The one good thing was starting classes, learning things. She was riveted by all her subjects, raising her hand in class and asking every question she had, which also earned a lot of stares, for some baffling reason. Weren’t these other kids also here to learn? But they made fun of her for being so into it. She’d tried three times to strike up an intelligent conversation with other students, about her favorite books or the latest discoveries in science or things they were learning in class, to be met with either blank stares or vague ridicule. She remembered being accused of being a teacher’s pet in high school, but this was college; she thought all that would be over by now. Anyway, she was nobody’s pet; in the big lecture-hall classes, no matter how many questions she asked, she doubted the instructors knew her name.
Apparently, when Alison called her a freak, which she did almost daily, she was right. Samara had always thought she was just being a jerk, but apparently Alison, who had way more social skills than Samara could ever hope to develop, knew something Samara didn’t. Samara didn’t know what made her a freak. Maybe it was some sort of taint on her, some vibe she gave off that she’d never been aware of, because she’d spent basically her whole life with Dad and Alison. Maybe she was an outcast in her own family because she would be an outcast anywhere; within her family was simply the only place where she would be forgiven her taintedness.
She gave up trying to talk to anyone, enjoying the anonymity of a large college campus, since any time she did try to talk to someone, she ended up making herself an outcast in yet another social circle. Yeah, she was lonely. Depressed, maybe. She wasn’t really sure. There was a constant ache in her heart that she learned to live with, like she’d learned to live with never having anything she wanted. Things were no different overall; she’d simply given up one thing she needed for another. Sometimes she wondered if in leaving her family and being disowned, she’d given up the one consolation life had grudgingly handed her, but it didn’t seem to matter. Everything had been stacked against her from the time she was six months old--maybe even since before she was born, or at least, that’s how it had always felt. No matter where she went or what she tried to do, somehow it would always end up being a mistake.
Chapter 2
A month or so after classes started, she was studying in the library when someone sat down across from her. “Hm ... Homer,” she said. “I love Homer. Doughnuts, choking Bart, causing meltdowns.”
Samara was in fact reading the Iliad--not for the first time by any means--it was one of her favorites, though not nearly as awesome as the Odyssey, which had always seemed almost like a metaphor for her own life. It was one of the first books Samara had ever read, since Dad kept a copy on hand for one of his cons where he was a well read man of the world. Samara glanced uncertainly over the book and saw that she was looking at her. She smiled at her awkwardly and went back to reading. Not one word she’d said had made a lick of sense to her.
“You think I’m a complete fucking idiot, don’t you?” the girl murmured.
“No,” Samara said politely, and went back to reading.
“I do know who Homer is. I mean, that Homer.” She pointed to the book, which Samara set down, since apparently the girl wanted something from her. “But ... you have no interest whatsoever in talking to me, do you?”
Samara smiled wistfully. “Trust me, it’s not that.”
When she tried to leave it at that, the girl quirked an annoyed eyebrow. Man, how did she manage to piss people off saying virtually nothing? “Then what is it?” she challenged.
“Well ... you would think I was a complete idiot if I tried talking to you. Everybody seems to.”
Oddly enough, this seemed to please the girl. She looked ... charmed. “Try me.”
“I, uh ... I have no idea what you were talking about. Doughnuts, what ...?”
She grinned once she understood what Samara was referring to. “Not a Simpsons fan?”
“I ... have no idea what that is.”
“Didn’t have a TV, growing up?”
Samara thought back. Never, when they were renting a place, unless it came furnished, and that almost never happened. As for when they were staying in motels, Alison was always using the TV to try to arrange to get some free cable. She’d seen some stuff here and there, but apparently not that. Samara shook her head and picked up her book again, sure that would be the end of the conversation.