Page 7 of On the Bright Side
I grab the cheap carnival stuffed octopus from my desk and tear it apart. Limb by limb.
The next victim of my rage is that sweater that was supposed to be his. Hours upon hours to weave the threads together, seconds to pull it all to shreds. I sink to the ground, defeated, while Cheese prances around in the wreckage.
Like I’m in a trance, I hold tight to my phone, scouring social media for any hint of what Cody is up to tonight. His accounts, his tagged photos leading to friends’ accounts, his siblings’ updates, as well as any of his new recent follows. I’m a total wreck, while he’s out there somewhere having the time of his life.
I scroll for the next several hours until my body physically can’t stay awake anymore.
But I find something I wish I hadn’t seen. In the background of a photo posted by his brother’s girlfriend an hour ago, there’s Cody. He’s lounging on a couch, arm around some other girl. Not the slightest bit upset.
I was just a convenience to him, not worth the trouble now that someone else is more readily available. And yet, for me, he was everything.
Like that, it’s all completely over. My plans for the future crumble.
I lost Cody. I lost Brandview. I don’t know who I am anymore.
The next day is Monday, my first at Amber High. I wake up with my head throbbing and eyes crusty. If only it had all been a terrible nightmare, but I’ve got a screenshot with evidence right there on my phone.As if I’d need reminding.Today was already going to be hard enough. Now I’m supposed to face a brand-new school after my entire existence has been pulled out from under me?
If Cody is going on and thriving without me, I’ll have to try to do the same. I don’t want to give him a second thought.
Which is easier said than done.
Dark clouds encroach as I drive the fifteen minutes to Amber, the high-traffic suburban roads littered with tired commuters heading into the city for a morning of work. The wispy branches of the blue ash trees slash around in the strong wind. When I get to the school parking lot, the only spots left are in the back, so I sprint across the pavement, entering the wide brick building mere seconds before heavy splashes of rain fall from the sky.
There’s so many people moving around me, knowing exactly where they need to go. I lock eyes with another poor lost soul—obviously a freshman—yet she’s immediately claimed by a small gaggle of other fourteen-year-olds, all eager to find kindred spirits in their new environment. I have no such support. Everyone else my age already has their friends, favorite meetup spots, and place in this school.
I don’t belong here.
I make my way through the crowds to the front office, where, after taking one glance at me and the devices on my head, the receptionistcalls for someone on the intercom and gestures for me to take a seat. A few minutes later, a woman with a name badge that readsMs. Lily—Guidance Counselorcomes to greet me. She’s a petite thirtysomething-year-old whose enthusiastic smile could give my old roommate a run for her money, wearing a bright yellow dress that clearly didn’t get the dreary weather memo.
“Welcome, Eleanor! Your interpreters aren’t”—she overmouths her words, unsure how to speak to me—“here yet.”
I just nod in response.
“Locker.” She points down the hall while handing me a slip of paper with a number and lock combination. “Meet me back here at—” She holds out eight individual fingers across both hands, then just her index finger, then all five on one hand, looking quite proud of herself.
“Okay, thanks,” I say out loud, not really wanting to give her the satisfaction of signing one of the only words she might know in ASL, before heading off to wander the halls.
There’s so much clatter around me—doors opening and closing, shoes shuffling across the floor, and students shrieking with excitement to catch up with friends they haven’t seen all summer.
Back at Brandview, I usually went without my hearing aid or cochlear, especially for classes that were conducted entirely in sign language. I prefer the world without all this unnecessary noise. From the app on my phone, I mute my devices and use them to stream some rage breakup music instead.
Except, when I find my locker, the girl who’s at the neighboring one gives a little wave and says something after gathering her books. I scramble to turn off the music so I can hear her, but when I look up, she’s already walked away. That probably wasn’t a good first impression. Today is not great.Ugh, just got to keep my head down and power through.
At 8:15, and not a second earlier, I circle back to where Ms. Lily is waiting with my assigned interpreters. It’s two women, both in long-sleeved black shirts. They almost look like a mother-daughter pairing, but they’re too close in age for that to be the case. They’re both pale, blond, and super smiley. The older one—Kim, I learn is her name—is short and plump, while the other, Pamela, is tall and slim.
Following our initial introductions, Kim signs, “Nice to meet you.”
“Yes, same!” Pamela chimes in.
“We’re both part-time,” Kim signs, explaining something about their current childcare schedules. “Going forward, Pamela will work your morning classes, and I’ll do the afternoon. And then we’ll cover for any of each other’s absences throughout the semester.”
“Okay, thank you,” I sign, and catch Ms. Lily’s eyes lighting up in recognition, just as I expected.
“Thank you!” Ms. Lily says and signs, but her motion comes too close to signing “fuck you” instead. Classic.
I stop in the bathroom to get a moment to myself before class. Up first is physics, which is taught in one of the labs, apparently on the total opposite side of the school. I rush, getting there with only a minute to spare, and find that a seat has been reserved for me at the front of the room.
Pamela is already in position, waiting to interpret. She’s in a folding chair only a few feet away, facing me, frowning as she reads something on her phone before sliding it into her purse. Other students stare at the two of us as I slink into my predetermined spot.
