The sun is peaking just above the horizon. Its bright rays long to break free in full view from their confinement, and in just a few minutes they will. The beautiful colors of red, orange, yellow, and purple will splash across the sky, painting the perfect sunrise. I love this time of day early in the morning. It’s just so…magical.


As our feet crunch at the gravel beneath us and carry us down the road, I glance up at the moving scenery around me. The clouds and trees whisk by around us. A breeze catches my hair pulled back tightly in a ponytail and whirls it in the air. I look up at my mom who’s already ahead of me-about twenty feet. Oh no she doesn’t. A forty-three year old does not outrun a fifteen-year old. Nope. It does not work that way. I muster up more energy inside of me and work up to a sprint in order to pass Mom. She senses my quickened pace behind her (we can always tell when runners are catching up close behind us without looking back- it’s one of our shared gifts) and picks up the pace as well. But the undeniable age difference factor gives me an advantage, allowing me to run faster than her. You see, when you get older, you begin to reach your limit and eventually have to slow down. The mechanisms in your legs are worn out and you just can’t run as fast as you could when you were younger. That’s the plus side to still being a kid. You’re full of energy and…pep. Wow, did I just say that? As I pass Mom, I look back and playfully stick my tongue out at her. When I turn around running with my back to her, she picks up a rock and throws it at my neck while I wasn’t looking. Hey! I stop and turn around to yell at her but am taken aback when she pulls me into an embrace. Wow, that was somewhat unexpected. I thought she was going to throw another rock or something and it would become like a fight. I think it’s moments like that that I’ll miss the most. She takes my face in her hands and kisses my cheek. “I love you, Win” she says. She adds in a mocking tone, “you superstar runner, you.” I roll my eyes as if to say “puh-lease”. She’s sweaty so I pull away and we continue running. How I wish now that I’d hugged her longer. But I kept running and running….


“Gwyneth?” Dr. Marigold says.


My head snaps up at the sound of her voice bringing me out of my daydream. I remember that I’m at my therapist appointment in the Village Plaza. I’m sitting in her (very uncomfortable) white couch and somehow just dozed off. “What?” I ask distantly.


“What were you thinking about?” she looks at me curiously through her weary grey eyes. Her old brown cardigan is getting worn out from being worn so many times. Seriously, she needs a wardrobe makeover because I don’t think I can take seeing her wear ugly dress pants and sweaters anymore. How about a dress for a change? It’d be much more feminine and would show off her legs, which are actually kind of nice. I wonder if that’s what drew her husband at first to her.


Wait, why am I thinking about this? What did she just ask me? Oh yeah. “Nothing,” I answer plainly, hoping that she won’t ask any more questions about the topic. I cross my left leg over my right and sit back in the couch, trying to be more comfortable. I look down at my lap.


“I know this is difficult to talk about…but you know that you can talk to me about anything, Winnie,” she says softly and when I look up at her face I see her eyes look at least somewhat earnest.


I don’t know what to say. My throat is dry. My eyes drift across the room. I am disillusioned. On the windowsill sits a ghost and stares at me. I look away, trying to avoid its gaze. But another one is pulling at my hair. I’m also hyperaware of a voice inside my head telling me, give up. Give up. I take a deep breath and look down at my hands. It’s a good thing Dr. Marigold doesn’t know half of what really goes on inside my head. She’d put me in a mental hospital or something. Now she is quiet and gives my face a once-over, scrutinizing me for a moment. “You know what, you seem like you could use a break,” she takes out her pen and little blue agenda book. “Why don’t we end early today and you can call your dad in so I can talk to him for a bit and reschedule the next appointment,” she licks her thumb before using it to flip open to the next blank page in her book. She looks down at the page and starts jotting some things down. When I don’t answer right away, she glances up at me threw her eyelashes. “Sound good?”


“Okay,” I say.


“Alrighty,” she smiles all cheery and jots a few more things down with her pen. Like everything’s fine. Don’t worry.


Totally fake.


I hate fake happiness. If we’re unhappy, we shouldn’t try and pretend like everything’s fine when it’s not. That’s the same as lying. If we let other people in on what we we’re really feeling, maybe we would have better relationships. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone, like nobody understands or can relate to me. I want to frown and cry right here but-then again, I don’t-and I don’t know what else to do but mirror her rehearsed smile back to her before getting up to leave. That’s how contagious fakeness is-like a cold or the chicken pox. I walk out the door and close it behind me, unsatisfied and disgusted with myself for being so deceitful. I am pathetic. The ghost follows out behind me, mocking me, but disappears in the shadows.


My dad is sitting in the waiting room when I get out. He’s reading the magazines they leave out for patients to read. Despite the ironic sign Dr. Marigold put on the wall (mainly for the little kids) that says Stress-Free ZoneJ, Dad looks anything but stress-free (But, then again, who isn’t stressed in a doctor’s office?). He looks calm and comfortable but I can tell he really isn’t. I know this is weird for him. I know a lot of people do this, but-if we’re being real here-what parent wouldn’t feel at least the slightest bit embarrassed that their daughter has to see a therapist regularly? I mean really. I can tell that he is trying to hide the fact that he’s rigid in his seat, upright and cold. Distant and quiet. Sad and isolated. Kind of like me in a way.


The laugh lines I used to see along the corner of his mouth are replaced by the evident wrinkles on his forehead from constant worrying and bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. My dad has had an insomnia problem ever since “the incident”. Of course I sleep pretty soundly during the night so I wouldn’t really know when he gets up, but sometimes I hear him making noise in the kitchen or downstairs somewhere. I imagine he’s on his laptop doing work-related things when he can’t sleep. My dad has always been very dedicated to what he does and has always taught me that hard work is the key to success, but even this is a little over-the-top for him. I mean, nowadays it seems like he lives at his job. We both know it’s a cover-up and it’s his way of grieving over “the incident” but we don’t talk about it. Not about anything. We pretend it’s nothing and that we’re both doing great. We try to ignore dads post-incident workaholic syndrome and my…well, whatever my issues are. What a lie. Just like everything else now in my life.


Dad looks up at me when I walk towards him and, without having to say anything to him, (like on cue) he quickly stands up, putting the magazine (Sports Illustrated?) that he was reading on the little table beside him. We both should know how this thing goes by now because I’ve been coming here for nearly five months. ‘


“I’ll be right out” he mumbles.


I nod and he walks in the room that I just came out of, closing the door tightly behind him. Our conversations have become pretty short. There’s not much to say that we both don’t already know or it’s just stuff we refuse to talk about. I hear my dad and Dr. Marigold talking but not clearly enough to make out the actual words (Dr. Marigold ordered some kind of sound-proof system; high-tech stuff). I sit down in dad’s seat and sigh. It’s warm. The Sports Illustrated magazine is next to me and a super fit young male athlete is smiling at me on the cover, all real and genuine. I wonder what his life is like or what he must have to do to be so fit and thin. I used to be really thin but have gained some weight recently. It probably started since I’ve been eating more and stopped track after the…


Never mind.


Anyway, I can’t say I’m that in-shape anymore because I haven’t ran in, like, five months. I probably would get cramps if I tried now- not that I want to. No. That’s a past chapter of my life. 5’7 and 113 pounds. That me is dead. 5’7 and 140 pounds. This is the new me. My dad hadn’t really reacted that surprised or upset at my weight gain (as dad’s don’t really care about that sort of thing) but my friends noticed. I can’t say that they turned me down because of that or even that they cared at all because my friends weren’t that shallow-especially not Anna-but they did notice. I was the super skinny track star. The fast girl with long legs that beat the high school’s long distance record; the girl my parents were proud of and that people at school actually wanted to hang out with. Now I’m only known as the girl with the Disturbed Mother. I try not to think about this and twirl my thumbs as I wait for my dad, as stupid as that is. But I can’t help it. My hands are just itching to take out my phone and check my Facebook account or text one of my friends, but I can’t. Not only can’t I log onto my Facebook account because I deleted it, but I don’t talk to them in general anymore. And they don’t talk to me. Ever since “the incident” happened, my social status has plunged. Word got out across town that Winnie’s mom had been found in bed, forever asleep, with a bottle of sleeping pills beside her pillow. Surely the daughter, Winnie, must be just as crazy as she was, right? She must have some real issues too. Well, NOT true.


Well…not Totally not true.


But, as much as I loved my mom, I wasn’t nearly as lost as she was. For someone to take their own life must have meant they were at the end of their rope, with no hope at all for the future. That’s not me. I have my ups and downs like everyone, but I never felt so hopeless to actually…you know.


I always knew my mom was depressed and had some mental illness problems that she was seeing therapy for (well, hey, look where I am. I guess the apple doesn’t really fall that far from the tree) but I guess I didn’t see how serious her state really was. I had picked up some signs like her losing interest in things that she enjoyed-like running, for one thing-but also just that she didn’t seem too into doing anything anymore. She was like a ghost. Dead inside. Saturday evenings saw her sitting on the couch, watching nothing noteworthy on TV. Just some stupid reality shows. She didn’t even have the energy to cook much for me and my dad. Not that that was a bad thing (we could always order pizza or whatever) but it was unlike her. My mom loved to make dinner and experiment with dishes for me and my dad. One time she made a meatloaf filled with macaroni and cheese. It was so good that Dad and I practically ate the whole thing in two days. That was one thing about Mom that I loved-her creative side and energy-that seemed to disappear right before “the incident“. She was lifeless, walking through life but not really living it. She did the bare minimum of what was expected of her at her job and came home early just to sleep. She didn’t even ask me how my days were at school. Dad and I both tried to talk to her but she was just so…distant. Like she was in another world. A cold and dark world all alone. I was desperate to pull her out of this funk- to save what was left of my real mom-but I couldn’t. She was unreachable.


Then one day it happened. A Saturday morning. I was the first one up, as usual. I went down to the kitchen to get breakfast. We were out of corn flakes. Crud. I went to Mom’s bedroom to see if she was awake so I could complain to her about not buying cereal when she was just at the grocery store yesterday. Then I saw her. At first I thought she was just sleeping (because obviously dead people don’t look any different from sleeping people, unless they’re decaying) but then I saw the pill bottle next to her stretched out hand and I knew. She did what I never thought in a million years she’d do. She took her own life. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I tried to pretend I was still asleep and was dreaming. Of course Dad was out for his morning workout at the YMCA so I had to call him, only to realize I couldn’t. I think it was that moment that I realized that I was becoming mute. I forgot how to speak. I just stared at the portable phone in my hand. Unsure of how to get any words out of my mouth, I took out my cell phone and texted him. The message said it all.


Dad. Come. Home. Now.


What happened next was a whirlwind of events that followed at trip to the hospital, the chaos of calling all the relatives and neighbors, and….the funeral.


But I don’t really wanna relive that.


It happened and it’s done. I don’t want to think about it. Dwelling about something just makes the situation haunt you. Worse, it makes you crazy. So I try to forget about it long enough to breathe and keep my sanity, which doesn’t happen often.


Anyway, my dad finished up with Dr. Marigold and came back out to me, a blank look on his face. Dr. Marigold peeked her head out the door with that cheery smile and waved before we left the waiting room. Both Dad and I plastered a fake smile on our faces, playing the role of the Happy Family until we were out of eyesight. Then reality sunk in and we were back to our sad, lost, but true selves. We walked to the car and silently both got in. As Dad drove away, I looked at his face but couldn’t read his expression. Dr. Marigold probably didn’t tell him anything new that he already didn’t know. It was the same old stuff we were trying to work through but had made very little progress. I’m not sure exactly what the “stuff” is, but Dr. Marigold seems to understand what I’m going through. Apparently she can put my situation in a defined category, along with all the other situations her patients present to her. Like I’m just another case. I feel so stupid.


Dad doesn’t put on the radio. He never does anymore. Mom always loved music, which is probably why he chooses to ignore it now. It’s just too hard doing things that remind us of her; it reminds us of what happened to her.


“So, do you have a lot of homework tonight?” He doesn’t look over at me when he asks this. He keeps his eyes on the road. I miss it when he used to tickle me and ruffle with my hair. Dad hardly shows any signs of affection anymore. Sometimes I feel like we’re almost like strangers or just acquaintances rather than family.


I sigh and shake my head.


“Hey, maybe we can go to T.G.I. Friday’s tonight,” Dad offers. “Would you like that?” He now looks over at me. I smile and nod at him. I appreciate that he’s trying here so I do too. Dad scratches his chin and his phone rings. With one hand on the wheel, he checks it. He groans after reading the message. “I’m sorry Win, but I don’t think we can go tonight,” he says and looks at me apologetically. “I really should get to the office. We‘re overloaded with paperwork.”


“That’s okay,” I say. I didn’t really care if we went out to eat or not. Although, Fridays is a lot better than Dad’s pasta salad (no offense, Dad).


I’m a little surprised when he reaches over to give my shoulder the tiniest pat. “Next time, kiddo.”


I feel kind of warm inside by his gesture. That was the highlight of my day. Even though we drive in silence all the way on the thirty-minute ride home, I’m feeling okay.






*



*




*


Wednesday. Middle of week. School. Ugh.


Even worse, it’s raining.


I’m literally bored out of my head in Geometry class. I can’t take one more lecture on coordinate proofs. I’m serious, I might just die. It doesn’t help that Mr. Mallory’s voice sounds like one of those adults on Charlie Brown and drones on like a Tuba or whatever instrument is used for their voice. Thankfully he takes a break from his never-ending speech long enough to talk to the principal, who had just entered the room with another student. I don’t recognize the student. He must be knew.


“Thank you, Principal Gaffrey,“ Mr. Mallory says as the principal exits the room, leaving the new student standing now before us alone with him. Then he turns his attention back to the class. “Guys, I want you to meet Jared Caruso. He’s from New Jersey and will be a new addition to our lovely sophomore class this year,” some kids chuckle at his use of the word “lovely”. Mr. Mallory rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I think you’ll fit right in here. We’re a great group of kids and we don’t bite, right Kevin?”


Kevin, who was taking a nap in the front, quickly snaps his head up from his desk. “What?” He asks, all confused. The class laughs and the guy sitting behind him flicks a pencil eraser at his ear.


Mr. Mallory makes a face at Kevin and gives a look of disapproval to the guy sitting behind him. He sighs. “Well, we may not bite but we’re not the most attentive class.” He looks at Jared apologetically. “Sorry, Jared.”


Jared’s face looks understanding. “It’s cool,” he says.


“So, are you one of those rare students that like math or do you loathe it like the majority of this class?” Mr. Mallory asks and motions to the class, particularly Kevin and the kid behind him. I smile a little. For a boring teacher, he can be okay at times.


“I think Kevin kind of summed it up pretty well,” Jared says.


The class laughs.


“Excellent answer, Jared. Excellent answer,” Mr. Mallory gives Jared a pat on the back and jokingly applauses him. Then his face changes. “Although I hear you were quite a student at North Bridge,” he notes. “In fact, I think I recall you were one of their top students,” he beams at Jared. “One of their top math students, that is” he adds.


Jared acts all modest. “Nah. I’m not really.”


“Oh, right. Well, why don’t you take a seat next to Winnie in the back there?” I hear Mr. Mallory say and motion towards me. Shoot. Automatically, everyone turns around and stares at me. I sink in my chair. I was doing so well being invisible. Thanks a lot, Mr. Mallory. My old friend, Anna, is sitting a couple rows ahead of me. I see her head turn around, and with a slight flop of her long auburn hair over her shoulder, I can now see he face clearly. She makes a frown (it’s weird, almost like a pouting face) and her eyes stare at me with pity. Not because of having to sit next to Jared, of course, but just…because. I hate it that we don’t talk. Why does she treat me like I’m a victim of a hurricane or something? I’m not some charity girl. I’m the same Winnie Creston that she’s known since middle school. Well, mostly. I admit, I’ve changed some after “the incident.” But I’m still me underneath all this….whatever I’ve become.


Jared meanwhile is the exact opposite of everyone in this room. He doesn’t give me any look. He doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know me. He’s fresh, pure, untouched by the Sympathy Plague that’s hit everyone else in this school. He walks down the aisle passing the staring faces directed at me before sitting down. He looks at me and smiles. And it’s pretty genuine. He actually has a great smile; his teeth are literally glowing. I can’t help myself but stare at him. I don’t even try to smile or do any gesture in to attempt to be friendly.


He notices that I’m not saying anything and takes the initiative by saying a friendly “Hey.” I still don’t respond and I begin to feel like I’m being rude so, ridiculously, I wave at him.


He chuckles at my wave even though we’re sitting right next to one another and it would’ve been MUCH easier to just say “hello“. Nevertheless, his blue eyes sort of look amused and I feel a little self-conscious because they’re looking directly at me. But he doesn’t give me a look of pity, doesn’t frown, doesn’t look concerned. He’s smiling. It’s a little bit of a mocking smile but it’s mostly just friendly. In fact, there’s something about his appearance that is just genuinely friendly and open. After realizing that I wasn‘t going to respond, he waves back slowly at me (like I’m really dumb or deaf or mute) before Mr. Mallory picks up his ruler and starts his boring lecture again and the heads slowly turn back to the front of the room. For once, I’m thankful for Geometric Proofs to save me from my embarrassing interaction with Jared. But I sort of feel a little taken aback on meeting Jared. He’s one of the few people in school who I’ve been face to face with and haven’t seen The Look, even though I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m kind of dumb and was making fun of me. It doesn’t matter, as long as he doesn’t look at me like I’m a homeless cat. I see that he’s looking at the white board in the front to see what Mr. Mallory is writing, so I do too.


I can’t pay attention at the lecture for long though, so I spend the rest of the period sneaking some looks at Jared and evaluating him from the head down like I do to people who sort of make an impression on me when we first meet. I sound so judgmental, but I can’t help it. I’m a visual person. Looking at things helps me figure them out more. My therapist helped me realize that when she made me look at old photos of my mom. Don’t ask me why, some crazy therapeutic technique.


So, anyway, this is what I’ve come up with:


Jared Caruso


-Height=Tall. Probably 6’1.


-Weight=Skinny, but medium built. I’m guessing he’s got some muscles underneath that blue polo he’s wearing, like most guys naturally do.


-Head features=Eyes; blue. Hair; brown (like me). Ears; really pointy. We’re talking elfish.


-Clothes=Striped blue polo, tan khakis, black Nike sneakers.


-Personality=Funny and nice. Sometimes a little mocking. Apparently really smart. Good smile.


That’s all I got.


After the bell rings and it’s time for lunch, Jared turns to me as we pick up our stuff. “So, your name’s really Winnie?” he asks.



I look at him. I’m not surprised, a lot of people ask me that question. It’s a weird name, I admit, but I was stuck with it since my real name’s Gwyneth and none of my friends could pronounce it when we were younger. So I became Winnie from then on. I nod.


“Like Winnie the Pooh!” he exclaims and laughs.


I almost roll my eyes. Don’t get me started on that joke. I nod again.


“Sorry, you probably get that a lot,” he says apologetically but then a grin plays across his face, “but I couldn’t help myself.”


I look at him. He’s kind of cute, I guess. But I can’t take chances on just “cute“. I need to be careful because he might turn out to be like the rest and ditch me once he finds out the truth. I can’t trust him if that’s the case. I wave to him as if to say “goodbye” before walking towards the door.


Of course he catches up with me. “You don’t talk much, do you” he says matter-of-factly.


I don’t say anything but continue walking (now with him).


I had hoped he’d stop talking but he persists on the subject. “What, do you not like talking?”


I look down, a little embarrassed. Okay, so I know I’ve become a little quiet but I didn’t know it was that noticeable. I hope I didn’t come off as rude or anything by not talking. I just don’t feel like I have anything meaningful to say anymore. There really isn’t anything to say. “No,” I mumble. “I like talking.”


“You say that like you don’t, all depressing-like,” he chuckles and makes a sad face. “Why are you such a downer?” He looks at me like he’s trying to figure me out. We pass by some fellow sophomores in the hallway while heading towards lunch-my old friend, Carly is one of them-and they look at me when we pass them. I look down to avoid their stares. Jared, on the other hand, doesn‘t seem to notice. “I mean, I’m pretty sure you caused the rain alone today with your mood.”


Now I look at him all defensively. “I did not!”


He looks pleasantly taken aback by my sudden mad reaction. “See!” He exclaims. “I knew you could talk if you just spoke up” he laughs. “You’ve got it in there somewhere, I can tell.”


I’ve got what? What does he mean?


Now he’s turned around and is walking backwards in front of me while facing me. I want to point out to him that he looks ridiculous and is going to bump into someone or, worse, cause people to stare but he seems so confident of himself that I don’t try. Miraculously, he doesn’t touch anyone in this crowded hallway. “I’m pretty skilled to do this, aren’t I?“ He notes and chuckles. Then he gracefully turns back around and walks next to me. “Jealous, huh?” he teases.


“No,” I say.



“You should be,” he says this matter-of-factly.


“Sure” I say.


“You only wish you were as cool as me,“ he smiles and then adds “…Winnie,” He holds out my name on his tongue as if to emphasize that he was talking to me and a little rush moves through my body from my toes up. “So, what do you like to do? Besides moping, of course.” He says this like it’s one of my favorite hobbies.


I give him a look.


He tries to return my glare back but it just looks weird and funny at the same time and I can’t help but stifle a laugh. He looks surprised. “Wow, that’s what an actual smile looks like on you. I didn’t know that was even possible.”


I almost pinch him for that. I’m kind of mad. He doesn’t even know me, how can he make these assumptions so quickly about me? Nevertheless, I want to prove to him that I’m not totally a loser with no interests so I find myself saying “I run.”


“Oh really?” He muses. “Bet I could outrun you.”



“I doubt it,” I say.


“I could run circles around you.”


“You know, you’re a little too sure of yourself. It’s kind of annoying,” I say.


He looks at me, shocked. “I think that’s the longest sentence I’ve ever heard from you,” he notes.


Gosh, he’s right. Quickly I look down and fiddle with the strings on my sweatshirt, feeling like I just did something really abnormal.


I look up and see he’s smiling to himself. “You know, you’re alright, Winnie.” Then his expression changes a little. “But you seem like you have something to hide,” he notes and looks at me.


That was unexpected. Usually boys don’t come out with such strong assumptions. I guess the ones from New Jersey do. Quickly I look down, hoping he’ll change the subject. But he’s still looking at me, waiting for me to say something.


“You’re weird,” I finally say at last. It was completely random but it was something to get us off this uncomfortable topic because I knew he’d deny it.


“I am not!” He says all defensive. “You’re weird.”


“No, I’m not,” I say.


“Whatever, Winnie the Pooh,” He says.


“Don’t call me that!” I say.


He laughs.


We stop when we reach the cafeteria, which is full of people. I consider skipping hot lunch and going to the library, like I sometimes do to surf the computers there. The virtual world is much better than this world. But Jared is already in the doorway and looks back to make sure I’m behind him. When he sees I’m not, he waves me over. A couple of surrounding people stare. Uh oh. I can hear the rumors now. The new kid is dating the girl with the troubled mom. Great. I take a deep breath and follow Jared inside. He grabs a tray for me at the end of the line and hands it to me. “Thanks,” I say.


“No prob,” He says and grabs one for him too. I’m becoming increasingly aware of the stares, although they’ve died down a bit. I’m not sure why. Maybe there’s some other gossip that’s gotten their attention for the moment. Whatever it is, I’m grateful. I watch as Jared plops some cafeteria mashed potatoes (ew) on his tray along with some peas. He looks to my empty tray questioningly. “Aren’t you gonna get something?”


I shake my head. “I’ll just grab an apple at the checkout.”


His eyes look me up and down, giving me the once-over. “You don’t look like one of those girls who don’t eat,” he states as if he was my doctor.


“Excuse me, are you calling me fat?” I say incredulously.


He looks alarmed. “No! No. You look good,” he’s blushing as he says the last part quietly and quickly turns his attention back to the food laid out on the counter.


I smile a little to myself. I don’t get many compliments from boys, but that felt somewhat good. It doesn’t mean he likes me, though, right? I mean, what guy would like me? I look to his face to see whether he’s still blushing because he’s embarrassed or because he might like me but his expression is blank and gives no hint whatsoever.


He looks concerned at my tray. “Seriously, though, you should get something more than just an apple.”


Ew. No. “Cafeteria food’s gross” I say.


“Then why didn’t you pack a lunch?” He asks.


I shrug.


I guess that was enough for him because we both checked out, me with an apple and a water bottle and Jared with a plate full of disgusting food. Jared smiles at the cashier as we pay. “Thanks,” he says.


We grab our trays and Jared turns to me. “So, where do you and your friends sit?”


I look down. I wasn’t about to admit to Jared that my friends and I no longer sat together, so I walk to an empty table in the way back of the room that nobody usually sits at. I sit down and he does the same. This table is set apart from the other tables, isolated. It’s pretty obvious to everyone that you’re an outcast or at least a loser with no friends if you sit here, but Jared doesn’t know that yet because he’s new. “This is…nice,” he says.


I shrug. “It’s quiet.”


“And you like that?”


I look at him. Did I like it? I didn’t know. I was used to it, for sure. “It’s okay,” I manage to say.


He looks around at the other tables, full of people, full of talking, full of life. “Are you the only one who sits here?” he asks.


“Pretty much,” I say.


“Oh,” he says. I guess that summed it up pretty well for him because he didn’t ask any more about it. He changes the topic. “So, why did your parents name you Winnie?” he suddenly asks.


We’re back to the name thing? Really? “It’s short for Gwyneth,” I say.


“Guh-weenn-eth” He tries to pronounce the name but fails.


“Gwyneth,” I correct.


“I like Winnie the Pooh better,” he says.


I roll my eyes.


“So, seriously, what can I do to make you laugh? You look like you’re in misery.”


“I’m fine,” I say, but even I don’t think I sound convincing. I feel like such a liar.


Jared studies me. “You’re lying,” he says and takes a bite of his taco while staring at my face. “You’re not fine.”


I try to avoid his gaze and look down at my apple instead.


“What’s wrong?” he asks.


I make the mistake of looking up at him. His eyes are really kind and earnest and they make me befuddled. I almost blurt out the truth right then and there but control myself by taking a bite of my apple to keep from saying anything. The sour taste consumes and overtakes my mouth like the ocean water filling an open bobbing soda can, making it impossible to form words.


Jared’s still looking at me. “Well, whatever it is, I hope you find you’re way out of it soon,” he says. “It’s no way to go through life living like you’re not alive,” he says. His eyes are still somewhat directed at me but not as intensely now. He takes another bite of his taco before looking away from me.


I can’t help but feel shaken up inside. This guy doesn’t even know me. What’s going on here? It’s like he’s reading into my soul. I look around the room, desperately wanting to avoid thinking about it. I listen to the noise of chatter. It covers my ears like wax, stopping my thoughts, and numbing my brain. I try to be numb.


A few moments later I find Jared snapping his finger in my face. “Hello!” he says. “Earth to Winnie.”


I snap back to reality. “Sorry,” I say.


“It’s okay,” he says.


I look down at my apple that suddenly looks unappetizing. I jab it with my fork


“Hurting your food won’t help solve anything,” he notes, chuckling.


I sigh. He’s right. Jared seems like a nice enough guy. Why can’t I trust him? He just moved here, so he doesn’t know many people. Who will he tell, anyway, who doesn’t already know?


Would I go out and say it?


Before I get the chance to even say anything, the bell rings, announcing the end of lunch and that fourth period will start in five minutes. Most people ignore the first bell and don’t leave lunch right away but wait close until the second bell to go. The teachers here aren’t that strict and don’t really care if you’re a minute or two late. But I guess not only is Jared supposedly really smart but also a conscientious student, too, because he’s already up out of his seat, tray in his hands. He stands before the table. “Later, Winnie,” he says and smiles at me. “I guess I’ll see you around.” And then he leaves. Like that. Gone.


Oh well.


I get up and dump the remains of my sad apple in the trash before following the herd out the cafeteria doors. I make sure to tag along to the end of the crowd when the cafeteria is almost cleared out so nobody notices me. I don’t bother to hurry to English. That peppy teacher literally gives out lolly pops if you write a good essay. I’m pretty sure she won’t mind if I walk in a little late. The downside, though, to that plan is that she literally announces your name when you walk in, which is nice if you like being noticed, but if you’re like me, not so much. So you can imagine how I feel when she cheers “Winnie!” as I walk into the room. Anna happens to be in that class, too, and chuckles as I walk in. Not in a mean way, but like the rest of the class. Still, I got that strange vibe from her that I hated.


The rest of the classes sort of drone on. But by the end of the day, in the hallway, I see Jared walking in my direction. Afraid he spots me, I subconsciously do a 360 and start walking faster the other way.


“Hey! Winnie!” I hear him call behind me. Too late. I hear footsteps and pretty soon he’s right beside me again. “What’s your hurry?” He asks, panting just a tiny bit as he catches up to me.


I don’t answer. I’m a little embarrassed. I must seem really rude or at least the most antisocial person in the world, because it’s pretty obvious that I’m trying to avoid him here at all costs. He knows it, too, because he’s giving me that…look that he did earlier. The “scrutinizing” look. I stare straight ahead as we walk, hoping he’ll stop, but he doesn’t.


“Winnie, you…” he hesitates and scratches his head as he tries to finish his thought, “you don’t have to be afraid of me, you know…” I can tell this is a little awkward for him to say because he laughs a little nervously but also punches my arm playfully. “You can trust me. I’m not that scary, am I?” He looks at me. “I’m not like Dracula or anything, am I?” He pretends to act like an evil villain and looks at me to see if I laugh. I do just a little. Gosh, he really is nice. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I talk?


“Hey,” he scratches his head, “I was wondering if you wanted to go to the library later and do homework together. I could help you on Geometry,” he offers. “I am brilliant, you know,” his eyes beam with pride as he looks at me, trying to impress.


I smile. “Sure. That’d be cool.” I pause. Something inside me is itching to break free. I can’t hold this in any longer. I need to say it. What exactly? I don’t know. But I know that I can tell Jared and he won’t judge. He’ll understand.


I hesitate. I struggle to find the words. “Jared…you don’t know…do you know what people here are talking about?”


Jared looks puzzled. “No. What do you mean?”


“You didn’t hear any rumors about…” my voice grows a little smaller “me, did you?”


Jared is now staring at me again. “No. Are people saying anything bad, or…?” He still looks confused, like he’s trying to understand.


I close my eyes. I don’t know why this is so hard for me. I guess it’s been a while since I’ve really opened up to someone. The last person I think was my mom, which makes it even more hard. “My mom…she recently…she passed away,” I just barely make the last two words audible.


But I can tell Jared still could hear because he looks at me. I’m scared to look at his expression. To see if he’s giving me The Look or not. I don’t look up to check. I need to finish first. I’ve already started talking more than I have in five months, so-like a binge on sugar-I need more and more and the words just start spilling out. “Jared, my mom took too many sleeping pills one night and didn’t wake up the next morning. People in school are talking about it but I don’t want you to feel sorry for me like they do. I’m fine but I’m not and I just want you to treat me like I’m a normal person. I need you to understand. Please don’t hate me. I’m sorry.” The whole thing came out so fast it sounded like one long run-on sentence. After I said all that, I felt the tiniest bit of relief-like one knot out of the many inside me has just been untied-and I breathe. But I also feel a little embarrassed and on-the-spot right now with Jared. I have no idea to expect when he’ll do next.


Jared puts his hand my shoulder, which causes me to look up at him. I’m surprised by his gesture, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t intended to be romantic. I think he’s just trying to be nice. Like a friend. I see that Jared is not giving me any sympathetic look at all. He is giving me a reassuring smile. His eyes look at me with compassion as he says “Winnie, you are so brave. I could never have done what you did. I’m sure your mom must be proud of you.” I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he means these words. He smiles at me.


I did it. It felt so good to let it all out, to spill the beans. I have a friend I can trust. And for the first time in, like, five months, I actually smile back.


And it’s genuine.