anything at this point. Although it’s not really the attending of classes or the hushed voices that get to me. It’s the gawking, the stares, the silent judgment grating on me. It’s like everyone is looking at me, waiting for me to have another mental breakdown.

They aren’t, but it feels like they are.

Enough, I scold myself and focus on arranging the notebooks at precisely right angles. The corner of my calculus text needs to align exactly with the edge of the study cubicle. If I can get everything perfect, maybe my brain will quiet down enough to absorb the differential equations I’m supposed to learn.

Someone laughs in the distance, and I flinch, causing disorder in my well-arranged system.Deep breath. Start over. Align the edges. Check the gloves.You can do this.

I won’t think about the alternative because there is none. Getting through this term… graduating … it’s no longer acanoption and more of ahave to. I’ve already lost two years of my life trying to return to some level of normal. Months upon months of disappearing into white walls, therapy sessions, and learning how to exist in my own skin again.

I refuse to let all that time be a waste. I won’t stand in my own way, not anymore.

The textbook shifts a millimeter out of place, and I bite back a groan of frustration. Three more adjustments, thenmaybeI can start studying. It’s a silent promise I make to myself, but one that will soon be broken. Something always happens, and then I have to start the process over again.

“Salem? Is that you?”

The soft voice speaking my name makes me jump, which sends my perfectly aligned notebooks in every direction across the cubby.I really need to get a grasp on things.I peer up from the mess in front of me and find Maybel Arturo—or is it Maybel Jacobs, still?

I guess I don’t know anymore since I’ve been so out of touch with the hierarchy.

Her last name doesn’t matter so much as the fact that her name is Bel, and we used to be pretty good friends. Still are, I guess. We just haven’t spoken in a while. She stands at the edge of the cubby, her blond hair escaping its messy bun in wisps that would drive me crazy if they were on my head.

“Hi!” The word squeaks past my lips.

Bel shifts her weight, the movement making her oversized cream cardigan slip off one shoulder. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure if it was you or not. You look different … but not in a bad way.”

So in a good way?I don’t know how to take that.

My hair is still the same mess of mahogany brown it was back then. I’ve lost weight, of course; an abundance of anxiety and a rigorous medication routine will do that to you. In the physical sense, I’m still the girl I was before everything happened. Mentally, the girl I used to be and the one I am now couldn’t be more different.

The memory of the past, of who I used to be, makes my skin crawl.

Two years ago, Bel and I shared notes in advanced literature and giggled over coffee between classes. Now she’s campus royalty, dating, and maybe even engaged by now, to Drew Marshall.

And then there’s me. The girl who wears medical gloves to be able to open the pages of a textbook. Never mind the fact that I can barely function in a social setting without having a mental breakdown or counting everything in sight. Nothing saysI’m interested in youlike counting ceiling tiles on the first date. Not that anyone is leaping at the chance to take me out.

“No, it’s okay.” I force my lips into a smile.

My hands twitch, and the need to fix the scattered notebooks makes me itch. I bite the inside of my cheek, eliciting pain and drawing attention elsewhere in my body while forcing my hands to remain where they are. I can fix the notebooks after she leaves.

“Do you mind if I …?” She gestures to the empty chair beside me. I nod even though having someone in my space makes me want to walk into oncoming traffic.

This is Bel. Your friend. The girl who’s always been kind to you, even before everything happened.I can take five minutes to talk to her. What’s it going to hurt?

She settles into the chair, tucking her legs underneath her like we’re at a sleepover instead of in the library. “I had no idea you were back. Are you doing summer semester only, or …?”

“I’m full-time right now. The plan is to catch up on the credits I’m missing and get back on track. Going to class in the summer sucks, but if it lessens the workload during the school year, I can’t complain. I mean, what else do I have to do with my time?” I cringe internally at how dumb that sounds.

Bel doesn’t seem to sense anything strange about it. “Are you … I mean, how are you doing?”

The concern in her voice makes me want to crawl under the table. It reminds me of Lee Sterling and his loaded question from the other night.Are you okay?Okay, deep breath.She’s asking because she cares, not because she feels bad for me.

I direct my attention to the scattered notebooks in front of me. I know I said I’d do it when she left, but I can’t help myself. I realign them, letting the precise movements calm my racing pulse. I can’t imagine how messed up I look right now.

If she has thoughts about it, she doesn’t say it out loud.

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