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“Your mom started going to the same therapy group as mine.”
“What?” I jump up, my hoodie sliding back down to my shoulders. Shivers run up my palms, and I grit my teeth. Mom is talking about me behind my back, telling people things I don’t want everyone to know. My stomach flops just picturing her in a circle of chairs, making sure every single person knows that her perfect son died, and she’s left with a failure of a daughter.
Tears sting at the corner of my eyes. I refuse to let them fall.
How could she do this to me?
“Our mom has been going to this group for years since my dad . . . you know.” His voice lowers at the end.
I’ve never asked him about his dad, not even back then. I think part of me is worried that he might get emotional if I do. What if he cries? There are people in the world that know the perfect things to do and say to comfort someone. I’m not that person. If anything, I’m the exact opposite. I’m the type to accidentally make a joke at a funeral.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I figured you knew about the therapy group.”
It’s not like Mom doesn’t talk to me about her therapy group, but I have a bad habit of not listening. Most of the time, she starts her stories with the intent of asking me to go with her, so I clock out as soon as she starts talking.
“It’s fine,” I huff. “I don’t need your mom to like me anyway. I just can’t believe my mom is talking about me behind my back like that.”
“I don’t think she meant for it to be that way,” he says.
“Oh, sure. As if you know what goes on in a group like that.”
“Actually, I do.”
My eyebrows meet in the middle. “Really?”
He’s so put together and calm. I would’ve never guessed he went to therapy. And to admit it so easily, I don’t get that. Doesn’t he worry about how it’ll make him seem? People that go to therapy are people that need fixing—they’re broken.
He nods. “I went for a couple of years, but I haven’t been in a while. It helped me feel like I wasn’t alone because other people were going through the same thing I was.”
“Didn’t it feel weird?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Maybe a little at first, but not for long. The group I went to was for teens. If you wanted, I could take you there one day.”
I scoff. “Talk to strangers about my feelings? No, thank you. I’d rather be hit by a train.”
“Well, if you don’t want to talk to strangers, you could always talk to me instead,” he says.
I shake my head, shifting my focus to stare out the window. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
I wish people would stop trying to force this on me. I can’t even talk to my best friend right now, so how in the world would I be able to talk to anyone else?
* * *
The day drags on.By fifth period, my brain officially turns off and every word coming from my teachers flies over my head. I have to fight my heavy eyelids to stay awake, and when the final bell rings, the last thing I want to do is go to the library and tutor Sadie.
I sit on one of the hard plastic chairs, waiting at the table tucked away in the furthest corner. My math book lays out in front of me, and I tap my pencil against the cover.
She should be here by now, shouldn’t she? It’s been ten minutes since school ended.
I huff, pulling out my phone to check if she’s messaged me. There’s a notification, but not from her.
Mom:
What time do you need to be picked up? I want to take you shopping after you finish tutoring.
I roll my eyes. There’s no way I’m going to do that. I need a nap, not a new shirt.
“Hey, Becca,” Sadie says, smiling as she comes around the corner. The top half of her hair is in space buns, and she went a little crazy with the glitter on her eyes. She drapes Ethan’s jacket on the back of the chair next to her and plops down across from me. “Thanks for agreeing to this. Math and I aren’t exactly on the best terms.” She pulls her book out of her bag and lets it fall onto the table with a thud. Then, she leans in, like she’s telling me her best-kept secret. “Who decided we need to find invisible numbers anyway? Aren’t there enough real world problems to solve? Like, someone suggested we solve world hunger, and someone else said, ‘No, invisible numbers are more important.’ I’m at the point where I think I could find world peace before finding some of these answers.”
