Detached Read Free Page B

sidesplit house. We have a hedge around our backyard and a big maple tree in the front. Even my family is normal: two kids and two parents. I’m not ridiculed, bullied, or singled out in any way. I’m not fat or ugly and I don’t have acne any worse than any other sixteen-year-old girl. I’ve never been beaten, neglected, or abused.
    As I floated on the air mattress I thought about how someone on the outside would look at my life and think I was very average and middle-class. Some people, like Aliya, might even see me as privileged. The thing I was sure about, though, was that nobody would understand why I so badly wanted to stop existing. It’s not that I wanted to kill myself. I just wanted a break from being me, which meant the thought of dying was never very far away. In fact, whenever I let myself think about it, I felt the torment fade away. I felt more at peace than usual. I know it’s ironic. My whole life is one big irony. For instance, it feels like I’ve wanted to finish this life since I can remember. When I was a child, I wanted to hurry up and get old so I might finally fit in. I never felt like I belonged with other children, not even my brother. I didn’t know how to play like the other kids. I didn’t know when to laugh or how to be silly. I felt like a foreigner in my kindergarten class. It’s like I knew from the beginning that I somehow ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I guess it’s like ordering fettuccine alfredo at a restaurant and the waitress brings you a fruit salad instead. Even though it’s perfectly edible, it just isn’t what you want.
    Mom kicked herself off the side of the pool and a few drops of water landed on me. I rolled over onto my stomach. Not surprisingly, my mind turned to my grandparents, which it did about every thirty minutes. Before they died I was resigned to the detached complacency that dragged on me every day. But after they were plowed into the river by a chronic drunk, I began to feel desperate, and after a few months of waking up to the same feeling of hopelessness every day, I started to get scared. I mean, you always hear people say they reached rock bottom before things started to get better. The thing that scared me most was that I might not have a rock bottom. I was afraid I’d keep going down into a deeper, darker hole.
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Aliya
    By grade nine I’d been the new kid so many times I’d stopped stressing about the first day of school. When I was little, I’d worry about what to wear and what to take in my lunch. I’d worry about if I should try and make friends right away or if I should wait and see who wanted to make friends with me. But by grade nine, I’d pretty much given up on any sort of plan. If I made a friend, I wouldn’t have to eat alone, but if I didn’t, well, I wasn’t going to starve. But then I met Anna on my very first day at Bachman and everything turned around. I’d never met someone like Anna before. She was pretty and smart and she was exactly the type of artist I wanted to be — dedicated and focused.
    Of course, my mom offered to go with me the first day of grade nine, but I straight up refused.
    â€œMom! This is like my sixth new school. I think I have it figured out by now.”
    She was getting ready to go to work and fussing over me at the same time.
    â€œI can drive you, make sure you get to your homeroom okay. This one’s a lot bigger than any of your other schools. What if you get lost?”
    â€œI’ll stop at the office and get directions. I can handle it. Stop worrying. You’re already late for work.”
    â€œI’m allowed to be late now and then. This is a big day for you. Your first day of high school. I’m still so proud you got accepted.” She was starting to get that nostalgic look on her face which meant I either had to get her out of the apartment or get out myself before the tears