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***
"Oh, jesus!" He freezes, nearly running me over. "Hey, I think this is the men's bathroom."
"Yeah, I just found out." I force out a laugh. "Sorry."
I know he's seen what I look like right now. Wet hair and clothes, barefoot and puffy eyes. But he chooses to say nothing, and I am incredibly thankful for that.
"Not a problem." The boy gives me a one-sided smile, then tilts his head to look beyond me. "Hey, Billy! You good?"
I turn just in time to see a hand reach outside the stall and form a thumbs up.
"I've never been b-" a second wave of vomit doesn't let him finish.
Now, the prospect of me getting out of here without being noticed is virtually impossible.
So, I do the only thing I know how to. Makebelief. In which I make them believe I am not a runaway criminal.
Best they think I am no one, than to know I am someone. Than to ask too many questions.
My ability to keep secrets has been severely damaged in the last few years. If he asks, I'm afraid I don't have the courage to keep it to myself.
I was conditioned to react that way, you see. I can deceive, but when asked I am unable to lie.
I am pavlovian in that sense. His dog.
"That's your friend?" I ask. He snorts and confirms it with a short nod. "What happened?"
I observe his jaw tense.
"Chico." He says the name like it is a curse. The boy runs a hand through his curly hair and clicks his tongue. "He likes puns."
It has become systematic in my being to notice the smallest changes in the human expression. His sarcasm does very little to cover up his hatred towards this man.
I have no space in my mind for this mess that is not mine, but I have to remind myself that the person I'm playing does.
A no one would ask, so I do. "What did he do?"
"Mixed rat shit in his weed." He leans his back on one of the sinks.
"He sounds like a hand-full." I make a face while pondering how to exit this conversation normally. "Someone should do something about him."
His gaze falls on me and he seems confused. "You don't know him?" His tone tells me I should.
"Never had the pleasure to." I shake my head. "Thank the stars."
"You're new then." The boy cocks his head at the folded clothes I hold close to my chest.
Unfolding them, I see a white button-up shirt, black blazer with an insignia sown onto the left side and a matching tie. The exact same thing he wore, except for a skirt instead of pants.
I close my eyes, exasperated. It's a uniform.
Everything that could have gone wrong, did. And I can do nothing as my anonymity gets farther and farther away.
"As longs as you are affiliated, this kind of shit probably won't happen to you." He reassures me. "This place is like other high schools but with more brain-dead bigots. If you can live with that, you are going to be fine."
"I'm not a student." I tell him. "I'm not enrolled here."
He furrows his brows, taking a second look at me. From my feet to the tip of my head, he tries to read what he can to fill in the blanks.
The way he stares at me now is different from before. Only then do I notice he, too, has a suspicious nature.
He will ask, it's all over his face.
"Hope your friend gets better." I speak before he has the chance to. "I think I'll go find the girl's bathroom now."
He nods, still fixated on the uniform in my hands.
"Thank you!" The same hand behind the stall tiredly waves at me.
***
I take the walk back to Master Lin's office as a time to regain myself. I knew I was not the same as I used to, but I am in far worse shape than I had anticipated.
I thrived in peer pressure. I lied without effort and flawlessly. I never fumbled.
A few year ago, the sight of a teenage boy would not have thrown me off.
I know the answer, but I still ask myself how I got here. How did fear become a premise in my life?
The thing I am now is useless for everything he didn't design me for. Like make choices, like think with my own head.
But again, a well trained dog does not need to think.
That boy had been so unexpected to me because he is the very opposite of what I had learned to expect. He thinks, he feels. Openly and unapologetically.
He felt real when I had forgotten what genuineness looked like.
And he gave me a chance. He was not automatically hostile. He saw me, confused and falling apart, and decided to let me breathe.
It could have stayed that way if I hadn't also forgotten what it is like to be a teenager.
The possibility of carelessness is another thing I buried long ago. I don't know how to make a joke out of awkwardness, to talk with no stakes.
My habit of double-checking my body and my words gave me away.
Censorship is not teenage-like.
Then, things went south. As soon as I refused his chance, he became defensive.
It could've been mistaken for a youthful trait, if not for the the harsh transition. He was ready in an instant. To fight, to question, to argue.
He reminded me of Saya when we were kids.
She, back then, already had the idealism of a seventy-year-old woman with the filter of a kid. She, too, would have used the term 'brain-dead bigots' freely.
She, too, would have thrown me to the wolves if she saw through my lies.
If people here are like the boy in the bathroom, Saya has found her place. She never belonged in the dictatorship my family has always preserved.
Saya is fighting against her own conditioning, and I cannot be more proud. She deserves to speak her mind out of turn.
