Chapter 7

I don't know how long I lay there feeling sorry for myself and wishing I was dead before someone turned the water back on. This time it was soothing hot water. I looked up and expected to see Miss Philps. Instead it was Marilyn.

"Stay here," ne said, "get warm, and I'll be right back."

I pushed myself to my feet and let the water flow down over me. The warm after the cold was making me sleepy. I tried to figure out how I was going to get all my stuff together and make it out of the locker room, never mind the school.

The shower turned off and Marilyn wrapped me in the biggest towel I'd ever seen. Ne handed me a t-shirt and some leggings.

"This should fit you well enough for now." I dried off with hands that were wrinkled from all the water. I heard splashing as my clothes were rescued from the toilets. So I quick put the Tshirt on and pulled on the leggings. As soon as I was wearing the clothes I felt human again. Feeling human meant burning with shame that Marilyn had seen the pasty body that I inhabited.

"Who?" ne said.

"The whole class," I said in a mumble. "It was my fault Chastity fell. I was looking at her."

Marilyn snorted, then wrapped up the wet clothes in the towel. She poked her head out the door, then led the way to nir washroom. I hesitated at the door and ne pulled me in. It didn't look much different than the other washrooms. It was painted the same ugly green with the same line of sinks on one wall. Marilyn draped my soggy clothes over the cubicles.

"When you didn't come for lunch," ne said, "I got worried. Those bitches looked like cats that ate the canary so I came looking for you.

"Thanks for coming for me," I said. "I was afraid I wouldn't freeze to death before the next class came in."

"Come here," Marilyn said and showed me nir wrist. "You can't see it very well because my parents know some very good plastic surgeons..." Ne traced a finger along a faint line that ran from nir hand up toward the elbow.

"Ouch," I said. "How did you do..." I let my voice run down as I realized what I was seeing.

Marilyn nodded. "Piece of glass from a bottle," ne said. "My mom came home early and found me. I spent most of last year in different psych wards letting different doctors try to put my head together. This," ne waved a hand over nir outrageous body, "is the end result of deciding to live what is inside instead of outside."

"Is it easier?" I asked.

"Hell no," Marilyn said. "People hate me even more now. You've seen it. My parents had to call in a lot of favors to get the Board to do this. Mom told me that she didn't care if I wore a dress or a suit to graduation as long as I graduated. So, here I am."

I looked at nem for a long time.

"Thanks for saving me, and for the clothes, and for not laughing at..." I waved my hand at my body exactly as Marilyn had over nirs.

"You're the closest thing to a friend that I have right now," Marilyn said. "I...." Ne let the sentence die and took a deep breath. Instead ne enveloped me in a hug. I felt tears soaking through my borrowed T-shirt. I reached up and hugged my friend back as hard as I could.

My stomach rumbled and I realized that I wouldn't have time to eat before math, but Marilyn handed me a granola bar and I set off for my enhanced math while ne went to nir next class.

Math was my oasis. Numbers made sense and they always did the same thing in the same situation. There were six of us in the enhanced math. The five guys in math were more interested in learning math and getting a perfect score than in any of the drama at school. They probably wouldn't understand it unless you could write it out as an equation. They sat at their desks; I sat at mine. Mz. Mulholland sat behind hers and talked about the art of mathematics. We'd finished the set course the week before, so now she told us about Fermat's Theorem and other great proofs. I'd never met anyone else who could make math sound as exciting as her.

After math, I had chemistry. Chemistry was a mixture of excruciating boredom and adrenalin thumping danger. Mr. Hall was the teacher. He believed in textbooks; especially since he wrote the one that we used in his class. He recited the book to us from memory in place of instruction.

You'd think if he wrote the thing, he would be able to answer questions without looking them up. If you asked a question, he would pick up your text and open it to the page with the answer and set it down in front of you. Then he would tap the spot in the text while he recited the answer. I once asked a question that didn't have an answer in the book. It took me a week to think of it. He just looked at me and said that it wasn't in the course and continued teaching as if I hadn't said anything.

The danger came from the labs. On apparently random days, Mr. Hall would be wearing a white coat and my guts would start to churn. Ron was the only person who would be my lab partner. He said that it was because he needed me to get him through the course. I would have thought that he would let me run the experiments. Not a chance. Ron had this notion that he was some kind of chemical genius. Our desk was a silent tribute to his inability to follow instructions.

"Today," Mr. Hall said, "we are going to observe the chemical reaction of sulphur and zinc over heat. Be sure to follow the instructions carefully."

I took a look at the bright shiny new fire extinguisher on Mr. Hall's desk and knew I was doomed.