In This Moment(4)

Mara blinks and her expression flattens out. “Just remember that this is the beginning of a fresh start. That’s what you told Mom and Dad that this was going to be. It’s what you promised.”

The words settle around me. I can feel the weight of implication in them.

You promised.

I guess that I did call it a “fresh start.” I’m not sure if it was ever the truth, but after more than a year of not understanding who I’d become or what I expected from them, I knew that it was exactly the sort of statement that my parents and therapist wanted to hear. And maybe it was what I wanted to believe.

I take an exaggerated breath and nod my head. For my sister, I can do this. I can steady my heart and act the part for the two girls that she introduces me to.

Lindsey and Jenn are exactly what I expect Mara’s friends to be like. Pretty, popular, polite. With matching lip-gloss enhanced smiles, they squeal like meeting me is the greatest thing that’s happened to either of them in the past year. It’s excessive. It makes my stomach turn over, but when Jenn—the blonder one—asks me if I’m coming with them to the recruitment fair to check on their sorority table, I swallow down my uneasiness and say brightly: “Yeah, of course I’m coming.”

I don’t miss the approving smile on Mara’s face, or the way that her shoulders relax.

Keeping up the façade, I smile back and I listen to their stories and I laugh in all the appropriate places because I know that this is what everyone wants—a normal college freshman. They want me to be like Mara. They want me to talk animatedly about hair products and get excited about recruitment fairs and parties and nail polish colors. Nobody wants to know about the nightmares or the riptide of memories constantly trying to drag me under. The world doesn’t want to be forced to look at my scars.



***



“The sorority table is over there!” Mara shouts, grabbing my hand and almost pulling me off my feet. She tugs me toward a wide courtyard nestled between the football stadium and a cluster of brick-faced dorms. The space is open and bright—bursting with tart greens and gemstone blues.

Looking over her shoulder, Mara points out a large fountain in the center and some picnic tables and I nod absently—my eyes bouncing off the unfamiliar buildings and the smooth planes of nameless faces.

Classes don’t start for three days but today there is some kind of informational event on campus and people are everywhere—looking into clubs and fraternities and sororities before Greek Rush next week. The recruitment tables are set up in tiers that spiral outward from the fountain in three large loops. Lindsey is trying to explain to me the dynamic of each of the student groups, but I’m not really paying attention. I’m focused on keeping up with my sister as she weaves determinedly through the crowd trailing me behind her like a limp flag.

We stop in front of a waist-high booth decorated in a blitz of pink and green glitter. Mara, Lindsey, and Jenn are instantly swarmed with squealing, laughing girls. I let go of Mara’s hand and hang back awkwardly—like a strange growth that no one knows what to do about. When I catch a redhead regarding the scar on my neck, I instinctively take a step back from the group and turn away. Deep breath. One. Two. Three.

“So you’re Mara’s little sister?” A lone girl walks up behind me. She’s petite with chunky cobalt blue streaks running through her brown curls and a silver stud in one of her nostrils. Her black cutoff jeans are full of at least a dozen purposefully placed holes and her deep purple shirt is cropped so that her tiny midsection is exposed.

I glance at the sorority table and back to the girl standing next to me. It’s the ultimate juxtaposition, kind of like looking at one of those which-one-is-unlike-the-others brainteasers. She seems to understand the perplexed expression on my face. “Don’t ask.”

Okay.

“So, you’re a freshman, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” I answer.

Despite her emo hair and go-screw-yourself outfit, the girl is a ten on the friendly scale and starts to ask me questions. I try to engage, wanting to ease the anxiety coiled in my belly, but every time I attempt to open my mouth, it’s like I’m pulled further into myself.

I lift my hair, now damp and heavy with sweat, from the back of my neck and stand on my tiptoes to search the courtyard for a sliver of shade. Beyond the fountain, I can barely make out the outline of a white tent lined with coolers and students selling waters. Turning back to the girl, I say, “Will you let my sister know that I went to grab a water and I’ll be back?”

A strange look flickers across her face and I think that she’s going to ask me what’s wrong, but instead she nods her head and waves me off. “Sure. I’ll catch you around campus.”