Ava took my hand and guided me through the halls of the Institute with Oberi at our side. When we arrived at Takahashi’s office, Kallie and Marcus were already there.
“You’re delusional if you think you can beat me in an arm wrestle,” Kallie laughed.
Marcus scoffed. “My biceps are the size of your calves.”
I’d felt Marcus’ biceps, and he was a liar with a capital L.
“And I’m a shifter,” Kallie pointed out. “I bet I’ve got more strength in my pinky finger than you have in your whole body. Let’s go right here, right now. We’ll prove who’s right.”
Marcus squeaked. “Oh, here’s Ava and Charlie.”
Smooth.
Kallie huffed. “Another time then.”
“Welcome, students,” Takahashi greeted kindly as we took our usual seats. Oberi sat between Ava and me. “How are you, Charlie?”
The tone of his voice indicated he’d noticed the bruises on my face. I barely felt them anymore since my last fight, but Ava had told me this morning they were still visible. “Fine,” I answered vaguely.
Takahashi cleared his throat, sounding displeased by the answer, but he didn’t push it. “And Ava? How have you been since… our last meeting.”
Ava sighed. “You can say it, Professor. Everyone else has already made a point about it. It’s called apsychotic episode.”
Something came through the bond when she emphasized the phrase. It was hard to make out, but it was clear she was bothered.
“Very well,” Takahashi said. “Let’s talk about your psychotic episode. This is a safe space, remember.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she insisted. Her foot tapped against the floor impatiently. “It’s something that happens with bipolar— not to everyone with the diagnosis, but to me. I’m on meds that are helping.”
Takahashi spoke softly. “I don’t bring this up to upset you, Ava.”
“I’m not upset,” she practically snapped. It was pretty obvious she was lying. “It’s just that my condition isn’t something you cantalk out. I’m not going to be magically cured through therapy.”
Takahashi remained calm. “It’s not my intention tocureyou. I only suggest that discussing your experiences may help you understand them better, and allow you to manage your condition with ease.”
“Any other suggestions?” Ava scoffed. She was obviously challenging him and didn’t think he could help.
“I understand your resistance,” Takahashi reassured her. “I myself have not experienced bipolar and simply cannot fully grasp what it’s like for you. However, I have seen many students with conditions like yours come through the Institute. The ones who make it out of here better than when they came in are those whoembracetheir diagnosis.”
“I amnotmy diagnosis,” Ava snapped. “I’m so much more.”
“Exactly!” Takahashi said proudly. “You are already on the right track. You arenotyour bipolar, but that does not make your bipolarwrong. Once you realize that and truly embody it, you can turn it into one of your strengths.”
Ava laughed nervously. “I’ve been fighting my whole life to be normal. Hell, I takemedicationto stay sane. No way is that a strength.”
“Perhaps that’s the problem,” Takahashi suggested. “You’ve been fighting your illness— resisting it. Instead of trying to fight your voices, thoughts, and moods, perhaps you can find a way to work with them rather than against them. Instead of trying to change who you are, you can accept it. You can learn what works during your cycles instead of trying to force yourself into the mold of what other people think you should be and how your mind should work. Your brain isn’t wrong, Ava. It’s just different, and you must find what works for you.”
I expected Ava to respond, but she fell silent. The emotions I’d felt rising through our bond seemed to soften, like she was truly considering Takahashi’s words.
After a few moments of silence, Takahashi changed the subject. “Let’s talk about high school. Marcus, would you like to go first?”
He always started with Marcus after we touched on something heavy, because he was the most willing to talk.
Marcus scoffed. “What’s there to talk about? I was a pothead with a bunch of fake-ass friends. Art was the only thing that made it better.”
“I believe the term your mother used in your entry letter wasmisunderstood,” Takahashi said kindly.
“I was such a poser. I had to fake who I was just to get by. It was all BS,” Marcus said. “I was in theater, and that made me happy, but even when I was onstage I never found people who could just accept me for me.”
