Mind Over Matter

Chapter 1

I sat outside anxiously picking at my fingernails, avoiding eye contact with anyone who dared to disturb my isolation. My usually-dark skin was a cold, sickly grey, and my palms were moist. I continued to pick, though my nails had long ago been reduced to nubs. Going to a new high school is hard for anyone, but coming to boarding school is a completely different story. I suddenly wished I had my suitcases with me so I had something to hold onto, but they had already been taken to my dormitory- which I have been avoiding. I will postpone meeting my future roommate for as long as possible, or at least until the lump in my throat retreats. The horseshoe charm bracelet on my wrist caught my eye, and the thought of my gelding warm in his stall lessened the enormous knot in my stomach. Groups of girls fluttered by, giggling and chattering, each noticing my solitude. None of them, however, chose to acknowledge it. Memories of loneliness trickled through my mind like a leaks in a roof, retightening my stomach with each second, but I clotted the flow before any real damage was done. The inevitable was drawing nearer, and I knew that moping around was not going to change the fact that I eventually have to meet my roommate and settle into this temporary home. With one last pick at my thumbnail, I entered the dormitory building labeled Winchester Hall.
It was surprisingly warm inside, and my skin began to return to it's usual milk-chocolate color. A massive wall of names and their corresponding dorm numbers stood imposingly across the room. I searched for my name for what felt like hours, and the jumble of letters and numbers grew more and more intimidating. What I saw were names of foreign tongues like "Menby Wadle" and "Wabison Calbmell", which I then deciphered into "Wendy Mable" and "Madison Caldwell". Even after fourteen years of living with dyslexia, it still takes me twice as long to read. Hoping nobody noticed how long it took me, I finally found my name on the gigantic list, which connected my name with room C-4. Two flights of stairs later, a glossy white door stood between me and my new home. Living in the same little bedroom in the same little neighborhood for the last fourteen years did not prepare me well for what is to come, but a small piece of my stomach knot was replaced with a fragment of hopeful excitement. Anxiously, I grabbed the doorknob, gave it a feeble turn, and pushed my way into what I hoped would be better than I imagined.