Judge a Book by Its Cover

Time is an interesting phenomenon. It flies when you're dreading something, just like it does when you're having fun. The clock ticks when you want it to stop. Daylight stays put when you want the night to fall. The sun doesn't come up until it's too late. It ticks. Tocks. Until your eardrums bleed. Never enough of it. Always too much.

Kyle had programmed my watch slow. I watched the numbers to make our car ride last a century.

It didn't work.

We pulled to a stop in front of a prison, complete with juvenile delinquents and a state-of-the-art security system. Delcoph High School. Proud bearers of the Delcoph Wolves.

"...You just need to be more patient with him, honey."

I glanced at my mother. She'd been ranting since we left, the voice of a washed-up news reporter defending the love of her life in the only way she knew how. I could've sworn I'd heard the exact same words come out of her mouth when she'd debated with dad after breakfast. And now she'd recycled them for me.

I reached for the car door, but my chest jumped in a meat freezer. My throat held a blizzard as my fingers crawled for the door again. It refused to perform the action.

Mom put her hand on my shoulder. "Did you want me to walk you in, Sweetie?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Do you even know where his classroom is?"

"Yes, Mom."

I resisted a strong urge to roll my eyes.

You know, I never understood the phenomenon of eye-rolling. How does looking at the ceiling and down again signify disrespect and attitude? How have I also fallen into the trap of predetermined actions?

When Mom opened her mouth again, I charged out of the demon car and ran for the brick walls, head on my wrist. My watch read 2:59. I smiled at the prospect of being late. After all, my control over how I responded to time was all I had left. I would make the most of it.

I stepped inside, finding glass doors beneath a pack of wolves.

You've heard the expression, "a sea of people?" This was nothing like that. What I witnessed was a mob, a tsunami of monkeys. Orderly flow remained a foreign concept. Everybody went everywhere. Their eyes pierced through the unfamiliar face in the crowd. Me, the white wolf. I slithered down the hallway and spun around myself like a racetrack. Dead end after dead end of off-trail roads.

I glanced up. The school symbol, red and grey wolves howling in the wind.

I was back where I started.

I saw enough faces in my next blink to cause three strokes. Voices. So. Many. Voices. And teenagers. Elders. Middle age crisis survivors. Teachers. All using those mouths to socialize. Tiny Person grappled to understand the effort at such a tedious task.

Relief washed over at a brown door with a clip to its side. Principal's Office, tagged with some name I didn't read. I pounded my fist against it and slipped inside. A quiet haven that had to belong to a mouse. The mistuned voices of the hallways muffled.

A man looked up from his desk. I didn't bother to study his appearance.

"Can I help you?"

"Uhhhhh." My voice proved more intelligent than my tiny person. "I'm, um, here to see Dr. White?"

"Room 206."

"Oh, thanks."

What a stupid conversation. I shouldn't have made it you read it. My words exchanged with the nameless principal didn't move the plot forward at all.

In case you haven't figured it out, crowds are not my specialty. It was a cruel coincidence that Dr. White ran his club in the highest populated school in the district, and a prestigious one at that. Cruel and unusual punishment.

I won't describe my long laps around the school hallways or my avoided eye-contact with every student as they rushed out to freedom. You get the idea of it. I'm sure you've figured out, I didn't realize "Room 206" meant the classroom would be on the second floor. It doesn't matter that I crashed right into an open locker and made a break for it before someone could ask if I was okay. Even the most idiotic reader already knows that my hands were alternating between reeling through my curly, dark hair and holding my chest together.

See what I did there?

By the time I found 206, the halls were deserted. The students had scattered for freedom yet another night. Assuming that television is an accurate portrayal of the high school experience, I can imagine why they would seek shelter elsewhere.

I didn't knock on the door to Dr. White's classroom. Politeness was another trait I had control over that would go untouched until all feeling's oblivion.

I slipped into a plastic chair and took in the classroom. It was much bigger than the ones on TV, and Dr. White stood in front with his mouth in a paused stance. Good, my sneaky entrance had interrupted his introductory speech. I'd made a bad impression. Others sat in chairs to make a small half-circle to face him. Most kept their heads locked onto the doctor. All but one.

"Anyway, as I was saying, we're only two weeks into our second semester. And, already, I'm liking you guys better than my Psychology students here."

Everyone laughed. I didn't bother to fake it.

"The spirit you give me is more than blah blah blah…"

He went on for two whole minutes. Tiny Person blocked him out. I tried to get a better idea of who was enduring this with me. (Better than describing the dull classroom scenery, like that half-empty container of chocolate chip cookies.) There were three guys, and two girls…one of those girls…

Let's play a guessing game. Here's a description I've used already. Read it and try to guess who this girl is. I'm bad at being subtle.

This girl had a nice figure, hair of a closet poet, and every aspect of the rich, white girl who gets everything she wants in life.

Every aspect of the rich, white girl who gets everything she wants in life.

Gets everything she wants in life.

You guessed it. Unless you didn't. What was Julia White doing here, surrounded by a group of losers with conditions?

"Alright, I'm done ranting. Let's get into groups." Dr. White was in denial. He voiced things as if he were an artist. But really? He was a news reporter witnessing the destruction of Pompeii. "I'll let you split yourselves up today, groups of two, please. No assigned topics since I know at least one of you hasn't listened to a word I've said. Talk about whatever you want. I'll be right back after I go turn in the attendance report."

Is this guy psychic or what? Tiny Person said, glancing up from his newspaper.

Julia was the first to stand. I prepared for the inevitable as her shadow crossed the room and broadened… She scampered towards the other girl in the room and didn't give me as much as a glance. My chest dropped with what I can only describe as relief.

Two other boys sat together. I was really holding onto the idea of some alone time.

That's when a chair scooted thrice against the tiles of the green floor. A reddish hand appeared in front of my face. "Hey, I'm Austin. Not like the handsome musician guy on Disney channel. But, you know, I've still got the looks to make the catch."

The temptation was too strong.

My eyes traveled up to behold a boy with a balloon for a head and two chins instead of one. Straight blonde hair rimmed around his forehead. Not to sound judgmental or anything, but the gigantic frames on his eyeballs made him look like a sci-fi creation.

The rest of him…

This kid was really, really, really, Santa Claus round, Biggest Loser material. His eyes reminded me of that guy who sold me the bottle of water a month ago…Stan Richardson? Except, this boy had two eyebrows. The dead black frames of his glasses overtook a big portion of his face, but that didn't hide the color. Did he have acne? Sure, but no worse than any other teenager who had crash-landed through puberty. Been there, growth-spurted that.

However, along with the White-American face came a skin-tone that made him look like he'd just come from Florida and forgot to wear sunscreen.

To this day, I still don't know what that's about.

The boy held his arm at an extension towards me, red palm up. Was this supposed to be some sort of greeting? I stared at it. He held his fingers farther. With a shaky grasp, I took his hand with the tips of my fingers.

"Ben," I introduced myself.

I snagged my hand back towards my chest.

His snort echoed across the room. "So. You're the infamous 'Benjamin Wood.'"

"Um…yeah, but, why the finger quotes?"

He ignored my reasonable question. "That was quite a show you put on outside the cop station. Don't get me wrong though, it was the coolest thing since watching Titanic sink. I made fifty cents off of Stuart when I guessed you'd pass out before you got to the car. Of course, it was a taped recording, but he didn't know until after I claimed the money. We still go back and watch it though. I think if we explore that situation to its fullest, I'd be a cinch to win the school's film competition this year."

I had no idea what this kid was talking about. I tried a different tactic. "How'd you guys get put in this crap-hole?"

Austin blinked. "You're a funny guy."

"I'm a what?"

"Well, I just like to socialize, so I come here all the time."

"What?"

He shoved my shoulder with more force than I expected. "I'm kidding, Dude. I used to go to school here, so I found out about this through Julia. I'm actually at Wildwood now."

Wildwood Highschool. Home of the Cowboys.

"But…" I played with my fingers. "Why are you here?"

He pinched his arm with his fingers and jiggled it. "Eating disorder, obesity, Bulimia, you name it. Guess I was kinda depressed when sixth grade hit and this happened. I mean, I stopped eating, I ate more, I tried out for the football team. End of sophomore year came, and Dr. White showed up here with Julia. She and I helped each other out. I've been with the group since the beginning. Guess we're seniors now, so it's only been a couple years. Feels like a century ago."

"So, you're here to fight depression and feel better about yourself," I said.

Guilt stabbed at my chest. I took the feeling and punched it with a Mike Tyson boxing glove.

"Yup, pretty much," he smiled.

If this kid didn't show some form of sarcasm soon, I would strangle myself. Then him. Then me again.

I pointed towards the person of my despise. "Then what's she doing here?"

"Oh, Julia?" He shifted like someone trying to sleep on a bed without a mattress. "Dr. White's daughter. Like I said, she's been helping out here since the beginning. She doesn't always come, but…you know, it's more of a hangout than laboratory searching for cures. Dr. White always says, 'You can't fix what's not broken.'"

I searched for a straight answer in that paragraph. "What about the blonde she's with?"

"Kim? She's schizophrenic."

"Like, hearing voices in your head?" I shivered.

Flashback time.

There was this doctor: a husband and wife searching for miracle cures to concussion damage. I remembered when my parents had dragged me across the country for the love-bird doctors' diagnostic to my issues. They'd decided that I hear voices in my head. So, I developed my tiny person theory. But after extensive testing, they relabeled it as oppositional defiant disorder. My tiny person hasn't shut up since.

The end.

Austin shrugged. "Yeah, sure. That's…one way of putting it. She's only fourteen, but she's got a pretty extreme case, so don't underestimate her."

I didn't want to know what that meant. I glanced at the boys three desks away. "And those two?"

"Oh, okay." Austin readjusted his chair. Something about the chance to engage in further conversation sent his lips soaring into a smile, the inner workings of an unaccepted socialite. "So, the pale one, brown hair-"

"He looks like he just smelled an onion."

"Yup, that's Stuart. I think he's got, like, Pantophobia or something like that. He's scared of everything. Literally. Don't go talking about the afterlife with that nutjob."

Haha, that was a funny insult. Wait a minute…

My eyes widened. "I thought you were friends with everyone."

He grinned. "HEY STUART!"

The pale boy jumped in his seat.

"You're a psychotic maniac," Austin said. His tone at that time provides me a great chance to use the phrase, matter-of-factly.

Stuart's eyes flashed. "And you will die an early death because of your stupidity. So, I guess we're both at fault."

Their spat-of-sorts ended. Stuart turned to his partner.

Austin looked at me. "Now, Willie? Asian kid with the headphones on his neck? He's thirteen, and he's great, but he doesn't talk."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Selective mutism. Apparently, words have actually left his mouth before, but I've never heard it." Austin pressed his lower lip between his buck teeth. "But he's great."

"You said that already."

Austin shrugged, "It's true though."

A silence lingered and drowned my lungs. I tuned into the other two conversations in the room. Stuart was listing off every way he almost died yesterday as Willie scratched "lol" into the desktop with his pocket-knife. I couldn't make out what Julia was saying to her schizophrenic friend in a purple turtleneck. It was probably nothing important.

Six people, including myself.

"There's no way I'll be able to keep these names straight."

The truth was, I didn't want to keep the names and personalities and labels and disorders straight. I wanted nothing to do with this.

"Don't worry, I'm good with names. And you'll get a chance to talk with everybody," Austin said, sending a nervous jolt down my spine. He counted off his sausage fingers. "Julia, me, Stuart, Kim, and Willie."

I gave a stone glare and mumbled, "Add me to the list of wackos."

Austin spread his arms like an eagle's wings. "Benjamin Wood, welcome to the biggest group of losers in history!"