I headed into the cafeteria, my hair still wet from showering, and looked around for a place to sit. The prospect of plunking down among a group of kids I didn’t know made me wildly uncomfortable.
A waving hand caught my attention—it was Lorena, sitting at an otherwise empty table in the corner by the window. Relieved, I hurried over.
Lorena gave me a big smile. “How’s it going?” She was clearly a morning person, no sign of sleepiness in her brown eyes.
“Okay, I guess.” That was all the enthusiasm I could muster at eight a.m.
The cafeteria was like a restaurant. There were waiters to take your order, and they had everything—pancakes, eggs cooked to order, French toast, Cocoa Puffs, frozen yogurt, anything you could think of. It was cool, but I also found it a little creepy. What sort of school has waiters?
Lorena had ordered everything, or just about. She had three plates in front of her. She caught me gawking at her breakfast and stopped mid-chew.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . . you’ve got an amazing appetite.”
She forked another hunk of blueberry pancakes into her mouth. “I know. I always eat like this. I must have an incredible metabolism.”
I, on the other hand, didn’t have much appetite when I was in strange, new places. I picked at my chocolate chip pancakes, each bit feeling like it was clinging to the sides of my throat on the way down.
Lorena was studying me. “You okay? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem, like, way tense.”
I laughed. I had a nervous laugh that came braying out sometimes when nothing was funny. “I’m always way tense. I have an anxiety disorder. Being sent to a strange boarding school on two days’ notice definitely doesn’t help it.”
“What is an anxiety disorder, exactly? I mean, I’ve heard of it, obviously. But I don’t totally get it.”
“It’s just . . . you feel anxious a lot of the time.” I felt uncomfortable saying too much about it. I wanted Lorena to understand why I seemed “way tense,” but I didn’t really want to dwell on it.
Lorena leaned in closer. “But why? What causes it?”
“The way my psychologist explained it, my anxiety volume button is broken, basically. We all have a baseline level of anxiety. If you have low baseline anxiety, you mostly get anxious if there’s a good reason, like you have to give a speech in front of a bunch of people, or you’re going to have surgery. Then there are people like me. Most mornings I wake up feeling like I’m going to have to give a speech and then have surgery.”
Most kids I told looked embarrassed for me, or uncomfortable. Lorena looked genuinely concerned, which was a nice change. I felt so lucky we’d ended up sitting together on the bus ride in. Lorena was so easy to talk to. She was good at filling awkward silences, which were my specialty.
“Is there anything that can fix it?” she asked.
I shrugged. “My psychologist helps a little. Medication helps. But I still spend most of my time feeling anxious.”
“That sucks.”
Another student stopped at our table. She was African American, her head nearly shaved, freckles running across the bridge of her nose. She was small, but everyone was supposed to be in seventh grade, so she must have just been small for her age. She had an intense expression—not angry, but no smile in sight.
“Have a seat,” Lorena said, gesturing. “We’ve got tons of room.” Which is what you’re supposed to say to make someone feel welcome.
Me, I just sat there saying nothing, feeling awkward in the presence of a new face. I was disappointed someone had broken up our table for two. I felt more comfortable talking to one person at a time, where I knew when it was my turn to speak and didn’t have to try to jump in when there was a pause. Plus, Lorena was the only person I sort of knew here. I didn’t want to lose the one friend I had or end up as the tagalong like I usually did.
A waiter came over to take the new girl’s order. The girl ordered all healthy stuff—fruit, yogurt, whole-grain waffle.
“Have either of you heard anything from your earbud yet?” she asked as the waiter walked off. “I haven’t heard squat from mine.”
“Me neither,” Lorena said.
I just shook my head. The earbud was uncomfortable. It partially blocked my ear canal, making sounds louder in one ear than the other. It also made me feel strangely off-balance.
Lorena stuck out her hand. “I’m Lorena, by the way.”
“Persephone.”
“Benjamin,” I mumbled. Persephone stuck out her hand, and we shook as well.
“I don’t understand what they’re going to use them for,” Persephone said. “We’re in school, but some stranger is going to tell us what to say?”
“Maybe they can feed us answers on our tests,” I ventured as I poured more syrup on my chocolate chip pancakes so they’d go down more easily.
Lorena chuckled at my joke and went back to fueling up. “So where are you from?” she asked Persephone.
“Baltimore.”
“A city girl. And it goes without saying that you’re exceptionally mature, or you wouldn’t be here,” Lorena joked.
Persephone gave a sharp, harsh laugh. “I’m exceptionally something.”
The bell rang. Everyone started filing out of the cafeteria.
“Well, here we go.” Lorena took a deep breath.
Persephone fell into step beside us as we filed out. She was wearing all black—t-shirt, loose pants, tennis shoes.
We cut through a gate and headed across the center courtyard, toward the school.
Persephone pointed as we walked. “You can see more of those carnival rides from here.”
The roller coaster had a big sign on it with Cyclone in yellow lettering. There was a high corkscrew drop at the end. Beside The Cyclone was a Ferris wheel, then one of those ships that swung back and forth, an alpine sled ride, and then a row of game booths.
“I wonder if we’ll get to ride them,” Lorena said. “I’ve never been on a roller coaster.”
“You’ve never been to Great Escape, or Busch Gardens?” I asked.
Lorena threw her hands in the air. “I’ve never been anywhere.”
“They said we wouldn’t need money while we’re here,” Persephone said. “Either that means the rides are free, or we aren’t going to get to ride them.”
“That would stink to have carnival rides sitting right there and not get to ride them,” Lorena said as we reached our new school.
The doors to Sagan Middle School were propped wide open. Despite the school-like appearance of the outside, the inside was weird. It had no metal detectors, no security guard. There were no lockers in the hallway, just freshly painted white walls. The strange empty building gave me a crawling sensation, but I got that feeling in all strange new places, and sometimes in familiar old places as well.
“What do you think the deal is with this special student?” Persephone asked. “Her appearance might scare us? What does that even mean?”
“Direction,” a man’s voice said through my earpiece, startling me. “Change the topic. Talk about something pleasant—how good breakfast was or a recent movie you saw.”
I could tell from Lorena’s and Persephone’s expressions that they’d just gotten their first earbud direction as well and they were also disturbed to realize people were listening in on our conversation.
“Okay then.” Lorena cleared her throat. “This place is going to be fun. How about those Packers?”
“Read any good books lately?” Persephone said, grinning, as we headed into the classroom.
I slowed as I stepped through the doorway.
It was taking up two seats pushed together. It was bluish and lumpy with all of these folds, and, oh man, were those her eyes or her ears? She was wearing a purple dress and weird round patent leather shoes, and a bow was in her hair, only it wasn’t hair, it was more like black spaghetti, and I couldn’t breathe.
The thing in the seats flexed, and suddenly it wasn’t lumpy anymore—it was hard and sharp, with pointy barbs sticking out of it. It hissed like a giant punctured tire.
“Direction,” the man’s voice said through my earpiece. “Do not stare. Put a smile on your face, find your seat, and face the board.”
Panting, shaking, I looked at the name cards tented on the desks, searching for my name. When I finally spotted it, my insides felt like they were turning to water.
My seat was right next to the thing.
“Direction. Take a deep breath and sit down,” the earpiece voice said. “Do not repeat. She won’t hurt you.”
Pressing my hands on desktops to stay upright as I passed, I slid into my seat and leaned as far away from the thing as I could, the muscles in my neck so tight I heard a creak when I turned to look at the board.
I could hear it breathing beside me—a hiss like a bicycle tire inflating and deflating. I couldn’t get those ear-eyes out of my mind. The jet black dots darting around in the centers must have been its eyes, but they were surrounded by thick, dark purple folds and ridges that resembled the outsides of ears. It had no neck, just a wide purple head attached right to its massive torso.
A few kids gasped as they filed into the room, but I didn’t look—I kept my eyes on the board as I’d been instructed. That voice knew what was going on, and I didn’t, so I was going to do exactly what it said.
The teacher, a middle-aged woman with dark, curly hair breezed into the room with a bright smile on her face. She acted like there was nothing strange going on, welcomed us to the school, introduced herself as Ms. Bazzini, and started taking attendance. When she called my name, I said, “Here,” in a tight squeak that barely made it out of my throat.
Then she called “Eve” and looked to my right at the beast. Ms. Bazzini raised her eyebrows, encouraging “Eve.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the thing tentatively raise a fingerless hand. Ms. Bazzini beamed and nodded. She called the next name.
What was this thing? I wanted so badly to bolt from my seat and climb over that fence and keep running until I was safe in my room, under my blanket. I made eye contact with Lorena, who was leaning off the edge of her seat to be as far away from it as she could, even though she was on the other side of the room.
“Wow,” she mouthed silently.
“Direction. Eyes front,” Earbud Guy said. I turned to face front and looked around for the camera this guy was using to see my every move. I couldn’t find it.
Someone near the back of the room was crying quietly. I glanced back. It was a kid with bushy brown hair named Drew, who slept in my dorm room.
There was no math, no science. A ton of recent history, a little English, and then . . . etiquette. Etiquette. There was no such class in school as etiquette. We learned how to make polite conversation—how to keep the tone positive and constructive, how to find something to compliment about the other person. Ms. Bazzini went on and on about the proper way to greet someone you’re meeting for the first time. How old did she think we were? Four? We knew how to greet someone.
“Now I want you to pair up and practice this,” Ms. Bazzini said.
My heart hammering, I turned and tapped the big kid sitting to my left on the shoulder. “Want to be partners?” But Ms. Bazzini was going down the rows, pointing with forked fingers, calling out pairs of names, and as she came down my row, I could see who those forked fingers were going to pair me with.
“Ben and Eve . . .”
My lips went numb. My fingertips too. There was no way I could use them to shake this monster’s hand. I wanted to cry, or scream. I wanted my mother. But more than anything, I wanted to run.
“Do not repeat,” Earbud Guy said. “Here we go, Ben. This may be hard to believe, but she’s as nervous as you are. Stand up and face her.”
I didn’t want to—I so, so didn’t want to—but I did what the voice said, because that’s what you do; you do what adults tell you, especially in school.
The creature went on staring straight ahead.
“Hi, my name is Ben,” Earbud Guy said.
It took me a moment to remember I was supposed to repeat that. I opened my crater-dry mouth and said, “Hi, my name is Ben.”
The creature turned her head ever so slightly.
“This is a stupid exercise, isn’t it?” the voice prompted.
I repeated it.
The creature ignored me.
“It’s good to meet you anyway, Eve,” the voice said. “Direction. Now extend your hand and offer to shake.”
There was no way I was going to do that. I’d seen the way barbs could come stabbing out of this thing. The words I could say, though.
“It’s good to meet you anyway, Eve.”
I turned to sit.
“Direction,” the voice nearly shouted. “Now offer her your hand. Don’t let me down here, Ben.”
I hesitated. The voice was like an invisible hand, pushing me, turning me. I didn’t want to do this, I so didn’t want to.
I stuck out my trembling hand.
Eve looked at it, then away.
I went to drop my hand, but Earbud Guy jumped in. “Direction. Keep it there.”
I stood there with my hand in the air, trembling from head to toe. Everyone in the room was watching, while trying not to make it obvious, probably getting directions from their earbud voices telling them not to stare.
Eve raised her hand, or hoof, or whatever it was, without looking at me. I looked down at the fat stump of purple flesh.
“Do not repeat. Yes. Good,” Earbud Guy shouted. “Her fingers are about four inches up her arm. See them?”
I nodded. There were four of them, writhing around like they had minds of their own.
“Don’t nod. Grasp two of the fingers, very gently, and shake them once.”
I was panting like I’d just run a marathon as I grasped what looked like two purplish worms, shook the mushy, jiggly things for a split second, then brought my hand back and lunged into my seat.
“Do not repeat. Nice work, Ben. Nice, nice work.” In the background, I thought I could hear other voices, just barely. They sounded like they were cheering.
My heart slowed as relief washed over me. I’d survived.
What kind of school was this?
As Ms. Bazzini went on about formal versus informal greetings, I looked over at Lorena, but she didn’t notice. She was busy being in shock, staring glassy eyed at the board. Persephone, on the other hand, caught my eye and gave me a knowing smile, like she was somehow enjoying this. I was not. I felt as if Eve might turn at any minute and take a bite out of my face. I fixed my gaze on the dry-erase board and tried to forget what was sitting beside me. After class, if I survived, I’d ask one of the adults in this loony bin if I could switch seats.