7ilZZua.jpg [https://i.imgur.com/7ilZZua.jpg]

Chapter 17 - First Period Problems

I swallowed a few times but quickly got a swell of hiccups, which certainly didn’t make any of this easier. Coleman didn’t take long on the phone. Most of her end of the conversation consisted of “right” and “uh-huh” a few times while glancing over at me. I tried to preoccupy myself with looking around at various banners and posters on the walls.

Soon after I’d gleaned the principles of exercise with a snappy acronym, Coach hung up and looked at me.

“Get dressed. I’ll find a place for you later. It’s indoor volleyball today. I’ll work something out. Or you can hang out around some male athletes I wouldn’t mind recruiting for the girl squads…” She raised an eyebrow and snorted. I returned a nod silently and went down to get dressed.

Since it was still early in the year, I didn’t really know anyone near my lockers. I sat on the bench and did my best to get my nice clothes packed into the cramped locker. I heard a half-spoken comment over my shoulder with a quick giggle. Probably some words at my expense. I could take that junk, so long as it wasn’t the kind of looks I got in the library.

I found a distant corner of the blacktop, out of arm’s reach of any of the guys (most of whom were still playing pick-up games of basketball). I clutched my legs and rested my head on them.

Just a few minutes at a time. Then a few more. One following the next as I knew the day would eventually be over. But these quiet minutes were tolerable.

Coach Coleman took us through our usual warm-ups. She didn’t speak out about my distance from the main group. She just called my name at the end of the list (no one after W) and led us to the gym.

It was an ancient building even then. A long, weird hallway joined a basketball area (which also doubled for volleyball) to a spare room which never had any purpose I could recall. Once it had been used for testing where I overheard a random girl sincerely questioning, “How’d I get an F in sex? I’m so good at it…”

Most times it was used for line dancing, where the girls who didn’t want to do regular sports got put with boys who were, in retrospect, clearly gay.

But we were in the main area. The bleachers were cranked back with only a few rows exposed. It was enough for our class. I couldn’t help but sit just within arms-reach of a few people. Most of them were other girls though.

I didn’t have a watch, so I counted time with my heartbeats. It took Coach so long to set things up. And I had to wait. Sit and wait and wonder what this strange force was doing to those around me. I tried not to look, but I had to check every few moments.

Conversations floated past me. No one around even had a sense I was there. It was a melancholic but also calming feeling to have. No eyes on me.

It was impossible to find a comfortable way to sit without dropping on the dirty patches between the ledges. Even then, the one above jabbed into your back.

I wanted my massive overcoat, even though it was still warm out. Now that was armor. Armor that dangled nearly to my legs and swallowed my wrists while the hood went together like an open, soft space helmet. As you heard your breath ruffle the material, you could sense the protection, the safety from all dangers.

But all I had were long-sleeves and pants.

The games were starting up and little groups of people were coalescing from the class. At the front, eager to get the first round in, were those who probably already played volleyball on a proper team. Beside them were those sorta interested but more interested in staying with the people around them no matter what groups were created. After that, there were those like me who had found their own little things to preoccupy themselves with.

Still, where I sat, I felt like the most ‘alone’ person of all. Even those not talking to a group were still orbiting one, not consciously avoiding all of them. My stomach gave a bitter clench and a gurgle. I could probably find a reason to use the restrooms down the hall to burn some time and keep away from whoever was closest to me.

Stolen story; please report.

I raised my hand and asked Coach Coleman, explaining and exaggerating the turbulence in my stomach. With a sigh, she gave a nod.

I took my time plodding down the hall. I noticed some girls with large, frizzy hair loitering around. They looked vaguely familiar, but it didn’t hit me till one of them said, “Hey.”

As I turned to look, I realized one was in my biology class. The opposite side of the room, but I was still aware of her. I didn’t know her name.

She gave me a narrow look with her thin eyebrows and asked, “You’re in Bledsoe’s class, right?”

I confirmed that and tried to cling to a calm, self-assured look. Later in life, people would say I had a good, confident poker face when I actually felt like I was screaming and sobbing on the inside. Not so much at that age.

With a slight frown, the girl continued, “Did you get suspended or something?”

I shook my head and told her, “No. I dunno what happened. I had to go to the nurse’s office and my doctor but they said I was fine.”

She gave a snort and announced, “Sophia said you’re some kind of witch and you made Ramirez and Sal into girls.” The girls around her raised their eyebrows and then looked to me to see what I would say.

When presented with a situation like this, a moment when I can say something really strong, confident, or at least careful…I always faceplant myself into the conversation.

“I just. I du- I dunno. I was just sitting there and stuff happened.”

She raised her head a little. “So…what? You’re a lesbo and want the guys to be your bitches?”

I should’ve recognized at that point that talk wasn’t going to get me anywhere, but I didn’t want to let go yet. “I didn’t do anything. They got sick or something and I had to get checked out too.”

The group was a small but intimidating wall of stupid hair and folded arms. She held a stern look and told me, “Don’t fuck with the guys or I know a bunch of girls who will totally claw your fucking face off.”

I gave up my most nonchalant “Whatever…” and walked away from them to the restroom. Behind me, I heard little, jabbing words and snickers. Since I’d had several years of Spanish classes, I knew little to nothing about syntax, sentence composition, or speaking the language. But I’d picked up a good number of swears. I heard more than one of them behind me.

That didn’t bother me too much. What bugged me was the splinter the laughs left in my head with a jumble of what she’d said. The harsh words jutted out.

I wanted to get angry about being called a lesbian, but I didn’t know if I was one or not. Because of my family bubble, I hadn’t even started trying stuff till a few years ago. There were plenty of little things in classes. There were questions in groups. There were actors and pop stars with a whirlwind of names I barely remembered then, let alone five minutes later.

I liked certain faces and not all of them were male. I had notions both dirty and sweet about random people in my classes. But it was all just a bunch of thoughts like air in a breeze, moving and shifting. I felt like I didn’t need to figure it out for a while, no matter how hard my mom pushed for me to find someone.

I felt sick more than angry as the words replayed in my head with nightmarish twists. Like that she spoke for many people, and I was going to meet a flurry of horrible words when I went to my next class. My legs quivered and my stomach spasmed. I felt the fear of losing control of my bladder even though nothing happened…this time.

The largest stall was foul, cold, and crusty but it was a welcome respite as I tried to purge my fears. It didn’t work. They would stay with me as I delayed long enough to hope the girls had gone on to other things. When I poked my head out of the bathroom, I was fortunately alone.

KiYDZ9u.png [https://i.imgur.com/KiYDZ9u.png]

Art by Alexis Rillera/Anirhapsodist