Bittersweet Dreams Read Free Page B

study a math problem or a science theory, pause, step back, and analyze. Maybe if I did a full, intelligent, and objective review, I would have an easier time living with myself, not that it was ever easy to be who I was or who I was going to be.
    Was I cursed at birth or blessed?
    I suppose the best way to answer such a question is to ask yourself how many people you know your age or a little younger or older who would want to trade places with you, would want to have your talents and intelligence, or envied you for your good looks enough to accept all the baggage that came along with it.
    Right now, in my case, despite my accolades and awards, people like that would be harder to find than the famous needle in a haystack.
    But the thing was that despite it all, I didn’t even want to look. I didn’t want to be validated, complimented, or even respected in any way.
    I looked in the mirror again. Allison was right. This was a nice color for me.
    I wondered, would anyone where I was going notice, and if they did, would they care?
    I must have wanted someone to care. I did want to have friends, and I did hope that there was some boy out there about my age who would find me attractive.
    Otherwise, why would I have taken so long to choose my clothes, the way a prisoner on death row might contemplate his last meal?

2

    When the phone rang in my room, I thought it was probably my father giving me an update on the time we would be leaving, but it was Joy Hensley, my new and only best friend ever since I’d made an effort to help her with her anorexia, something her own mother hadn’t been addressing properly. The school nurse wasn’t effective, probably worrying about a lawsuit or something, and there certainly weren’t any other girls at the school who would give her a second look or show any concern. I would have to admit that when I first considered helping her, it wasn’t out of any particular affection for her. She interested me the way anything abnormal might. There aren’t too many species that deliberately do something harmful to themselves.
    Joy fit so many descriptions of potential anorexia sufferers. She was heavy when she was younger and thought being thin would win her more friends and admirers. I suspected that she was afraid of growing up; she wanted to be a preadolescent forever. In short, she was afraid of sex. Eventually, I was fascinated with what I could do to change or heal her.
    â€œI really didn’t say good-bye to you properly,” she began.
    â€œIs there a proper way to say good-bye, Joy?”
    â€œYou know what I mean,” she said, and followed that with the jingle of a giggle she usually used when she was nervous or frightened.
    â€œI’m beginning to wonder if I know what anything means, Joy.”
    â€œOh, no. If anyone does, you do.”
    For months, I had tolerated Joy’s exuberant compliments, knowing she was desperate to keep me as a close friend, but I had gotten so used to over-the-top compliments that I almost didn’t react to them anymore.
    For most of my life, people, especially teachers and other adults, were more interested in what I thought than in what I felt. It was as though being given almost supernatural intelligence deadened my feelings or diminished them to the point where they weren’t necessary or important. If I was sad, I could think my way out of it, you see, and the only way I could be happy was to discover a new fact or add something to my encyclopedia of knowledge. That’s what they believed about me. No wonder they saw me as some kind of monster, a brain creature who had microscopes for eyes. Despite how ingratiating and fawning Joy could be, I had no doubt she harbored some of the same feelings about me. Ironically, she was very fond of me, respected me, but was also at least a little afraid of me. Can you have a close friend with that combination of feelings about you?
    â€œIs your new school more