Page 34 of Follow My Voice
After I’m done, I quickly move to a desolate table in the corner. I understand why no one sits here. It’s right next to the trash cans, which give off an unpleasant odor, but I don’t care. I look down at my tray of food and suddenly my eyes fill with tears: I’m living a normal life, eating in the cafeteria after class like a regular college student, not locked away in my room. These are not tears of sadness, but of joy at finally being able to accomplish something I thought I would never be able to. I wipe a rogue tear and blink, blowing out a breath to regain control of my emotions; I don’t want to cry in front of everyone here.
“I know the food is bad, but I’ve never seen anybody cry about it before.” I look up to see the curvy girl from class standing in front of my table with a tray in hand. She shakes her head, tossing her wavy hair over her shoulders, and sits down across from me. “I’m Perla,” she informs me, unwrapping a plastic spoon and fork.
Up close, I see how beautiful her face is, framed by long wavy hair, with soft features and the brightest dark eyes I’ve ever seen. Her eyeliner game is on point and looks great. I want to say something, but no words come—I don’t know why it’s so difficult.
“Don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you.” She starts in on her lunch. “Eat up, it’s worse when it’s cold.”
I start taking bites of my food as we sit together in silence. Perla doesn’t push me into conversation, as if giving me my time, and I thank her for it. “My name is Klara, with a K,” I finally say after I finish chewing. Hearing my own voice feels refreshing after a morning of silence.
Perla smiles and dimples appear on her cheeks. “Great to meet you, Klara with a K.”
I smile back.
“If you’re trying not to draw attention to yourself, you might want to lose the hood,” she suggests, taking a sip of her soda.
“I’m fine like this, no one has noticed me.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you think?”
I nod.
She shakes her head. “The more you try to hide, the more you’ll make everyone curious about you. If you don’t want to be easy prey, don’t act like you are.”
Prey? Am I in college or on Animal Planet?
“I don’t think anyone has noticed me,” I repeat.
“Yes, they have, Klara. I’ve seen several people looking at you. You’re just too lost in your own world to notice.”
I avoid her gaze and look down at my food, suddenly all too aware of where I am and the dozens of other students around me. But I remind myself that I have to push through.
Perla continues, “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable; I just want to help.”
“Why? You don’t even know me.”
“You remind me of me when I first moved here.”
“I don’t believe that. You look so… so sure of yourself. The complete opposite of me.”
“I wasn’t always like this.” Perla sighs. “We gain strength through struggles.”
“You make struggles sound like a good thing.”
“Our challenges shape who we are, sure, but they don’t define us.”
Perla is so positive; she reminds me of my mother. But this conversation is getting too deep, and I want to change the subject. There are so many things I want to know, and now I finally have someone to ask. “Okay, so is this the part where you tell me who’s cool and who sucks?”
Perla bursts out laughing. “What? This isn’t high school, Klara.”
“You’re right,” I reply, slightly embarrassed—I can feel mycheeks starting to heat up. Though, to be fair, this cafeteria does remind me of high school.
“I’ll humor you, though. Hmmm, who sucks?” She’s playful. “Ah, if only it were that simple. I don’t like to view people in black and white, but rather in grayscale. A person may have a kind heart but make selfish decisions, and another person, with a cold heart, may be capable of huge sacrifice for others. The human being is an enigma, one big gray area.”
“You sound like my therapist,” I say without thinking and immediately regret it.Nice one, Klara, great way to start a friendship! Now I’m the crazy girl who has a therapist.
Perla doesn’t flinch. “My mom’s a counselor here. I guess her endless lectures have rubbed off on me.”
Her mother is a counselor… Something clicks inside my head. “Is your mom Ms. Romes? Did she send you to talk to me?”
