“They’re so funny how all they do is talk about some party, or whether their tan line is even,” Sam said, echoing my thoughts from earlier.

“Huh?” What a dope I was, here I was thinking she was talking about our ease with each other. She was so easygoing; she probably had no idea the inner turmoil I was going through as I tried to figure out why I was so comfortable around her. Here I was trying to make heads or tails out of why I had felt a surge of electricity shoot through me when we had shaken hands, and she could care less. She was probably this friendly with everyone and considered herself the welcoming committee. I felt my flush begin to deepen and looked down at the grass, mortified.

“I feel like I have nothing in common with any of them,” Sam said.

I looked up surprised. Sam was studying the group with the Frisbee much the same way I had just done a few minutes ago. I laughed in relief.

“I can relate. I always feel that way in school, more like an observer, than a participant…”

I was interrupted when I noticed that Sam and I had become the topic of conversation for a group of guys walking by.

“Who’s that sitting next to fridge,” I heard one of them ask.

“I don’t know, some new chick I guess, why, do you think you can score with her?” his friend asked.

Neither seemed to care that Sam and I could hear them. They stood there eyeing me like I was a steak or something.

I could feel a familiar wave of embarrassment approaching and tried to fight it back, but quickly realized it was too late. I knew that I needed to get out of there before Sam saw me get sick. The last thing I wanted was to puke in front of my new friend like a freak.

I scrambled to my feet. “I’ve got to go.”

Dusting the grass abruptly off the seat of my skirt, I spared one last glance at Sam before darting off. I felt a twinge of guilt by the hurt look on her face.

The first bell rang as I rushed frantically through the halls searching for a restroom. Students jostled me on every side as they rushed off to their classes. It took me a few minutes to realize I had no idea where the nearest bathroom was.

What an idiot, I had neglected to look for bathrooms when studying the school map. Stepping out of the flow of traffic, I leaned against the wall trying to get my bearings back. I was hoping to avoid an episode like this on my first day at my new school. The sweat was beading quickly on my forehead, and I felt a burning sensation rising up into my throat. I tried to calm down quickly before I made a spectacle of myself.

I clamped my eyes shut, knowing from past experience this would help speed the process along. It was best to let the waves run their course and hopefully I wouldn’t throw up. As soon as I could move again, I would find a drinking fountain and sneak some Advil. I didn’t know what the school’s policy was about taking over the counter medication. At my old school, you had to have a doctor’s note on file in the school clinic in order to take Advil. I opted out of bringing one in for the new school figuring I would only be here for a few months. I figured if I had an attack, I could sneak some. Of course, I neglected to put any in my backpack that I had checked and rechecked the day before. I was a dope.

The waves finally slowed their attack on me and I felt like I was regaining control.

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt a water bottle being pressed into my left hand, and two pills being pushed into my right.

“Close your hand around the pills, they don’t like you to take medicine without a note,” Sam murmured in my ear.

I palmed the pills while I took a shaky drink of water. As the water flowed down my throat, some of the sickness from the emotional wave began to leave me. After a second drink, I was ready to swallow the pills. I knew real relief was about an hour away, but felt I might be able to make it to a bathroom. Making it to homeroom on time no longer seemed feasible, but looking like I might puke was not the first impression I wanted to make in my new school, anyway.

Sam took the water bottle from me as she grabbed onto my elbow and began to steer me down the hallway. When the fogginess in my head finally began to clear, I opened my eyes, but could only make out the shapes of the people we passed. My eyesight would return to normal in a few moments once the Advil began its work on my damaged nerves.

I was more than a little confused that Sam had known how desperately I needed the water and Advil. It was if she knew exactly what I was going through, which was ridiculous.

“Can I help you girls?” asked a kind elderly voice.

My eyes were finally fully focused and I saw that Sam had led me to the school clinic.

“Yeah, this is her first day, and I think nerves are making her sick,” Sam replied.

“Oh! You poor dear. Follow me. I know how tough it is in a new school. Come lay down on a cot in the back.”

“Can I come with her?” Sam asked. “I thought I could walk her to class when she’s feeling better.”

“That sounds fine dear. Just let me know if you need anything,” she said as she patted me on the back on her way out.

I sat on the edge of the cot in the room which resembled a daybed more than a cot. In my old school, the cots were made of canvas and metal and smelled like the outdoors, and not in a good way.

Glancing around the room, I could see more benefits of going to a private school. Instead of the industrial steel gray color walls that made up the clinic of my old school, the walls in this room were painted a warm honey yellow. The color had an instant soothing feeling that started to ease my frazzled nerves. The yellow walls were broken up by white chair rails that ran the length of the walls. Above the chair rails were a series of appealing paintings. Each painting had the same exotic looking tree. At first glance they all looked the same, but when you studied them more closely, you could pick out subtle differences to distinguish between each one.

Sam sat in the easy chair next to the daybed where I was perched.

No folding chairs for private school, I thought as I studied the rich hardwood planks that made up the floors throughout the room. I shook my head slightly, thinking that even the flooring in this school was a far cry from the cracked linoleum floors that covered every square foot of flooring in my old high school.

“I’m sorry I walked away from you,” I finally blurted, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“That’s okay. I could tell that those guys embarrassed you. I could see it affecting you, trust me, I can relate. My nerves sometimes become frazzled in embarrassing situations, too.”

“Um yeah, but mine seem to be worse than most people,” I said understated. I knew for a fact that no one had emotions like mine.

“Well, you might be surprised,” Sam said.

I shrugged it off not wanting to alienate myself with my new friend. There was no reason to show what a freak I was.

“Believe me; I’ve felt that way many times over the years.” Sam said so empathetically, that for a brief moment I had the crazy notion that maybe she did know what I was going through.

I shook my head at my stupidity. I had once tried to look it up on the Internet, and many diseases showed similar symptoms to mine, but none of them were a perfect match. The doctors my parents took me to ran countless tests, but everything turned out inconclusive. They had planned on taking me to the Mayo clinic, but I pleaded with them to just give it a rest. I was sick of being poked and probed. After that, my parents tried to make light of my sensitivity issues and told me I was one of a kind. I had come to terms with the fact that I would always be a freak, and as long as I didn’t humiliate myself by throwing-up in front of others I could live with it.

I thought about confiding in her just how out of control my emotions could get, but figured I would wait before I showed my true freakish emotions around her.

Sensing my mixed feelings, Sam changed the subject.

“So have you lived in Santa Cruz your whole life?” She asked.

“Um, no. We moved here a few weeks ago. I like it a lot and the weather is unreal.”

“Yeah it’s definitely easy to get used to. I’ve been here for awhile and have become quite spoiled wearing shorts most of the year. Of course I don’t get much of chance to wear them here at this prep party,” she said with a slight edge.

“You don’t like it here?”

“Well, it’s definitely not my ideal school choice, but my foster mom went here, and she was so excited when I got in, I didn’t want to bust her bubble.”

“Foster mom?’ I asked, not wanting to intrude.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal. I’ve been in foster care pretty much my whole life. This new set is pretty cool though, and it looks like they’re going to keep me until I’m legal, which is sweet because it’s a drag to constantly pack up your crap to move to a new location.”

I could tell it wasn’t quite as blasé as she was making it, but I didn’t push the subject.

Briiiiing.

I jumped as the bell above my cot rang.

I glanced at my watch, shocked; we had spent all of our homeroom period talking. I was never one to skip class, so I was surprised that I didn’t feel guilty about skipping. Maybe it was the fact that this seemed to be so much more important than some class. After all, I had just met a girl who I could finally relate to. The mere idea of it was too cool.

We scrambled to our feet, grabbing our book bags off the wood floors. With wide smiles on our faces, we both raced out the door together.

Even though the clinic was hopping with students trying to get out of class, the school nurse noticed our hasty departure and yelled after us.

“You girls better hurry.”

“We will,” Sam yelled back over her shoulder.

“What’s your first class?” Sam asked, trying to catch her breath after we finally slowed down.

“Let me see,” I said, pulling my schedule out of the front pocket of my book bag. I handed it over to her.

“Oh good, we share all the same classes, except fourth period. That works out great; fourth period is just before lunch. We can meet back up and eat lunch together.”

I was relieved to hear that Sam shared most of my classes. Though I was a little disappointed our schedules didn’t match up completely, but beggars can’t be choosers.

I glanced at my schedule and was relieved that I at least had Reading for fourth period. Reading was of course my best subject, and at least I could bury my nose in a book during class. Most reading teachers expected the same thing, read a story and either write a report on it, or answer a series of questions.

Sam glanced over and looked at my schedule.

“At least you have Mrs. Rod for reading. She’s a piece of cake as long as you bring your own book. She assigns an essay every six weeks on the book your reading, grades it, then averages the grades together, and that’s your grade for the class,” she said confirming my thoughts. “That’s if you like to read.”

“I love to read,” I replied once again, surprised that here was something else we had in common. I could tell by the look on Sam’s face that she was surprised also.

We made it to first period just as the bell rang. Sam slid in her seat in the back of the room, while I waited up at the front for the teacher.

As the room filled up, I could feel the many stares of the other students in the class. I felt my face start to flush as I studied the ground. I hated being the center of attention and would have welcomed it if the ground opened up and swallowed me whole. Then I remembered Sam was in the class, I looked up and met the many stares head on. I scanned the faces; finally settling on Sam’s and felt my panic begin to subside as I realized that for the first time ever that I was not alone in school.

As if she could read my mind, Sam smiled at me and made a crooked face at the back of all the students watching me.

I almost laughed out loud, but managed to stifle it before it could erupt out of me. I couldn’t contain the wide smile that spread across my face.

I noticed that a few of the boys in the class sat up straighter and looked at me appreciatively like my smile was for them. More than a few of them leered at me in a more vulgar way.

I choked back a half-laugh at their looks; I wouldn’t give them the time of day. I was only interested in one guy, and though I knew it was juvenile to carry a torch for some dream guy, I couldn’t help myself.

I was assigned to a seat that was in the back and two rows away from Sam’s. I was relieved that it was in the back of the room. My moment of bravery had faded and I was more than ready for everyone to stop staring at me.

First period dragged. I had taken all the math classes required at my previous school, but St. Briggets expected me to take four years of math to graduate. The math was easy and I could have done the problems in my sleep. I finished the twenty problems with half the period still remaining. I glanced at Sam; she had her nose already buried in a book she had pulled out of her bag.

Usually, I would pretend to continue working so that I would not attract attention to myself, but as I watched Sam reading, I decided to follow suit. I was going to try to turn over a new leaf and stop trying to fade into the background so much.

With Sam’s help, I made it through the next two classes, and by fourth period I was ready to tackle it alone. Sam’s positive attitude was beginning to rub off on me and I felt surprisingly confident. We had sat next to each other in the last two classes and passed the time by sneaking notes back and forth.

We split up outside Mrs. Rod’s class.

“I’ll meet you in front of the cafeteria,” Sam said as she hurried off to her own class.

Mrs. Rod was at her desk when I entered the room. She handed me back my schedule and explained the simple class rules, and then told me to choose a seat anywhere.

In typical fashion, I chose a seat in the back of the room and pulled out my current book. Thumbing it open to the page I left off on, I started to read until I realized I really wasn’t paying attention to it.

My mind was preoccupied by the things Sam and I seemed to share. It was just a little wacky that we had so much in common. Like the fact that she had been in foster care, and I was adopted. It seemed odd that both of us were being raised by people other than our real parents. That, combined with the fact that Sam claimed to have emotional issues also… Were adopted kids just more sensitive, and did I just have a stronger case of it?

“He’s a babe,” a short mousy looking girl all but squealed to her seat mate. “Have you seen him?” she asked.

My thoughts were interrupted by a conversation going on in front of me.

“Yeah, I saw him. He’s totally hot, he looks barely older than us, but he has to be older, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to intern here. I bet he’s no older than twenty though,” replied her seatmate.