Page 56 of Follow My Voice
Wait… Liliana? As in the girl who always messages Kang’s radio show? No, it can’t be.
“I’m Klara.”
“Are you on social media, Klara? We’ve set up a TikTok for the school, and we’re trying to get students to follow the account.”
“Oh…” I swallow. “No… I’m not on any social networks.”
“Really?” The surprise on her face is evident. I feel dumb. Everyone is on the internet; it’s weird not to be.You’re weird, Klara.This thought makes me feel even more nervous.
“Well, come on, we’ll help you set up an account.”
Yana guides me through a wooden door with a frosted glass window. We’re inside a classroom that looks like it’s being used for storage for the theater department. There are racks full of costumes, props, made-up sets. There’s even old, cracked mirrors lined up against one wall.
Her two friends follow us inside and introduce themselves: Kayla and Andrea. I’m not at all comfortable in this situation, but I don’t know how to get out of it without being rude. Besides, these girls are just being nice, right?
Yana takes my phone and starts downloading the app, asking me the required questions.
“Sorry, but I have to ask: Is that your real hair or a wig?” Kayla says, smiling kindly.
The comment stings since one of my fears about starting college was that people would notice my wig and say something about it. Kayla’s question sends my thoughts spiraling: Is it that obvious? Has everyone noticed? Perla? Diego? Kang?
“It’s… a wig,” I admit, embarrassed.
“Oh, it looks great on you.”
“There, now you can follow the college’s official TikTok account, and all of us, too,” Yana says. She’s about to hand my phone back when a message from Kang comes in. “Oh, you know Kang?”
“You know him, too?” I ask, taking my phone back.
“Yeah, everyone does—he’s our favorite radio host,” she says, leaning against a table.
“Yeah, his show’s great,” I say.
Yana has left the school’s TikTok account open on my phone and a video is paused on a photo of Kang in his soccer uniform next to Yana in cheerleading attire. The photo is captionedGoalsand there are a bunch of comments from people saying they make a cute couple. And it’s true—they look perfect together, made for each other. I try to speak, but the words are stuck in my throat.
“Kang’s going to be such a great therapist,” Kayla says, sighing.
“Therapist?” I thought Kang was studying something related to radio broadcasting or communications. He’s never mentioned therapy to me.
“Oh, yeah, I thought everyone knew. He volunteers as a peer counselor once a month,” Yana says. “I think he helped out your friend Perla, too.”
“Oh.”
I’m left speechless, processing this bizarre encounter, as the girls say goodbye and leave the room. They were friendly enough, but there was something about them that intimidated me, as if they had some underlying intentions.You knew this would happen,I tell myself.You thought you could have a normal life, that a guy like Kang could be into you.
Stop, Klara. You’re ruminating, as Dr. B. would call it—the pattern of negative and repetitive thinking that is difficult to stop.
It’s just hard to fight these thoughts when everything makes more sense with all this new information. Kang wants to be a therapist; he volunteers to counsel messed-up kids like me; he’s only talking to me to help me adjust, probably because Ms. Romes asked him to. I glance back at the picture of Kang and Yana. She looks like the kind of girl who deserves to be by his side. The two of them together make perfect sense.
I suddenly feel that the outside world is too terrifying. This is why I didn’t want to get my hopes up, this is why I didn’t want to expose myself to him. I knew everything was too good to betrue… Kang was too good to be true. That, sooner rather than later, everything would fall apart and reality would set in.
I see my depressing reflection in one of the cracked mirrors, face flushed, tears in my eyes. I raise a hand and trace my reflection with trembling fingers.
I close my eyes. I don’t want to leave this room; I don’t want to see anyone now that I know how they truly view me. Everyone has been so friendly because they pity me, because they see me as weak, because society requires them to be nice to sick people to keep from appearing cruel. None of it was real.
I sit down with my back against the wall, hug my knees, and cry until I run out of tears. I don’t know how to handle this sudden emotional low. I ignore my cell phone, which vibrates repeatedly. I just want to stay here, safe, where no one can see me, no one can hurt me.I’ll be fine as long as I stay here.
I’m not sure how many minutes have passed, but the tears have dried and my eyes trace the dusty cobwebs along the walls. My mind is foggy and I have the feeling of being left adrift, alone in an immense and unscrupulous world.
