Finding Me Read Free Page B

four other people joined in on her annoying quest to get my attention. I made every effort to stand in line and pretend I didn’t hear them. But it was unbearable. Like getting nudged continually with a fireplace poker in the gut.
    Tiring of the noise and wondering why a facilitator hadn’t stopped them from making so much of it, I whirled around and yelled. “What do you want?” However, the large crowd I expected wasn’t present.
    Swallowing hard. I glared at the wide-eyed girl behind me. “Did you say something…call my name or something?” She cocked her head to the side and raised one eyebrow. But she didn’t say a word. If it had been her, at least four other people yelled also. I craned my neck past her into the brightly lit hall. No one visible in the hall. I took one more annoyed glance at the girl behind me, then faced forward.
    No sooner had I turned than it happened again. “Chloe,” she whispered once. This time, it was only the female voice.
    I spun and scowled at the young girl who couldn’t have been older than 14.
    “How do you know my name?” I shouted. My reasoning had gone faster than a pair of Louboutin sandals on sale at Saks.
    She raised her hands in defense. “Dude, everybody knows who you are. But I didn’t say anything to you. Um…nobody said anything, actually.” I knew she told the truth. The voice didn’t sound the same. The more I contemplated it, the more I realized the voices hadn’t originated behind me at all.
    I turned in line, shamed, yet again. Trevor and Nosebleed Girl stared at me like I had a giant talking zit on my forehead. I put my head down and rubbed my throbbing temple. The direction of the voices disturbed me. What if the voices were in my head? Maybe I am crazy. Like my mother’s sister, Agnes. She was committed to an asylum up north. A confirmed schizophrenic. Maybe you’re crazy also, Carmichael , the voice in my head screeched. This time the voice didn’t scare me as much. I recognized it. It belonged to me.
    I tried to drown the voice with other thoughts. But it resurfaced. Overpowered me. Tiring, I closed my eyes and started building walls. Something I’d learned to do when I was a kid to block out unpleasant things. As a child, it had been my mother’s nagging voice or my classmates’ nonstop babble. Now on the cusp of adulthood, I’d forgotten this ability. I could make the world around me quiet – what I wanted – and exist in that reality. At least for a while.
    People assumed I lived this glamorous life. No one knew me…I barely knew myself. The real me lay hidden beneath carefully constructed lies. I had desires that would never be realized because of who I was. Chloe Carmichael. I hated her sometimes. She was weak. Pathetic. I’d always had this sort of out-of-body experience with life…like I was outside looking in. “Such a sad affair,” I’d say, “such a lost soul she is.” Only problem: eventually reality set in. I’m her. I couldn’t run from her. From me. The sad excuse for a girl hidden away within the socialite, the debutant, the BFF, the intellectual, and the daughter extraordinaire. After 16 years, the cancer had spread, and she – I – was debilitating.
    I opened my eyes and to my amazement, it worked – no more voices.
    Relief washed over me. At least something had gone right today. My turn approached in line. Mrs. Wright, the Attendance Coordinator, was a petite woman with a smile as big as New York itself. She listened as Trevor complained about the wait, then about the lack of chairs to sit in while he waited. On and on he ranted. Finally, Mrs. Wright smiled and handed him the yellow copy of his dismissal form.
    Mrs. Wright excused me promptly when my turn came. I strolled out of the office and into a barrage of questions. Three girls from my first period class stumbled over one another, spewing them at me. They must have witnessed my emotional meltdown. I assumed they needed direct information to relay back to