Page 63 of Follow My Voice
The more time goes by, the more it becomes clear to me that Yana and her friends did not have the best of intentions. Yana refuses to even look in my direction and the others left me hanging with my hand in the air when I tried to greet them. So why did they act all friendly with me before? I have no idea, but ever since Yana created that TikTok account for me, I’ve been getting nasty messages from an anonymous profile. Yana wouldn’t do something like that, would she?
I sigh, remembering my mother and how she always looked for the light in others. Whoever owns that anonymous account, I truly hope they find the peace they so desperately need.
“People can only appreciate you in the capacity in which they appreciate themselves.”My mother’s wise words guide me yet again.“When we hurt someone with our words, we feed their darkness. When we make someone smile with nice words, we expand their light.”Feeling hatred in response to mistreatment leads nowhere—I can’t fight darkness with more darkness. Maybe it’s a naive worldview, but there are too many negative emotions on this planet. Everyone is a yin and yang, and it’s impossible not to be affected by what’s going on around us. But I will strive to make a small change, if not in the world, at least in the people around me. I will always try to leave my little light on in the darkness to guide those who need it. I sigh, lost in thought, until suddenly, I hear his voice.
Kang.
He’s coming down the hall with three other guys, all wearing soccer team windbreakers, except for Kang, who’s wearing a dark blue shirt and jeans. He’s laughing.
I’d forgotten how handsome he is. I run my hands through my hair, making sure my wig is in place, and I stand to the side, facingthem. Should I say hello? Will Yana and the other girls laugh if they see me talking to him?
Be brave, Klara.
I’m still trying to decide what to do when our eyes meet. I smile. Kang simply nods in greeting. I furrow my brow and my smile fades as I watch him walk past like he doesn’t even know me.
Ouch. I feel a tightness in my chest and lean my shoulder against the wall. What was that? He didn’t even say hello. I feel like just another fan right now.
I don’t understand this change in Kang. Was he really that upset because I didn’t ride home with him? Sighing, I walk into the classroom and sit next to Perla behind Diego. I pretend to follow their conversation but I have no idea what they’re talking about, so I stare off into space, absorbed in my thoughts.
It hurts.
All through class, as the professor goes on about counseling communication skills, my mind plays the scene on loop: the fleeting glance, the forced, tight-lipped smile. I don’t want to believe that those girls were right, because it’s too painful, but it now seems like they were telling the truth. Kang got bored or annoyed with me as a project and now he’s pushed me aside.
When class ends and everyone leaves, I turn to Perla. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure,” she says, smiling. She looks to Diego. “See ya.”
He studies my expression and seems to hesitate for a second, but finally leaves the classroom. Perla and I are alone, but I don’t know where to start.
“What’s wrong?” Perla tosses her wavy hair over her shoulders. “You had your head in the clouds the whole class.”
I fidget with my hands in my lap. This is harder than I thought. “Perla, the truth is that I don’t know how to ask you this. I… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and we get along so well, I’m terrified of ruining our friendship.”
“It’s about Kang, isn’t it?” She doesn’t seem angry; that’s encouraging.
I nod and she sighs.
“Don’t look so terrified.” She rubs my arm. “I knew I’d have to tell you sooner or later.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, of course you’d want to know. You’re interested in him, aren’t you?”
I nod again.
“Then I think you should hear the whole story. It’s not going to ruin our friendship, Klara. I really like you and a past history with some guy isn’t going to change that. But let’s go—all stories are better over a good latte.”
“From the cafeteria?”
She snorts. “There’s a Starbucks nearby.”
I smile and we make our way across campus. After ordering two nice foamy lattes, we go outside and find a bench on the quad. The day is cloudy, but not too cold. Groups of students sit around, chatting. We silently sip our coffees; I’ve never been a fan of lattes, but this one is delicious.
Perla looks straight ahead, so I can only see her profile, and lets out a long sigh. I give her the time she needs; I don’t want her to feel like I’m pressuring her.
“I grew up in New York until my parents got divorced a couple years ago. In the settlement, my father took the city apartment and my mother got a nice sum of money—enough to buy a huge house here close to family.” She pauses for a moment. “But before we moved, they went through the whole divorce process, the fighting. I took refuge in food and put on a lot of weight in a short time. My mother was worried, but food was the only thing that calmed my anxiety. My last year of high school was hell.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
