stargirl

The first thing he noticed about her was the cigarette balanced between her lips; unlit. The new girl took a deep breath, her bag enveloped into her arms as she shuffled into an unoccupied chair. He’d seen her before at school maybe?—no, not school. But he knew he had to have seen her before, a person like this wasn’t one that could’ve easily shaken from memory.

As she sat nobody would look at her; he tried not to look either—or at least, not for too long. Looked at all that crazy hair she had, bright, and red and curly. God, it was the hair that got him. Those freckles, how obviously nervous she was, or—

He was staring again. Crap. And just as quick as he stole a glance, he looked away again. Closed his eyes, trying to swallow down the stoic of an extra heart back down to his chest where it belonged.

After what happened, he needed to settle his nerves.

But then he noticed her again. She was sitting directly across from him, pulling at the ends of her sleeves over her arms protectively; cigarette now gone, tucked into her pocket.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” he answered quickly. Perhaps, too quickly. Or maybe she didn’t notice how distracting her appearance was, he thought. Or maybe she wanted people to notice her.
It wasn’t like they were both alone in the waiting room either. A mother and son—clearly too young to even comprehend the concept of therapy—bickered, over the clamor of music playing, probably arguing about something trivial. A man— the father?—had a magazine held up high, as if that alone could shield him from their bicker. Clearly they were in sorts and needed some type of help, this family was brimming with tension.

He wasn’t like them; he knew he wasn’t but yet, why was he here? He didn’t have to be. There was always someone else to talk to, right? His mom, there was John, a few friends he actually considered to be close with too... but a therapist?
God, no.

His hands tensed into fists in his lap.

Gazing at the family and sneaking a glance at the new girl all stuffed into one microscopic cube of a waiting room, it made him think about the people who did have problems. Needless to say, he didn’t think too highly of his; typical high school stuff, he guessed. But maybe the family before him might’ve had issues that lay deeper than arguing about whether or not the son could have chocolate cake after dinner; or maybe, the girl’s dilemma of whether or not she should catch a smoke behind the building. Maybe there was something more with them— with her— but looking at them, he could never simply tell. If only...

“Beatrice? Beatrice Caverly?”

The girl looked up. The family shushed each other until they all finally succumbed to silence.

There she was, her therapist. She looked down to her clipboard, and then up to the girl. With the greatest ear-to-ear smile he’d ever seen on a person (or perhaps, the most fakest), she waved her arms for her to come forward. The girl, Beatrice,  finally stopped tugging at her sleeves and let them ride up to her elbows.

“I’m Dr. Meadows, but you can just call me Anna. Like Ahh-nuh,” the therapist gladly accentuated. Her arms fell to her sides and she shook her head with excitement; excited for what, he thought, he didn’t know. The girl certainly didn’t seem ecstatic, but at least she offered Dr. Meadows a little smile and for her, that was enough.

“Hi,” said Beatrice, quietly.

“Look at you; don’t you look as lovely a bluebell?”

She blushed.

“You do.”

“Um, well, thanks,” said Beatrice.

“Now if you are so kind to follow me right to my office, it is just around the corner, bluebell.”

Beatrice did.

So she was new. Not just new—but big and awkward. With her flannel shirt far, far too big for her—wasn’t that for men’s? And that ratty pair of Converse sneakers...

He watched her as he turned around the corner and ducked away into Dr. Meadow’s also too-tight office. He watched her as her hair bounced along with every step she took, and her jangling feather earrings and necklaces, but not before catching a glimpse of the last thing he noticed about her: the cuts all over her arms.