It's My Life - Stacie Ramey Page 0,9

Farther away now. Far enough away, I hope. I realize I came to school so I could see him, but now I just wish I could disappear. What was I thinking?

Kids pass by me. Lockers open and shut, Mrs. Wilson’s annoying presence hangs heavy over me. Then there’s a break in the clouds—Ben. I see his brown dress shoes, the ones he wears when he’s presenting a big campaign in class. And they are moving toward me. Thank God.

“Hey, girl.” He aims his books in the general direction of Julian’s departure. Then back at me. “Who’s that new kid?”

Ben is the only one who knows how I feel about Julian. How I’ve always felt. But when I told him, I admit, it felt safe, because Julian had moved away and was never coming back. My face gets hot. “Julian.”

He cranes his neck toward the boy and then turns back to me, an approving look on his face. “Your Julian?” He says it quietly, but in my mind his voice is amplified so loud that everyone can hear.

“Could you not…”

He leans against the locker next to mine and says in a much quieter tone, “That’s kind of cool, no?”

“Sure,” I manage. “I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says.

Mrs. Wilson jumps in. “Come on, she’s got to get going,”

The bell starts ringing.

Ben points at me. “Debrief later.” Then he’s off like a shot toward the 200 building, where the AP classes are held, like the rest of the go-getters. Where I should be going.

All of the sights and sounds in this hallway, coupled with the feelings of seeing Julian, make my head feel like it’s expanding. The throbbing that nested there earlier intensifies, and a darkness fills the corners of my eyes. I hear a song in my head. The words and music seem so familiar, but I can’t seem to place them. The song mixes with the sounds of a flock of birds screeching as they take flight. I can feel the wind blowing, and I know that’s not right. It can’t be. The lights crackle and flash and I brace for rain. Only that’s not right, either.

I feel myself being lifted, and then I know a seizure is coming. I know. But I can’t do anything to get out of its way.

* * *

I’m in the nurse’s office waiting for Mom to come get me, and my head is pounding.

My body is transmitting so many sensations that I can’t wrap my head around a single one of them, except for the dizzying nausea settled deep inside me.

The lights are low, and there’s music playing in the background. I think I hear Twenty One Pilots. Normally I would say something about how much I love this song, but right this second I am full of disdain for so many things, including all of the things I love. Embarrassed tears coat my cheeks, and it’s all I can do not to shake with how much I hate myself.

Did he see me? Did I pee myself? I can’t even tell. How screwed up is that? My body is slick with sweat, so I won’t actually know how bad this is until I get home and get changed.

The door opens. “Oh, Jenna,” Mom says, her voice soft and shaky, like I feel. And it makes me wonder if you can ever completely remove yourself from the person who created you, and the body you were created in. Maybe when you’re typical, you can adequately detach from your mother and carve out your own place in the world, but when you’re the girl with cerebral palsy who has so many regressions, maybe there’s a tiny ethereal tether that keeps you tied together. I don’t know, but I feel like there is. When I was little, that tie felt special. Now it feels confining and childish. I don’t have to tell you no teen really wants to be that.

Mom is quiet as she loads me into the van, but I can feel her heart cracked wide open, and I know she understands the entirety of my humiliation. We ride home encased in silence. I feel like a failure. I failed to make it through a day at school. Just like Mom said I would. I should have listened. I know Mom’s mind is working overtime as well, as she maneuvers the van through the drizzly day, so we both sort of jump when Dad calls.

“How is she?” The Bluetooth in the car broadcasts his voice, etched with concern.

Mom