And where’s the girl who wanted to push back last night, to keep him far enough away to protect both of us? Or here’s a better question: Which girl is the real me?
And with Zumi, I got excited as I pedaled away from her house, but all I had was asking if I could come back and she closed the door on me— No! The good things yesterday, I didn’t imagine them. This paranoia, this isn’t real. My imagination is spinning its wheels, questioning everything that’s no longer right in front of me proving itself real.
I can think clearly enough to know that second-guessing everything now is just chickenshit bipolar shenanigans. Yet knowing this still doesn’t stop me from feeling like a freshman again, carrying my lunch tray past Annie, Zumi, and Connor, afraid they’ve forgotten me, or that our first conversation hadn’t meant what I thought— Damn it, stop! These tears running down my nose, puddling on my pillow, with this feeling that the world outside is running smoothly without me, doesn’t need me, doesn’t want me, doesn’t even know I’m here … none of that’s real. It’s just chemicals— A soft knock at the door makes me jump. “Mel?”
Tears have turned into audible crying. This happens sometimes on first days for no other reason, so I hope she doesn’t suspect there’s more to it this time.
“I’m fine,” I say. I don’t sound fine.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
I need to stop thinking. It’ll just get worse. I grab the Ativan and shake out a couple tabs. Mom refilled my water bottle and I slug them down, but it’ll take time for them to work. If they work. Sometimes they aren’t enough to pull me down when I’m ramping up.
Zumi didn’t just close the door. It was how she glanced at me, her eyes slack, not squinted. Everything about her said yes, I could come back tomorrow— Wait … not tomorrow. Today.
I’m in no state to do it now. But I can’t flake on her. She’s broken over her best friend—also her crush—completely abandoning her after years of being together every day, and I got my period—it doesn’t rate. Only there’s no denying I wouldn’t be any good to her now. I might even make things worse. I have to put this off in some way that doesn’t seem like I’m bailing on her.
I get my phone. After typing countless trivial variations, I send her a text.
Feel shitty.
Come tomorrow instead?
I’m not sure what I’ll do if she doesn’t answer. Luckily I don’t have to think about it long.
No. Everyone back by 5
and here all day tomorrow.
I get another text almost right away:
Don’t come if you’re sick.
I don’t want to catch it.
This means she did want me to come. And she still does, even though she’s not asking. Or she’d tell me not to. Definitely. Maybe.
Not contagious.
See you in an hour.
HAMSTER IS STUMBLING
HUMMINGBIRD IS PERCHED
HAMMERHEAD IS THRASHING*
HANNIGANIMAL IS DOWN
Zumi’s house is only a ten-minute ride away but I don’t feel like sitting on my bike. I also want to give the Ativan more time to kick in.
After walking a few blocks, it occurs to me that among countless trips to Zumi’s, this is only the second time I’ve gone on foot. It’s fitting because that other time was when we argued and then stopped talking.
It was also a Saturday like today. I walked because Mom had taken away my bike the night before and put it in her bedroom. That’s actually what gave me the idea of parking it routinely in the house. It never occurred to me before that it didn’t have to stay in the garage.
Mom had been secretly checking my odometer—for the same reason she’d made Nolan put it on the bike, I later learned—to make sure I was only riding to and from school and around the neighborhood. This particular Friday night she demanded to know how I’d managed to put on over forty miles that day. I was taken so much by surprise, by her knowing and by the angry fear in her voice, I told the truth. After school I had biked twenty miles up the Great Highway to the Golden Gate Bridge.
Mom completely lost it: yelling, crying. It scared me so much that I didn’t tell her the rest. How I hadn’t turned off my light the night before and was going on thirty-six hours without getting sleepy for the first time in my life. About the big fight I had with Annie right after school that day, and how afterward my heart rate shot up over a thousand and I thought my head was going to explode from panic. I had to let the energy out somehow, so I pedaled as fast as I could to the one place within reach where I have calm, happy memories of Nolan with nothing bad mixed in. When I reached the bridge my heart was pounding hard but slower. I sat against the south tower in our special spot till I calmed down some more. Then I rode back home.