35
THEY STARE. THEY POINT. THEY whisper. They’ve been doing it all week, but it’s my first time in the cafeteria, so they’re ogling en masse rather than one at a time as I pass in the hall. Mrs. Greene convinced me it was time to venture out of her office for lunch. I suggested the yearbook office, but she didn’t think that was a very big step.
And we’re taking actual steps. She gave me this worksheet to fill out, which was basically a picture of a ladder. On each rung, I had to write one of my “tigers,” from least scary to most. I could’ve come up with at least a dozen less frightening fears for the lower rung, but I put “cafeteria” down, so here we are.
Lipton’s been my human shield all week. He blocks for me on the way in, and Adam is there with a table. Still, I can hear people talking. Some don’t believe I could possibly be Vicurious.
Others remember that I had a best friend named Jenna who moved to Wisconsin, so they believe, but just barely. I’m too much of a nobody to be that big of a somebody. And I don’t blame them. I can’t believe it, either.
Lipton prompts me to breathe, per Mrs. Greene’s suggestion. I’ve brought him as part of my “crisis plan,” which is basically any distraction I can focus on to deal with an uncomfortable situation. I touch my sword necklace, and I also have the picture of Jenna and me from my locker in my pocket.
We sit at the table with Adam, and Lipton pretends it’s all perfectly normal, that every single person in the room isn’t staring at us.
Four kids approach us and I’m about to hyperventilate until I realize it’s Marvo, Beth Ann, Marissa, and Adrian. I might hyperventilate anyway because they’re making me want to cry, and “crying in the cafeteria” is definitely on the list.
Lipton squeezes my hand and smiles his gap-toothed smile and it pulls me out of my crazy, roaring head. Just like Jenna used to do. I squeeze back.
There’s one seat remaining at our table and Raj shows up and asks if he can join us. Then I notice Hallie gliding over just as he sits down. She blanches a bit when she realizes she’s stranded and starts looking around for somewhere else.
I whisper in Lipton’s ear and he says, “Make room.” And we all squeeze together and Hallie sits down next to Raj.
“I’m Raj,” he says to her.
“I know.” She smiles and is even more beautiful than usual. “I love your Instagram.”
Raj’s head explodes.
People at the tables nearby keep daring their friends to come up to me and ask if I’m Vicurious.
My friends—my friends!—shoo them away.
Jeremy Everling gives me a thumbs-up from across the cafeteria, and it’s not that I care what Jeremy Everling thinks, but somehow that is the signal that tells me it’s going to be okay. It’s okay to be me—as flawed as the dusty, imperfect floor of my bedroom. To be afraid and weird. To blurt out whatever pops into my head, or refuse to speak. If Vicurious has taught me anything, it’s that there are more people out there like me than I ever could’ve imagined. I can be myself, whatever form that takes, and I’ll never be alone.
I look around, and it’s pretty obvious that everyone’s waiting for something to happen. Maybe they just need me to say I’m okay, so they can be okay, too. Maybe if I show them I’m just a girl with problems, too, they can all go about their business.
My friends are doing the most amazing job of pretending it’s a normal day in the neighborhood; they’re joking and laughing. Adrian is twirling butter knives and Marissa is threatening to break up with him if he stabs her. Beth Ann and Marvo are trying to twirl spoons and they keep clattering to the table. Raj and Hallie are looking at each other’s Instagrams, pointing out the ones they like best.
Lipton is watching them, or pretending to, but he keeps squeezing my hand under the table. He’s the only one who notices when I lift my phone and snap a selfie from behind my lunch bag. I hate it, of course. I’m so dull and white without the wig, sunglasses, and bright red lips. I crop out most of my face, leaving barely enough to prove it’s me—one eye, cheek, jaw, shoulder, lots of hair. It reminds me of invisiblemimi, one of the first who reached out on Vicurious to share her pain.
I risk a glance around the room. Eyes at nearby tables dart away, not wanting to be caught. I lower my phone to my lap, open Instagram, and click on “edit profile.” I leave “vicurious” as my username but change my name to “Just Vicky.” When I tap “done” a murmur goes around the cafeteria. They have their phones out. They’re watching.
“Breathe,” says Lipton.
I smile. I breathe.
Then I pull up the cropped photo I just took of myself. No filter. And I write:
Hi. It’s me. Real me. #faceyourfears#onestepatatime
I turn off the phone. Completely. Slide to power down and slip it into my backpack. The buzz of the cafeteria rises to match the roar in my ears. I can’t hear anything else. But I see them, as they #seeme. And I know I won’t ever be #alone.