I Know How You Feel

I walked into Mr. Harson’s room ready to sing my heart out and prove I was good enough for the solo but by the time I walked out I was ready to give it away.

“Why so sad?” Wyatt asked. “You nailed it!”

“I know but no one thinks I should have it.”

“So? Who cares?” He said, “A lot of people don’t think I should be gay but I am.”

“But that’s different,” I said. “You can’t help that.”

“Well, you can’t help wanting that solo. Singing is a part of you. You couldn’t help that you got it. You weren’t favored by the teacher and you didn’t cheat. You got it fair and square,” He retorted.

“Yeah, but there are seniors who have never sang a solo in D.C. or ever. They should get mine. I have another three years where I could get one,” I argued.

“It’s too late now. You already have the solo. You can’t take back what you did or you won’t get any solos in the future.” He sighed. “I guess you’ll just have to live with the consequences.”

I rolled my eyes but I knew he was right. Even his thoughts were patting himself on the back for the good argument. Maybe I should start thinking like him. I’d definitely be happier.

“See you around,” he said, turning to leave.

I nodded and headed to Spanish. I kind of wished I took Italian. I also wished our school offered Italian.

After school I hopped in the car and turned on the radio. I decided to ask my mom if she could teach me. She was, after all, born in Italy.

“Hey, Mom, do you think you could teach me Italian?” I asked after our conversation about school dried up.

“Hmmm… Maybe. As long as it’s for another reason besides figuring out what I say to Nonna on the phone when we’re gossiping.” She smiled.

“Okay, so, there’s this kid in our school whose a foreign exchange student from Italy and It be really cool if I could talk to him,” I explained.

“Oh, a boy?” she asked, her eyebrows raising.

“Yes, a boy. He’s going to the dance with Sam,” I stated firmly, “We’re just friends.”

My mom still held her smirk for a few more seconds and then continued the conversation. “Yeah, I guess I could teach you. You should remember some stuff from when you were little. You easily spoke Italian back then. It wasn’t until I put you in kindergarten did you stop speaking it as much.”

“Thanks,” I smiled.

We got home and my mom got out the sewing machine out. She hooked everything up just as Sam’s mom drove into the driveway. My mom hastily agreed to let Sam make my dress. It was mostly because the last time we went dress shopping was a nightmare. If Wyatt thought my low self-esteem was annoying, he should talk to my mom.

I opened the door before she rang the doorbell. She was carrying a bag full of what I expected to be the fabric for our dresses but I couldn’t even tell from her thoughts because she was too busy focusing on what Romeo’s thoughts were. As soon as she closed the door I told her.

“Wait, he thinks in Italian?” Her face became contorted with confusion.

“Well, we think in English yet we can speak some Spanish,” I reasoned.

“Oh, right. Duh. I’m stupid,” she mumbled.

“Nah, it’s cool. I did the same thing. It’s just weird for us because we speak English so we kind of think everyone else does,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said.

“The sewing machine is up and ready,” I said.

“Oh, good. Where is it?”

“The kitchen.”

We walked that way and Sam instantly got to work. I couldn’t see the entire dress in her mind because she was only thinking about part of it but I could tell mine was aqua and hers was yellow. She took out my fabric first and started to pick out settings. I decided to busy myself and took out my math homework while she started sewing the designs on the bottom of the dress. I decided not to look into her thoughts anymore so that she could surprise me. Finishing all my homework, I paced around the room in thought.

“What’s up?” Sam asked seeing that I was burdened by my thoughts. Well, not my thoughts exactly.

“Well,” I looked around to see if my brother was anywhere near.

My mom was getting ready for her overnight shift at the hospital. She said something about him earlier. I opened up the floodgates in my head and found only my mom and Sam’s thoughts. My dad was already working.

“I, um, listened to a lot of people’s thoughts today in choir,” I began in a low voice, “and I didn’t realize how many people hate me.”

“Hate you? You’re, like, really nice most of the time, why would people hate you?”

“I don—what do you mean most of the time?” I grumbled.

“Uh, sometimes you can be a bit… you have a small temper,” she mumbled.

“You mean a short temper?” I corrected my voice full of venom.

“Yeah,” Sam whimpered.

I looked at her and realized I was doing exactly what she was explaining.

“Wait, wait, wait, Sam, do I intimidate you?”

“What? No,” she said in a flat voice.

I looked at her skeptically. Even in her thoughts she was avoiding the truth.

“Ok, a little bit before but it was only because you twisted that one kid’s arm and almost broke it back in fourth grade. You had a really bad temper back then. But now you have this mind reading thing and all. I don’t want to end up with a twisted arm because I sometimes think bad things about you,” she said quickly, her voice getting quieter and higher with each word.

The sewing machine had been long since abandoned. I blinked. Once, twice, and then finally I let out a slow breath. I had never seen Sam open up so much since her parents split up. She used to tell me everything but the start of eighth grade her feelings pretty much turned off like a light. I wasn’t until I graduated did I realize they never turned off. They just were hidden. I then started looking harder. I never expected this. Again with the mind powers being useless!

“Sam, one, I would never hurt you. You’re like my sister. Sometimes I get mad at you but in no way would I actually intentionally try to hurt you. Two, I already know you say bad stuff about me. I don’t need to be psychic or whatever to know that.”

It was true. I heard it from all my other friends in middle school who were jealous of how close we were. I used to get really upset about it and not talk to her for days. But I was over it. It’s not like I never grumbled about Sam to my mom or my other friends every once in awhile. None of us are perfect.

“And frankly--truth is, I really don’t care. You’re my friend, my sister. And third, I am totally in control of my anger. That was five years ago and that kid was trying to kiss me. I totally paid for it by not having a boyfriend until this year.”

The word boyfriend caught in my throat but I shook it off.

Sam nodded and went back to her sewing machine being embarrassed by her outburst. I put my head in my hands and realized that I just earned myself go back to start card when it came to getting Sam to open up again. Technically I didn’t need her to say her thoughts out loud but I still felt like it was my fault somehow. Maybe I should have yelled back and proved her right. I really wasn’t sure what she wanted me to do. She was too busy focusing hard on sewing patterns. Even if she wanted me to yell at her, I couldn’t really. I was too in control for me to snap at her. I had my anger under control… right?