Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
My mom tells me we perseverate. I’ve learned it’s a nice way of saying we’re obsessive and overthink everything. The hard part about being a genius is knowing all the fundamentals but not being able to talk to anyone about anything mundane without sounding like an asshole.
My mom sounds sweet and kind and genuine. I sound like I hate everyone. Because mostly I do. I like Maverick because he gets me, and we both love hockey. I like my dad because we share the same passion, and he pushes me to be better. I love my mom because our brains are the same, and she feels the same level of guilt I do when I’m not entertained by people. And I revere Lavender because she’s all the things I’m not. She’s sensitive and aware, kind and sweet, and she’s soft and compassionate. But she’s also a warrior.
She knows how to exist in this world without always having to be part of it. Sure, she falls apart, but if she didn’t, I wouldn’t have the same role in her life, so I live for those moments when she needs me.
I glance over at my dad, but he’s focused on driving. I key in my passcode and tap the message. Lavender knows my hockey practice schedule since I play with Maverick.
Lavender
ru at the arena yet
Kodiak
Heading to practice, sup?
I wait for a response, but one doesn’t come right away. Finally the dots appear, and then disappear and appear again. That familiar unsettled feeling makes my legs restless, like there’s an itch under my skin I can’t get to. I force my feet to stay planted on the floor and my knees not to bounce.
Kodiak
u ok?
Lavender
Everything ok, talk ltr
I stare at those four words, willing them to shift and change into the truth. Lavender doesn’t usually message until later in the evening, especially when I have practice.
Kodiak
don’t lie 2 me
The dots appear again. This time the message is more jumbled, as if she’s having trouble typing, which happens when she’s having an anxiety attack and her fingers won’t work the way they’re supposed to.
Lavender
ill b ok msg me aft prctace?
I want to call her, but I can’t with my dad right beside me. I don’t want another one of his lectures about how it’s not good for me and Lavender to rely on each other like this.
Kodiak
where are you
Lavender
drama clb at scool
Lavender helps paint the sets because it’s what she’s really good at. She can sing, but she doesn’t like it when there’s too much attention on her. Any attention really. Teachers know not to call on her in class—not because she doesn’t know the answers, but because she can’t stand all of those eyes on her, and she can’t respond when everyone is looking.
She loves the drama club, but lately she’s been having a hard time because there’s a girl who isn’t very nice to her.
Kodiak
Courtney messing w u?
Lavender
she wont leve me alone
Our school is close to the arena. I check the clock. We can stop, and I can fix whatever is wrong and still make it to practice on time.
I take a deep breath and fight the panic creeping down my spine over the little lie I’m about to tell. “Oh crap!”
My dad glances at me, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“I left my math binder at school, and we have a test on Friday I need to study for.”
“Don’t worry, kiddo. We’ll stop at the school and pick it up on the way home from practice.”
I let my knee bounce and run my hands up and down my thighs. “Can we stop on the way to practice? Sometimes they lock the doors to the hallway my locker is in before five, and then I can’t get to it. It’s an algebra test, and I got a few questions wrong on the last assignment. I don’t want to mess it up again.”
My dad looks at the clock and then down at my shaking legs. The little lies make my throat feel tight. We do have an algebra test, but I almost always have perfect scores on my math. But if my dad thinks it’s going to make me anxious during practice, he’s more likely to stop for me. He doesn’t understand my worry the way my mom does, and he doesn’t read my cues the same way either.
My mom would know I’m faking it, and she’d make me use my strategies to help calm down. My dad always goes right into solve-the-problem mode.
“You can’t be late for practice.” He grips the wheel, obviously considering it.
“I won’t be late. It’ll just take me a minute to grab it. Please? I really need to study tonight.” My voice cracks, because some of my anxiety is real. I need to get to Lavender, and if he doesn’t stop so I can, I’ll end up having a real panic attack. Practice will be a mess, and it’ll be a huge downward spiral that will take me hours to get out of.