yellow fluorescent death sentence out of my grip. As she touched my hand, it surprised me that her skin felt warm this time.
âMay I tell you a funny story, Miss Romano?â she asked.
I nodded.
âWhen I was your age, my mother made me wear a string of fake plastic pearls to school each and every day. She thought they made me look elegant.â Twiggy sat with her memory for a moment. âItâs not whatâs on the outside that counts. It never is. Be lucky enough to understand that now.â
I had managed to stop crying and I looked at her. A soft pink flushed her cheeks, and instead of her pale blues eyes looking cold and empty, they now seemed tender andâ¦full. She didnât look severe or horrible or even mean anymore.
I wanted to tell her that I was scared and how much I deep down hated myself for being embarrassed about my family. I wanted to tell her that I felt different, and ugly, and that she was rightâ¦I didnât belong at Meadowbrook.
âOkay,â I said. And thatâs all that came out.
âDonât give up an opportunity just because itâs challenging. The greatest obstacles often yield the most splendid gifts.â Twiggyâs tone was soft and comforting. âWhatâs your next class?â she asked.
âGym.â
The second bell rang. Third period had started.
Twiggy put the bus pass on her lap and took out a small pad from her blazer pocket. She grabbed the felt-tip pen off her desk and scribbled a note. âGive this to Ms. Dalton, the gym teacher. It will keep you out of trouble.â
I took the note and hesitated before I asked, âDo I absolutely have to use that?â I pointed to the yellow pass on her lap.
Twiggy took the pass and ripped it in half, sending relief throughout my entire body. âIâll inform the monitor that you will be on board today. Just make sure you get on the West Orange/Livingston bus.â
I nodded.
âAll right, then. Get going to gym.â
I stood up and headed toward the door, but stopped. âUmmmâ¦I justâ¦thanks.â
Twiggy smiled. âYouâre welcome.â
âAnd Iâm sorry you had to wear fake plastic pearls. That must have sucked.â
âOnly temporarily,â she said.
âOh, good. Thatâs good to know.â I opened the door.
âNow, donât forget, Miss Romano, you still have detention today, 3:15 p.m. sharp in the study hall room. Donât be late.â Twiggy stood up, her hands neatly folded against her skirt. âAnd one more thing.â She took a few steps toward me. âYouâll do fine, Roberta. Just fine.â
Twiggy called me Roberta instead of Miss Romano, and I donât know why, but in that moment, I really did feel like everything was going to be okay.
A Perpetual War Zone
10:18 a.m.
On my way to gym, through the half-opened nurseâs door, I saw Mervin. He was slumped over like a sack of potatoes, holding his stomach. His gigantic green backpack was on the floor next to him. I already had a note excusing my lateness, so I stopped in to see what was going on.
âHey, Mervin,â I said as I opened the door and walked in. âYou okay?â
Mervin sat up. There were large, red, puffy blotches scattered across his neck.
âIâm just waiting for some medicine.â
âWhat happened to your neck?â I sat down on a chair next to him.
âNumber two pencil.â
âExcuse me?â
âNumber two pencilâ¦Iâm deathly allergic. If a number two comes in contact with my skin, I develop a shortness of breath, severe hives, and digestional complications. Itâs no joke.â
The puffy red welts did look horrible. And painful. âThat sucks.â
âWeâve all got problems.â
I thought about it for a second. âArenât all pencils number two?â
âStatistically speaking, yesâ¦unless youâre an artist, then
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