Page 39 of Dream with Me

I frown at the intrusive thought.

Sick of the same scenery around the main part of the library, and with my butt still a little numb, I’m not ready to sit again. I take the hall down to the right and enter into the quieter part of the building that houses the nonfiction, hobby, and self-help sections.

As I walk between the shelves of books, I inhale deeply, loving the aged paper smell of old books.I recognize it’s weird, but it’s my thing.

Books have always been there for me. They’ve never let me down, and they’ve taken me to worlds I could only dream about. They’ve given me friends I didn’t have. Much like Oliver, I’ve always been on the quieter side. I’m reserved but not shy. When I trust someone, I open up around them. As a kid, it took me a long time to get there with people unless they were fictional characters in my books. Then, there was an instant connection.

Sometimes, I wonder if that’s a product of me starting school as early as I did—four months after turning four years old—and then being bumped ahead a grade early in my elementary school days. I was in second grade for about a month when the school met with my parents and strongly recommended I skip the rest of second grade and move forward into third.

I was definitely academically advanced, but academic ability and emotional maturity are two different things. I don’t blame my parents for agreeing. They did what was recommended to them at the time. When the school raised the concern that I’d be bored staying in class with the other second graders and potentially lose my love of learning, I imagine it worried my parents. As expected, even with bumping grades, I did well in school. The problem was that I never had many friends, and it wasn’t apparent right away. By the time the adults around me realized I might be out of my league socially, it was already a few years, and the option to stay back with those students closer to my age was gone.

The girls in my grade were almost two years older than me. In elementary school, that was fine, but around the end of sixth grade, things started getting weird. The couple of friends I did have were getting taller, and the shapes of their bodies were changing. I was always on the small size for my age and pencil thin. When I entered seventh grade, my only two friends from elementary school looked like totally different girls than they did when we finished sixth grade a few months earlier. In retrospect, that year was when my body image issues started.

At first, everything was fine. But then my friends started noticing boys—a lot. They wanted to do stupid things like stay after school to watch the boys practice basketball when I would rather go to the library and read. That’s what I would usually do.

Except the one day when I didn’t.

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was mid-fall, and I was walking outside, smelling the crisp odor of fallen leaves and enjoying the last few days of pleasant weather. I had left school to walk to the library about five minutes prior but changed my mind. Maybe my friends were on to something, and I needed to spend time doing the things they liked as well. My Mom always says that with friends and family, it can’t all be about what only one person likes.

When I went back into the school, the boys’ practice was already underway. I had to pee, so I ran into the girls’ locker room and took the furthest stall away from the door. I can still remember the relief that washed over me when I was finally able to empty my bladder after holding it too long. What a weird thing to remember. I was about done when I heard the voices of my friends.

My initial instinct was to finish, then call out, let them know I was there, and hang out with them. But before I got a chance, I heard them talking. At first, it was about their lip gloss, but it quickly turned into talking badly... about me.

“Oh, my gosh, could you imagine Shannon ever wearing this color of lip gloss? It’s like hanging out with my little sister.” That’s Asia’s voice. I recognized it immediately.

Daisy chimes in, “I don’t even care about that, but did you see her legs? I mean, we’re in junior high now. Have you not noticed that you’re the only one whose legs are so furry you look like a boy?”

I glance down and lift the leg of my jeans. They’re right. I hadn’t noticed I was different in that way, too.

Asia laughs.“It’s not the only way she looks like a boy. She has no boobs. It’s freaking embarrassing being seen with her. I wish there was a way to tell her we don’t want to be her friend anymore without looking like total jerks.”

I hid in the bathroom until I was sure they were gone, and then waited about another five minutes and snuck out of the school. I practically ran the whole way home, skipping the library, and I remember running up to my room with tears streaking down my face.

It was later that evening when I decided I would show them. I wouldn’t be their friend, but I would come to school with my legs shaved like everybody else. They would be the dummies who lost a friend over something so stupid.

Turns out I was the stupid one that day because I should have talked to my mom or my sisters about shaving. Instead, I stole Shayna’s razor and tried to do it myself. Huge mistake. I’ll never forget the burning pain as I cut myself for the first time. My sisters and I have joked about it since—how it’s a rite of passage for all girls to cut themselves this way. But, God, when a girl gets that first thin cut right over her shin, the pain feels like the worst in the world at the time. It was horrible.

On top of that, I had a four-inch gash and partially shaven legs. I wasn’t able to wear a skirt or shorts for a week until I finally told Shayna what happened, and she helped me use lotion on my legs to get rid of the rest of the hair. It smelled like rotten eggs but did the job.

I shiver, recalling it all—but mostly the cut.I walk around the corner of a row of books and am about to step into another when I freeze in my tracks. Standing about fifteen feet away, two books in the crook of his arm and peering at the books on the shelf intently, is Troy.

I watch him like a creep for a minute or two, and he doesn’t notice I’m there. I wonder what he’s doing here? I’ve never seen the man in the library except when I was tutoring him, or we came here with our kids. It’s unusual for him to be here alone.

Feeling a bit juvenile, I tiptoe as close to him as I think I can get without him seeing me and then, as he’s pulling a book off the shelf, I lower my voice and say, “Do you come here often?”

“Jesus!” Troy jumps. “Fuck.” He drops the book he was grabbing, and his eyes widen when he sees me. He bends down and picks up the book, but I notice he turns the titles of the ones in his arms away so I can’t read them.

What’s he reading that is so private he cares if I see what the titles are?

“Shannon, what are you doing here? I mean... it’s a public library, so you’re allowed to be here, obviously. Butwhyare you here?”

He’s flustered, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was enjoying myself a little bit.

“Ugh. I’m trying to study and needed to stretch my legs so I’m doing some laps. You?”

Troy’s cheeks blush, and he averts his eyes from me. “I’m picking up some books somebody recommended.” It’s obvious he’s not giving me the whole answer, but I won’t push him. “I think I’m ready to check out now, though.”

I walk with Troy toward the circulation desk, and when we’re still a good fifty feet away, my stomach growls so loudly it echoes through the quiet atrium of the library. Someone off to the side makes a shaming “shhh” sound.

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