Leave it Unread

Chapter 1

It's truly difficult to constantly be behind everyone else. Like, literally behind everyone else. I've never taken up space or done the thing that makes everyone go "woo! Noelle conquered the high school idiocy of the general population that made her invisible!" I have always been, and probably always will be, in the shadows. It's quite literally all I know when it comes to operating as a human being (well, my terms thus far in my life when it comes to existing): stay behind everyone, don't speak unless spoken to, and never, under any circumstances, try to cement your position as once-a-loser-now-a-loved-human. It won't work. It's why I spend all of my time reading.

For as long as I can remember, I have read romance novels at the hopes that while reading one, someone will come up to me and say, "hey! I'm here to applaud your brains and you're also kinda hot so let's go out!" Well, not really like that--it's more so that I have always wanted to be the one in the romance novels who prevails over any and all adversity. The one who is constantly stepped on gets married to the love of their life who happens to notice their smarts, their wit, and their position as an equal. I am happy to say that this all happens in my imagination and so far, I have only gotten a wink from the cafe barista at Barnes and Noble after upgrading for 55 cents from a grande to a large, which warranted a high-five from his manager. A pity wink, I call it. For a damn venti chai.

And now you're probably wondering how in the world Noelle Simmons is THE underdog. Well, let me tell you. I have a best friend, Kathleen Jones, who was the star from the minute we met. When my parents divorced at the beautiful age of eight, and seeing as my mother wanted nothing to do with me, my father moved us to Iowa to start a job as a Professor of Microbiology. When I ask him one, why my mother simply removed herself from the picture all together and two, why he had to pick Iowa of all places to have us live, he says this: "stability, honey." Which paints my mother as unstable, which I call MISOGYNY, which warrants an eye-roll and a kiss on my forehead. To this day, I don't know the actual reason for my mother's estrangement. All I know is that my father and I would be a team. And if anything came out of the already tumultuous life that I was living, it would be that I had the best cheerleader on my side: my father.

I'd go outside and play hopscotch with myself until Kathleen came up to me one day, her blonde curls bouncing with each step as she introduced herself. From that minute forward, Kathleen ensured that I'd always be a part of the neighborhood friend group--I was, quite literally, the pity friend. The one with a single father, the one who was called in at 5 P.M. every evening while the pack stayed out until 6:30, and the one who didn't have Heely's like everyone else. When someone in the pack finally acknowledged my existence for not having said Heely's, my honesty overcame any other excuse that could have cemented a more inclusive future for me: "my dad says Heely's are a product of the American idea that we must constantly be moving, constantly productive in which the wheels on shoes take away from slowing down. It's problematic, he says." Which, of course, made no sense at eight-years-old, but within my father's explanation as to why I'd never get Heely's, I had gone from Kathleen's friend to simply Kathleen's shadow.

And that's simply how it's always been. Kathleen, I'm sure, always tried to include me in group conversations, but I simply always just sat at the lunch table and looked at Kathleen in admiration. For everything she said and did, at least there was me, the ultimate fan, to help ensure that Kathleen was a woman of the people. She would talk to popular kids AND the nobody's like myself. I'm sure people applauded her for that, too.

Now I sound resentful, which is never my intention. I couldn't have gone through life, especially high school, without Kathleen making some sort of space for me in her life. Well, I would continue to have this space if it was a guarantee that when Kathleen would be courted by someone she was really, really into, she could lay on my bed as I told her the right thing to say to the guy. Which, in affirmation of my many talents, always led to a nice relationship for Kathleen to immerse herself in, which won me friendship points. It was a nice transaction, my words for Kathleen's friendship. At least it feels that way when Kathleen sometimes looks me in the eye and says, "what would I do without you, Noey?"