"The Adventures of Super-Freak"

It is almost fifth period at Sayview High School and, thankfully, this means lunch. Mom made eggs this morning that I refused to eat on account of her whistling show-tunes with Jack. I stuffed a granola bar in my cargo pants when she wasn’t looking, when she was busy tousling Jack’s hair, just to let her know that I didn’t need her one bit. But the granola bar is long digested and my stomach may as well have a microphone the way it now growls in chorus class, turning the heads of several students who snicker at me.


The bell rings and no one is listening to Mrs. Keen whose voice is barely above a whisper. The students stampede out the door, their invisible shackles temporarily removed. Chorus is mandatory for one semester at Sayview High. There’s nothing more painful than the sound of people singing who can’t sing. I am one of those people.


My stomach grumbles again and one of the girls who snickered turns around. “What the hell is that?”


She is small with a face that makes me think of everything fine and delicate in this world. She is a younger version of my mother and this is enough reason to hate her.


“I was asking myself the same thing,” I say and look her up and down like she is a twig I can snap with my pinky.


“As if,” she snarls, her cheeks inflamed. “Come on girls,” her dark eyes flit to the three girls waiting at the door. “Let’s leave this freak.”


At almost six feet tall with breasts large enough to qualify as flotation devices, I am a freak. I am a freak whose heart races, who can’t believe what she’s said to a girl with an army of friends and expertly lined eyes. I am a spinning top who desperately needs a friend to stop my course off center. I need Seth.


The cafeteria is packed so I head out to the courtyard where clusters of students eat on makeshift tables of red brick and grass. Outside there is the never-ending sky and heavy treetops to soften the social blow that there is no place for me at Sayview High. But there is Seth, examining carrot sticks he takes from a Ziploc bag, under a towering maple. He is my oasis in this giddy world of academic hell. I make a beeline for him, despite knowing that I probably destroyed any chance of friendship at dinner the other night.


“Well hello there.” A boy dressed in all black raises his eyebrows at me. He is Michael Jackson post surgeries, more girl than boy.


I ignore wacko-Jacko and sit down next to Seth. “Please leave,” Seth says and stares ahead.


“Oh come on, let her stay,” a red-haired boy who looks like Animal from The Muppets pipes in.


“Yeah, let her stay,” the boy in black adds looking up from his ink sketches of naked women.


“Who asked you two?” Seth snarls and they look away like punished dogs.


“Look, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’m sure your mom is a wonderful person,” I say.


“Dude, I thought your mom died. What’s the deal?” the red-head with the shaggy goatee asks.


“Just shut up already!” Seth packs up his lunch with the care of a surgeon prepping for surgery and stands up. “You and I will never be friends, okay?” He storms off toward the cafeteria.


“Seth,” I call after him. But he is already gone.


“Dude, she must be a super-bitch,” I hear the red-head say. “Yeah, but she’s a hot super-bitch,” the perverted artist replies.


Tears prick the back of my eyes but I refuse to let them out. My body shakes with the kind of anger that is close to euphoria. I stomp over to the two boys. “You need a sex change,” I point to the artist in all black, “and you need a shave,” I point to the red-head. They both stare open-mouthed and I turn on my heel towards the cafeteria, more emboldened than ever for destruction when I hear the red-head say “Dude, she’s the biggest bitch I’ve ever met.”