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Chapter 18 - I Can't Even, Because I'm Odd
I returned to the class group and gave a little nod to my coach even though I felt about the same as I did, if not worse than, when I left. She prodded me into a four-person volleyball team that barely played between long lulls. I was okay with spiking but my brilliant strategy of trying to tear apart the net with the volleyball was ineffective.
It felt good to play. All the movement put me in a position where whatever was happening didn’t seem to affect those around me. And I was carefully watching the hair and fingernails of all the nearest girls. Clearly, the solution was I would need to be standing up and moving around in my classes. Yeah, that was something my instructors would be sure to sign off on…
We were called back far too soon but after long enough, that I could almost forget the stress of my next class. I took my sweet time getting back in my dressy clothes. So long that the end of period bell came just as I was walking out and the next class was walking in.
Crushing the straps of my backpack between my fingers, I fixed my hair and took a barely-paved pathway through the newest-built annex buildings where once there had been an open field.
Eventually, long after I graduated, grass anywhere would be little more than a memory on most areas of campus as it was reclaimed for more classrooms and sprawling solar panels.
Unfortunately, it was a straight shot from the new classes to the old ones in a row, which led to the biology rooms with their high, narrow windows on the side which required an extra-long, harpoon-like stick to open and close. I marveled at them and then at what was probably some kind of reading center or guidance area on the back end of the library.
I meandered along another row of buildings which led to the chemistry labs. The sprawled out, lay-it-wherever, screw-organization structure of Brookville High suited the city, which followed the same philosophy.
It wasn’t long before the warning bell sounded, and I had to turn back. Aside from his prep period, Bledsoe was always around. His door was open and people went in and out. With a deep breath, I just walked over and made my way inside during a lull. I didn’t immediately see him.
Some faces turned my way, but I did my best to ignore them. Be forgettable…hard to do when I was dressed more like it was time for yearbook and prom photos than an average day. I walked by the sinks and shelves over to Bledsoe’s little office in the corner. He was there.
Clasping my hands in front of me, I found a quiet corner and waited. He seemed to notice me when I walked in, but he was still finishing up with someone from last period. When she left, he set his hands on the desk in front of him and raised his eyebrows at me. He didn’t need to be reminded of who I was.
He inquired frankly, “Why are you here?”
I did my best not to be intimidated like usual. I did my best to be strong with my words….but I’ve already gone over that failure. The best I could manage was not stammering as I told him, “I saw my doctor and…said I’m okay. Nothing wrong. My parents talked to the Vice-Principal and said I’m allowed to come to class.”
Getting all that out in a coherent fashion left me with a hint of pride.
He listened without a single motion to speak. When I was done, he tapped his pen on the table and said, “Make no mistake…I like having you in class, Miss Waller. I can tell you have enthusiasm and you’ve done the work. I want you to be engaged in class. Now…when I talked to the Vice-Principal, he mentioned wanting to make some special adjustments for you. Till certain things are better understood, you’ll work by yourself. Like an independent study. That’s an option.”
I scratched at my hands, fussed with my formal clothing, and grimly translated, “So, I’ll be at some little table alone, basically?”
He gave a quick nod of confirmation but added, “That’s what I have worked out for today. For now. Yesterday’s second period was full of a lot of craziness, yelling, and rumors. I need to make sure things aren’t disrupted today as well.”
I nodded but shut my eyes. I wanted so much to just be close to people. Even if they were assholes. Even if they said things to me. I just wanted to be around them. But, at the same time, I felt so visible, so exposed. I was going to offer that maybe he could seat me with a group of girls but the threat from gym was still fresh in my mind.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
So, I answered, “Just do what you need to. I’ll do what I can.”
He pressed his lips together and set his pen down. “You can have a copy of Wednesday’s lecture notes from my TAs…of what we were able to get through. And I can have you do something with assignments and group work.”
The unspoken worry was "What about Ramirez, Salvador, and Sophia?" Where they alright? What would they say to me and what might they do when they saw me?
Those girls said that Ramirez and Salvador had turned into girls, but I knew that much going with them and Sophia to the restroom. Had they reverted like they did when they were away from me? Or was it a little bit like Wes?
Mr. Bledsoe pushed up from his desk and told me, “Just wait in here for right now.”
I found a seat by a mixture of old lab and sports equipment. I glanced at a short, dangling human skeleton in the corner. The murmurs of everyone in the other room filtered over slowly, building with crests of exclamations and laughter. It sounded like any other room on any other day before class started (and during class, in some cases).
My neck felt prickly and tight and it wasn't just my clothing. I wanted to be anywhere else at any other time. First day of class. First day of high school. Any of those would’ve been better. The day I finished my last period by standing next to a tree and spewing what was left of my lunch all over the pavement like an impromptu art project. I’d left a splatter pattern tinted into the ground which I still saw when I walked by that area even a decade later.
Aside from the anguished build-up till that moment, that day would’ve been much better. But then any day, any time that skulks before you with anxiety, suffering, and fear of the unknown to come is the worst till it’s in the past.
I pressed a finger against the side of my temple and massaged the…uhh…muscle-y, ligamental stuff under my skin. I was taking biology then, not since then. Ask half-my-age-me to name it.
Whatever it was, it ached, and rubbing it was only a temporary measure. A good, long deep tissue massage had only happened once in my life and it was a fleeting aid at best. Most times I used the plug-in massage wand by my bed. Acquired from Monterey Bay's Cannery Row on a family trip fairly long ago, I had no idea how it worked. I suspected it was full of undying bees that wanted to kill everything. It would eventually wear down to the point where it sounded like gravel was banging about inside before returning to life. With a new swarm of bees.
But none of that was on my mind right then. Just the creeping fear of a life-draining sinus headache, which would make me feel raw nerve agony throughout my entire skull on top of everything else. Even pondering it brought on a superstitious fear I might provoke one.
Eventually, the clatter in the other room settled down and Mister Bledsoe’s voice called out authoritatively to strike down all others.
“ATTENTION. We will not have a day like yesterday or the day before. You should already be passing forward your assignments from last night. Right now. You know how it goes. Pass to your right and the person on the end takes them to my desk…”
He interrupted himself several times as words filtered around like warbles through a henhouse before all the hens had found their roosts. He then led everyone through the routine of writing and defining important terms before the lesson proper.
It was at this time, he returned to me with a pair of TAs in tow. I knew both of them. Rebecca Chavez and Ben Thompson.
Ben was a stringy guy with a bowl of brown hair which he’d tried more than once, for reasons unknown, to style like one of the guys from *NSYNC. His dad was a math teacher at the school, so we should’ve had stuff to talk about and hung around more, but we didn’t.
That’s common for me…
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Art by Alexis Rillera/Anirhapsodist