Instead, I hunched my shoulders and took a few deep breaths, trying to keep my head from spinning.
“Are you okay?” the girl next to me whispered. It took a second for me to register that it was Maya and then another second to tell her it was just a headache, which wasn’t a complete lie. I say that a lot to people. And it bothered me that I couldn’t remember if she’d always been sitting next to me or if she’d just moved to that spot.
Without another word, she got up from her seat, walked to the edge of the pew, and disappeared out of sight toward the back of the church. A minute later she was back with a bottle of water. She handed it to me.
I was glad she didn’t come back with aspirin. Not sure how I would have told her that it might interfere with what I was already taking.
Because I hallucinate and hear voices.
“Drink,” she said. “Sometimes it helps.”
“Thanks,” I whispered back. “I’m Adam.”
“Maya,” she said, turning her attention back to the altar. Dwight had already told me this, of course, but I accepted it as new information and then tried to stare at her using only my peripheral vision. Dwight had told me her last name was Salvador, and I’m pretty sure she’s Filipino. Her short brown hair brushed the top of her shoulders in perfect even strokes. I was impressed that she’d managed to make it all the way down our pew and back without incurring the wrath of the nun at the end of the row. Nuns were usually quick to punish any disturbance during mass, but in this case Maya had moved with such swift determination that they couldn’t possibly object. Sister Catherine nodded in her direction.
I never would have gotten away with that.
Maya paid attention to what the priest was saying. I could see the force of concentration in her eyes, but every so often I felt her gaze drift toward me.
It took a minute for me to realize that she was checking to make sure I was okay.
I pretended that this didn’t matter to me.
I’d had friends back at my old school. I’d grown up with them. Ridden bikes with them. Snuck out after curfew with them. But when they found out what I was, they were afraid of me, just like Paul. After the incident at school and all the strange behavior, they stopped calling.
I’d known Michael and Kevin since we were five. We’d been on the same T-ball team together. They’d at least sent “Get Well Soon” cards when I left school, no doubt forced into it by their mothers, but no one came around after that. My best friend, Todd, disappeared completely.
Get Well Soon.
Like crazy is something you can sleep off.
But I know they were afraid and I get that. I’m not angry with them or anything.
I felt a nudge on my arm and looked down to see Maya staring up at me again.
“I’m fine,” I said quietly. She looked at me appraisingly and then turned back, clearly not convinced that I wasn’t lying.
The angels in the stained-glass window were still watching me, but I wasn’t paying attention.
Rebecca skipped ahead of me and turned back to smile in Maya’s direction.
—
After mass, all three hundred of us walked back across the lawn to our classes. Mine was religious theory, taught by Sister Catherine. It is the one class I don’t have with Dwight but do have with Maya. Sister Catherine is the youngest teacher at the school, but easily the toughest bride of Christ I’ve ever met. She’d probably bust out a ruler if she could, but when she’s angry about something, she wrinkles her forehead and her white-blond eyebrows practically disappear.
“Today,” she said, “I’m going to see how well you read your assignment.” She held up a red prayer book that had arrived in the mail about a month before school started. Part of our summer homework had been to read all the prayers, but Sister Catherine’s mouth was twisted in a maniacal grin. “I would like for you to write out the mysteries of the rosary, the Prayer of Saint Augustine, and Hail, Holy Queen from memory,” she said.
Everyone in the room groaned. It had not been part of the assignment to memorize the prayers, which is probably why Maya also had an irritated expression on her face. She tightened her lips and wrinkled her nose in distaste. Even a die-hard Catholic would probably not have the rosaries memorized, but if she’d known it was a challenge in advance, she would have memorized them all. I could just tell she was that kind of person.
“This isn’t for credit,” Sister Catherine added. “But if you write them all down correctly, you will have no religion homework for the rest of the year. You have one hour.” Her smile was victorious but mostly repulsive.
I’m actually really good at memorizing things. That’s one of the skills my little problem hasn’t taken away. Sometimes people with my condition have a rough time organizing their thoughts, but storing information has never been an issue for me. Over the summer, it took me maybe an hour to etch the whole thing onto the wall of my brain, so it took less than fifteen minutes to regurgitate it back onto paper. Maya raised an eyebrow in my direction when I finished way before anyone else, but she turned her head back to her own paper pretty quickly and, from the look of it, tried to make up something that sounded like a prayer she’d read.
I’m not usually into prayers, but there is a line in Hail, Holy Queen that I enjoyed.
To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve.
It’s supposed to sound devastating. Banished children of Eve.
But it actually sounds whiny. Like getting in trouble with your dad so you go running to your mom.
To thee do we cry.
I dropped off my paper at the end of class and stepped out into the hall feeling relieved that I at least wouldn’t have religion homework to worry about. I watched Maya navigate her way through the crowd and smiled at the way she managed to avoid touching anyone. Her shiny brown hair reminded me of hot chocolate the way it seemed to flow over the top of her shoulders. I watched her a lot longer than I should have.
Rebecca was sitting on top of a row of lockers, holding her knees against her chest and smiling to herself. She had a goofy expression of longing on her face that bugged me for some reason.
—
Dwight and I eat lunch together every day. Not sure if it was a conscious choice on my part, but I don’t mind admitting that it is probably the best thing about him—having someone to eat lunch with. It’s really awkward eating alone or trying to find a place to eat when all the tables are full. That is one of those moments when you shouldn’t feel bad that no one is going out of their way to make room for you, but you kind of do anyway.