“Nothing,” I replied.
His face was turning red now. “Did they call you names? Did they hurt you?”
He had put his fork down. One hand was squeezing the end of the table.
“It’s nothing, Daddy.”
I tried to grab his hand, but he pulled it away.
“Tell me!” he shouted.
I don’t like when my father is angry. And I do not lie to him. Ever.
“He said I was a retard,” I whispered. My hands came back to my lap to hide there.
“Who?” he said softly.
My mom could see what was coming now. “Let’s just relax. We can talk later—”
“Who?” he demanded. He stood up so fast his chair fell over. “Tell me!”
I don’t do well with shouting. I like the quiet, and shouting makes my brain shout too.
“I don’t know!” I said, my hands over my ears. “I don’t know!”
I didn’t like Taj. But I didn’t want anything to happen to him. My dad had threatened a boy for calling me a freak a few years ago, and he had almost been charged.
“Tell me!” he screamed.
“I don’t know!”
One day Dr. Ring told me emotions were like a tide. They rise higher and higher and it is hard to stop them once they start. But normal people build walls and breakers. When the water comes, it doesn’t destroy anything. I don’t have those. And so when the tide comes, it washes me away.
Now my dad was screaming, “Tell me!” and threatening to go to my school and saying terrible curse words, and my mom was trying to calm him down, and good-bye, Sara Malvern.
The water sprung out of my eyes and nose and I beat the table with my fists until my plate shattered on the floor and my brain said, “Retard, Retard, Retard!” and there was spaghetti everywhere and my mother was shouting and my father was raging and that was our Wednesday night dinner.
NOTE
Maybe you are wondering, “Do you really talk to your brain, Sara? That’s weird because you are your brain.” But the answer is yes, because my brain can be a bully, and sometimes it feels much better to say, “Back off, stupid brain!” than to say, “I don’t like myself,” even if they mean the same thing. If that confuses you, don’t worry. That makes two of us.
CHAPTER 4 FLOWERS AND SAILBOATS
The next day I was home alone after school. Usually my dad is there having a nap, but for the last few months he has been late a lot. Mom yelled at him about it and he said he would try harder, but this was already the second day this week. It was fine. I was twelve now, and crazy or not, I could take care of myself. Sometimes I liked to be alone. Most of the time. Why?
It’s normal to feel lonely when you are by yourself.
I could cough or pace or scream and it wouldn’t bother anyone.
The only person that said mean things to me was me.
But today I was nervous. I had my first group session in a few hours. With other kids.
So, I used the afternoon to read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone for the tenth time. I like it the best because I get to spend time with non-magic Harry when his life stinks and then discovers that he is actually special and his life is going to rule. It’s just like me except I do have a bedroom and parents. No owl, though, so it’s sort of a wash.
I read a lot. Reading is when my brain goes the most quiet. It doesn’t call me anything or think about my day or make me play Games that I don’t want to. Mom said it was fine to read all night, but that I had to take breaks. So every hour I get up and stretch or jump or do a little dance if my door and the curtains are closed. I have a laptop and a cell phone, but I am not allowed to have internet on them because of some previous incidents.
So I just put on the radio and dance to whatever is on.
I don’t think I am very good. But I do love to dance. We have dances at school once in a while, and I always go. I don’t dance, but I still watch, and dream, and make plans.
One day I will be better. Normal. I will have friends and I will dance. I just had to follow the rules. I had to talk. I had to get rid of the Games. I would be normal. I would.
“Do normal kids have to try to be normal?” my brain asked. That thought settled in. I don’t know if most people feel their thoughts. Some of mine are light, and some of mine are heavy. And when the heavy ones come, they stay and spread out too.
Another Game. It was the Lead Ball, and my body got heavy. I lay back in bed and opened my book and tried to go back to Hogwarts, where a spell could probably fix me.
* * *
Later that evening, at seven o’clock sharp, I found myself sitting on a stiff chair in a circle of kids.
There were four other kids there: three girls including me and one boy. Not James. I was a little disappointed, which didn’t make any sense. Then again, my brain never makes sense.
“We are welcoming a new member today,” Dr. Ring said. “Her name is Sara.”
There were a few murmured hellos. I think one girl was having a panic attack.
Dr. Ring folded his hands and smiled.
“Sara, we don’t do anything too formal. We just meet and talk about our weeks and any issues that might have popped up. Sometimes we discuss certain themes that I have prepared. It’s all very conversational, just like our individual sessions. Everyone should feel comfortable. This is a nonjudgmental, safe space. Okay?”
Bad start there, but I nodded so everyone would stop looking at me.
Dr. Ring’s office felt small when there were five people inside. It was all bouncing knees and watching eyes. A little ball formed in my throat. That is always a warning sign for False Alarm. It’s like someone is pressing their fingers against my windpipe. I fought the urge to cough or fidget. I didn’t want to embarrass myself on the first day.
“Great,” Dr. Ring said, checking his clipboard. “Would anyone like to start? Mel?”
That was the panic attack girl, but she was busy trying to breathe. I watched as she tried to force it down, smiling with only the edge of her lips, and everyone just waited for her to start. That was different. Normally people laughed or looked uncomfortable or said something mean.
These kids just … waited.
I had never really been around other crazy people. There weren’t any at my school—apart from one, maybe—and it was fascinating to watch anxiety or whatever Mel had work its way through her body. It was like looking in a mirror. Her feet shifted. Her fingers searched for something to hold. Mine started to do the same, and I wanted to chew my nails, but fought it down. The boy was already chewing his, and there wasn’t much left of them. Why was I here?
Was I really as bad as them?
“What do you have?” someone whispered.
I turned and found a girl staring at me. She had wavy red-brown hair and a lot of freckles. She had almost no eyelashes—just a few stray ones at the corners of her eyes—and her eyebrows were nearly gone as well, except for some stubble.
She was still waiting for an answer. I shook my head.
“I don’t get it,” she said.
I shook my head again.
“You don’t talk,” she said, grinning. “That’s so cool!”