HOW TO DISAPPEAR

I'm back ;-;

"I, uh . . . yes. Here's your drumstick. I caught it. Self-defense, of course, totally. You could put an eye out with that thing. But here you go. All yours now. Happy to be of service" Oh my God. Happy to be of service? Did I actually say that out loud? The word spew is an occasional side effect of never speaking to anyone. It's like my brain stores up every ridiculous thought I've ever had and then projectile vomits it all over the place. To make matters worse, I cap it off with a cheerful, "Go forth and prosper!" Adrian laughs again. "You too, spock." I decline to clarify that I wasn't quoting the Vulcan, who actually said, "Live long and prosper," because my brain has thankfully gone into complete lockdown and we are swept away in the throng of students. This is why you can't have nice things, Vicky. Like friends. Or conversations. Instead of continuing to my world history class, I duck into the nearest girls bathroom, trying to tamp down a sudden wave of nausea. I don't succeed and heave into the toilet, holding my hair back with one hand and steadying myself on the toilet roll dispenser with the other. One of the girls I dashed past on my way in says "Ew" and scurried out. I flush and stare into the toilet bowl, which is now clear and filling with water. A knock on my door startles me. I turn to see a pair of red Converse high-tops on the other side, the yin-yang symbol Sharpied onto their rubber toes. I love that symbol. Jenna and I first discovered it the summer before seventh grade and adopted it as our own secret code. We downloaded a custom emoji so we could text each other. We even got temporary tattoos of it once and swore we'd get real ones when we were old enough.