“A friend is one that knows you as you are. Understands where you have been. Accepts who you have become. And still, gently allows you to grow. ”

- William Shakespeare

It’s a spiral day. I know it as soon as I wake up. The party on Saturday didn’t do anything to help me. On Sunday, I spent the whole day sleeping in. I went down for lunch and dinner and that was all. Luckily, neither Mom nor Dad sneaked into my room to check up on me.

Today is Monday, and sadly, I have school, so I have to go. I can’t make another excuse to sleep for the day. Mom won’t let me.

I walk down the hallway towards my locker until I spot a mop of blonde hair. I smile reminiscing the memory from Saturday night. I call loudly, “Hey, Something Carlson!”

Carlson freezes in place. He remembers me. I smirk.

He moves slowly, turning around to face me. All the while I can see his straight set of lips turning into a frown. God, how much I love that.

“What?” he asks me. I stalk forward.

“Nothing, just wanted to say hi, now that I’m your friend,” I say with a smug smile.

Carlson raises one of his eyebrows to express his surprise. “Since when are you my friend?”

“Oh, c’mon,” I nudge him in the shoulder. “I figured out your biggest secret. ”

Carlson sighs and runs a hand through his blonde hair. I enjoy that he can’t stand me. I really enjoy it.

“You don’t even know my name,” he says, looking me in the eyes.

I know his name. I knew it as soon as I woke up in his bed on Sunday. His name is Oliver Carlson. He’s a junior like me. We have always gone to the same school. I distinctly remember him being in my kindergarten class and at the same elementary school.

Oliver is not one for popularity. All through the years he was known as Carlson, as the son of rich Dave Carlson, as the brother of Owen Carlson. His father owns the Carlson Ltd. I know about that because my mom and dad were the one who supervised the making of the high rise building of Carlson Ltd. that stands up in our small town. You can see it from anywhere. It’s like a mole on smooth skin.

At least, that’s how I see it.

“Is that really important?” I ask smiling.

“That’s one of the first things you know about someone. A name,” Carlson points out, leaning against the locker behind him.

Is that so? I have never been successful in making friends. I know their names, all of their names. Once I hear someone’s name, I don’t really forget it. I couldn’t remember Oliver’s name that night because I was intoxicated, but any other time, it would have taken me seconds.

What use is it for me to know names? I knew all the faces, all the names, yet I never really knew the people behind them. I never really knew anyone. Those names left a scar, reminding me every time how little I knew.

I knew Oliver’s name, but knowing him would take more than that.

“I may not know your name but I,” I tiptoed and whispered in his ear, “I slept in your bed. ”

Carlson grimaces. I laugh.

“It can’t be that bad,” I say. “You should savor it. A girl slept in your bed. When was the last time you took one to your room?”

Carlson straightens up, “That’s none of your business.”

“Why can’t it be? I’m your friend now,” I say.

Carlson shakes his head and turns around. I follow him.

“Is Something Carlson a celibate?” I ask. Carlson stops in his tracks and glares at me. I laugh.

“Maybe Carlson’s a virgin,” I say and he lets out a heavy breath.

“I’ve had enough,” he says with his hands in fists, and he storms off.

After a few strides, when he is almost out of hearing range, I shout, “Do your bed sheets smell like me, Oliver?”

A few students turn around and look at my face. I offer them a smile. Oliver Carlson stops mid-step and turns around just a little. The sunlight in the hallway lights up half of his face.

“No, Gwen. They are covered in your drool.”

*****

I’m in the clouds. It happens every time. Whenever I am spiraling, I am always up in the clouds. I am floating.

The teacher in front of me is saying something. I’m in Physics, and I don’t mind this class. Ms. Terrington is a good teacher.

Three seats in front of me, in the front row, is Sean. He’s taking notes furiously. One seat to the right sits Jolene. She’s narrowing her eyes. She is not big on notes, but she is noticing every word that is coming out of Ms. Terrington’s mouth. She is turning them over in her brain. Three seats behind me is Doughty. He is messy, a chatterbox, and is always making trouble, but he is listening enough to ace the test. He always does.

Then there is me. Once upon a time, I used to be like them, listening, taking notes, concentrating, noticing, examining, acing the tests. When I used to care a lot about my grades, they were straight A’s. Now, I have to try really hard so my grades don’t slip, and I don’t fail.

I am trying so hard to focus. But every time I turn my attention back to Ms. T, I get lost somehow.

I am up in the clouds, floating. No one is here to drag me back down to the ground. No one is there to let me go, so I can be free, so I can finally fly away. Far, far away. For that I have to cut the ties, all of them. But I can’t.

Some people cut their own ties, leaving me. Some of those ties I cut myself, abandoning them. There are still a few ties around me, not tight enough to bring me down to earth, not loose enough so I can cut them off and let go.

That is why I am floating, somewhere in the middle, stuck. Not on the ground, not in the sky, but in the middle. Not enough water to drown me, not enough pull to drag me under and fill my lungs with it, but enough water to keep me afloat.

“What are you doing up here? Go, go, go back down. ”

“I am trying. I am trying.”

“You're not trying hard enough. Try, try, try, until you can’t try anymore.”

Ms.T’s face comes into my view. She is calling my name. I am standing up. My body is standing up. Ms. T asks me a question. I know the answer, because I learned it. I am trying to remember. I can only remember half of the sentence. My lips are moving. I am answering. I say what I intend to say. Ms. T isn’t satisfied with my answer. She is shaking her head. She asks Sean, who is raising his hand, waiting eagerly to answer. He answers. The class moves on.

It doesn’t only happen when I’m in class or when I’m studying. When it’s a spiral day, it happens all the time. When I’m eating, I can’t tell what I’m eating. When I’m talking to someone, they are saying words, but those words don’t reach me, because I am in the clouds.

I sit back down. I blink. I am here, I am here, I tell myself. But I’m not really here.

I once read a book about a character who was thinking about how she can see herself, like her soul is out of her body, and she can see herself doing things but she is not the one doing things. I didn’t understand it then. I do now.

*****

I grab my lunch and turn back around to face the cafeteria. It’s large and loud. The tables are occupied by juniors all around the room. They’re with their groups, their friends, eating, laughing, joking, squealing, acting, breaking, winning, losing.

I am here trying to figure out where I should sit. It’s not the first day at school. It’s October. I should have had somewhere to sit by now. I always did.

There was a time when being lonely didn’t even matter. I had friends, but like I said, ties got cut and left me with no one. I didn’t mind much. How much could a fifth grader mind? She walked around on her own, had lunch with herself, listened to her classmates talking and laughing. She listened, and sometimes she talked too. But most of the time, she was a lonely little girl who enjoyed the quiet.

Things changed, and so did she. Now she was afraid to be alone. Being alone meant having to deal with all the haze and the clouds. What if she floats so far away that she can never come back? She still wanted to be on the ground.

I have tried to fit into different tables for the last months. I’ve eaten with the jokers. They are always pulling pranks and making fun of each other. They are a lovely bunch. I sat with them for a full week. They didn’t say anything.

That was what they did. They didn’t say anything. I was completely invisible. Even though I sat at the same table, and I laughed along with their jokes. Even though I knew all their names, yet they never tried to learn mine. Even though I tried to joke with them, my jokes never fit. They didn’t even give me a glance.

I changed tables, done with the jokers and the class clowns. They were too stupid and reckless for their own good. They didn’t know how to treat smart people. I should be with the smart people. I was smart once, really smart. ‘All the teachers love me’ type of smart.

So I sat with the smart people. They acknowledged me, noticed me, listened to me talking. I sat there for a long time. As I sat there, I realized a lot, and I learned a few things about the smart people.

The smart people are really clever. They are always praising one another but inside they hate each other. Sean hates Jolene. Jolene hates Doughty. Doughty doesn’t let it show whom he hates. He is everyone’s favorite, but I can tell with hundred percent certainty he has his own list.

They are always discussing smart things, information, knowledge, things they research about, things they know, but they never say it all because whatever they know must be saved at all costs. Their knowledge is way too valuable for everyone to know.

Still, they were all friends. The jokers are as selfless as people can get. The smart ones, well, they are as selfish as people can get, because they are clever. They know in order to go up, you have to push some people down. They do it with no regrets.

I used to be there, competing, trying to go up, pushing people down. That was the eighth-grader me. Always running, competing, always looking for the room to improve, prying for information, begging to learn.

But I can hold on for only so long. I got tired, so I let go. Now I know why. That is not me. I may be smart enough to figure out a math equation, a physics problem, a chemistry reaction, but I am not as smart as Sean, Jolene or Doughty. I am not smart and clever enough to push others down.

I would rather keep floating.

I still sit with them sometimes when I am focusing enough to catch their conversation. I say some stupid things. They give me credulous looks, then I confess I haven’t studied that far yet. They are always ahead of what our teachers are teaching us.

But on the spiral days I keep my distance. They are too much for me. So here I am, not wanting to be alone.

Where will I go?

The drama geeks aren’t a choice. Neither are the movie geeks, or those science geeks, because those subjects are not my forte. There’s a table where a few people are sitting with their faces buried in a book. They are in the book world. I want to be with someone who is in this world, who can be with me right now.

Then I see my favorite mop of blonde hair. Ah, Oliver Carlson, followed by Jason Swindlers.

Jason is a few inches taller than Oliver. He has dark cocoa skin and short black hair. He is laughing and smacking Oliver on the shoulder. Oliver is shaking his head like he is hopeless. That makes Jason laugh harder.

Okay, I have found what I’m looking for. Jason Swindlers is in this world, and so is Oliver. None of them can ignore me. I hope.

Jason and Oliver sit down on the corner of a table, and I head right towards it. I set down my tray and grab a chair from the nearest table, sitting down as if I always sit with them, like I belong there.

This is what happens when a group of people live in the same area and go to the same school. They make their own groups, like they always do. And now, years and years later, I am trying to fit in, because when they made groups, I fell out. Some people always fall out.

I try to get in, but the groups are compact. The jokers, the smart ones, the geeks, the book nerds. No one wants to let me in. Maybe they will let others in. But not me. I don’t fit their description for new friends. And, newsflash, they are not looking for a new friend.

Jason and Oliver aren’t either, but I am here to try my luck.

“So, what’s up boys?” I ask, taking a bite of my apple.

Jason looks at me, and then he looks at Oliver, trying to process what is happening. Oliver sighs and throws his head back.

“Come on, Oli, you know you like me,” I say taking another bite.

“That’s the last thing I will ever do,” Oliver replies. I laugh.

“Liar,” I say and turn towards Jason. I smile.

I reach for the fries in his lunch tray while he watches me with an amused smile and a raise of his eyebrow. I steal one and then grab his milkshake. His eyebrow raises higher.

Then I dip the fry in the milkshake and take a bite.

I look over at Oliver who is staring at me with this look as if he is trying to figure out whether I have lost some brain cells or not. I may have.

It doesn’t taste bad, at all. You can never go wrong with potatoes, even if you try.

“How does that taste, honestly?” Jason asks, a lace of judgment and confusion in his voice.

I grin,“Good. Would you like to try? ”

If Jason thinks I’m crazy, he doesn’t let it show. He laughs, “Sure. ”

I perk up, “Learn something from your friend, Oliver.”

I think he is going to shake his head but he actually leans in while I pick up a fry and dip it into the shake. I offer it to him. He looks at it for a while, then finally takes a bite.

I notice him with every ounce of my attention, trying to figure out his reaction. Jason chews slowly, not giving out any. At least, he didn’t dry-heave, which is something.

“Actually, it’s not bad,” Jason says, turning to me with a trace of surprise in his voice.

“See?” I say and look at Oliver, so does Jason. He is sitting there with a look like he is trying to figure out which planet we are from, definitely not earth.

Jason looks at me and I look at him. Then we look at Oliver, who is staring at us like we are manics, and he is stuck here with nowhere to go. Jason and I double over in laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Oliver asks and I wipe fake tears from my face.

“Would you like to try my awesome food combination?” I ask, as I dip another fry in the milkshake and hold it in front of him.

“What? Of course not!” Oliver replies, horrified. “Are you some sort of food monster?”

I glance at Jason, who looks at me. We laugh again. Oliver mumbles something under his breath, exasperated.

“You and I, we will be best friends,” I say to Jason.

“Ouch, I am friend zoned,” Jason replies. “How can you do that to me after I trusted you and tried your weird food combination?”

I pout. “You know why,” I say matter-of-factly. “I have my eyes set on someone else.”

I briefly look at Oliver, whose eyes go slightly wide. He grimaces.

“Sure you do,” Jason says and raises his palm to me for a high five. I return it immediately. Oliver stares at us.

“I’m going to get myself a Coke,” Oliver stands up, eager to leave the table to get away from me.

“Get me one too,” I say, folding my legs up even with my shoe, to show him I am comfortable here, planted. He can’t move me anymore.

“Same dude,” Jason replies and turns to me, clearly interested to start a conversation. I am all here for it.

“Fine,” Oliver rolls his eyes and turns.

“I need one more thing, Oliver,” I say.

Oliver turns back around, as annoyed as he ever will be.

I smile and say, “Your heart.”

“They don’t sell it anymore,” Oliver says before vanishing into the crowd.

*****