Surprise!

I hate surprises. The good ones get spoiled. The bad ones catch you off guard. With a good surprise, there's no stopping the emptiness once it's over. Even if you mentally prepare for the bad ones, they are always worse than expected.

Surprises end badly. One way or another.

About a month after I bought my ticket to loserdom, I received an email. Surprise Number One. I flipped open my laptop, dry cereal and orange juice in hand. On top of my inbox stood a giant green number one. I clicked the bold words and nibbled on a Cheerio.

It was from a teacher.

Hello Ben,

I hope you are doing well. You seem to be putting less than the recommended course hours each week. Hopefully, you'll be ready to participate in our next online forum.

For your project in my class, I would like you to research and write an essay, presentation, or speech about a current issue in your hometown. Explore what the issue is, the social and political factors behind the issue, and how you believe it can be solved. Double spaced, one-inch margins. This assignment should be at least six paragraphs (or eight slides).

Please contact me if you have any questions.

~Mr. Randall

I scratched my forehead. I didn't even know which class this was.

With some coaxing from my tiny person, I reread the email. Delcoph, New York. What the heck happens in Delcoph, New York?

Do I count as a current events issue? I'd managed to ruin a political campaign, rob a gas station, and get arrested in all but two hours of my puny nonlife.

I looked the city up on my computer's search engine. We had two main high schools: Delcoph and Wildwood. They both have issues: crappy mascots, drugged up kids, teachers… I scrolled past each blue link. Stalin Drug Cartel Unraveled. Rex Peterson the Scumbag. Troubled Boy Kidnaps Current Governor in Conspiracy to Rig Elections. I clicked the Images tab.

That's when I saw my fountain, linked to an article about the past and current issues of my beloved hometown. They had to be making crap up. Headings gave away articles. Underaged or Underdeveloped Cognitive Development? Drug trafficking. Moronic Man Doesn't Care About the Environment. I added it to my favorites and shut my laptop.

No one ever got hurt procrastinating.

Meanwhile, I finished reading Romeo and Juliet. Shakespeare is obsessed with death. After glancing through my assignment again, I rented every film version out there. I also reread the play, last page to the first. Then I read sporadically, trying to get the most out of the climactic moments.

Then I got Surprise Number Two.

I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's jump back a little bit. What you need to understand is, after I joined the Biggest Group of Losers in History, I plummeted into the next routine life presented me with.

Julia showed up at the same time to pick me up every freaking day. I didn't know how that was possible, but I didn't question it. We'd go to therapy. She'd bring chocolate chip cookies.

I still didn't know how to read that girl, but I did get used to her. Most of the time.

Once or twice a week, the whole group headed to Stacks. I learned more about Austin on these trips. One day, he'd heap enough onto a plate to feed a third-world country. The next trip, the crumbs he sprinkled into his mouth couldn't feed a mouse. Also, did you know if you offer to pay for food one day, it will be expected later on? People are like that.

It turns out Dr. White's 'new program' meant group discussions, competitions, challenges, videos, and advertising his bestselling book. A White Heart in a World of Grey Solutions. He gave us free copies. I left mine in a desk.

Despite the low-budget production, therapy was different from my past experiences. The sessions resembled a camp. I wouldn't be surprised if Dr. White showed up with team t-shirts and racing kayaks.

Julia and Austin took turns partnering with me. (Austin's initial perkiness came back within a minute of conversation.) They were adamant to include me in any discussions or plans involving the whole clan. Always asking, calling, pushing, shoving. It never worked. I stayed firmly by their sides.

I should've known. I could only get away with avoiding two-thirds of the group for so long.

Onto Surprise Number Two. Julia picked me up after I didn't do my assignment. We went to therapy. Dr. White talked. I listened.

"Alright, moving further on our path to self-discovery," Dr. White said. He scrawled a single, terrifying word onto the whiteboard. "One of the most avoided words in the English dictionary. F-E-A-R. Fear. What are you afraid of?"

We went quiet. Except for Willie. He was already silent.

Dr. White huffed. "Nobody?"

Someone coughed.

"There isn't one person in this room who can dig deep inside themselves to find one single thing?"

I sent Tiny Person on vacation to prevent any answers from stumbling in. This was dangerous territory.

"Well, I'm disappointed," he said. "But I can't say I'm surprised. Admitting what sends that shiver down your spine, what gives you that sudden desire to run and jump off a bridge, is hard. I'm sure most of you don't even know what you're afraid of. It takes a willingness to look deep inside yourself, never coming out as the same person again."

Trying to appease him, I searched the deepest, darkest parts of my soul…looking, searching, putting light in the darkness, I think I just found… Nope, nothing. This guy was nuts.

Everyone's eyes darted around the room.

Did they…agree with me?

"Tell you what." Dr. White snatched a stack of notebook paper. Julia's plate of chocolate chip cookies rattled on his desk. "Everyone take one."

I heard a clicking. Willie thrashed his thumbs over his phone.

Ding!

Dr. White glanced at his cell. "No, Willie, you are not writing what you're afraid of. In fact, let's partner up. Instead of writing what you think your worst fear is, write what you think your partner's is. Hearing an outside opinion can be beneficial."

He thought he was so clever. Little did he know Austin and Julia would never subject me to that humiliation.

"Are we picking our own partners?" Julia eyed me.

"Nope." I flinched when he shredded a piece of stationary into three pieces and scribbled onto each one. He tossed them into a pencil case and shook it in the air. "Julia, Ben, Willie, come pick a name. We'll let fate decide your partners."

I stood with the other two and stumbled toward the desk. Our fingers slid in there one by one. Willie yanked out his card and pointed to Kim. I was next. I reached inside.

My eyes fell on Julia then back down to my sheet of paper. Surprise Number Two.

No. No, no, no. Not him, not now. If there was an ounce of decency in the world, it would end before I had to do this. The school would catch on fire. The president would blow me up. I'd get kidnapped and shoved on top of the Eiffel Tower.

Julia folded her paper in her hand. "Austin."

Not a word left my mouth. It wasn't necessary. The pale kid with the cropped brown hair sat behind one of the desks. He glanced at me. Can you guess who my partner was? I won't say it out loud. You can figure it out.

Here's a hint: everyone but Stuart wasn't my partner.

Trapped, I scooched a chair over so it screeched against the hardwood floor.

"Dr. White, how long do we have to do this?" Stuart asked.

His voice matched a squirrel's. I guess he still thought I'd poisoned his shrimp at Stacks. Who knows, maybe I did? I couldn't remember back that far. It was, like, weeks ago.

Dr. White smiled. "However long it takes."

Austin patted me on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Bud."

I swallowed and turned back to my partner. Why couldn't they pair Kim with this guy? They would relate on every level of the emotional elevator. She'd talk about what the voices say and he could go on about everything that makes him jump. But no, fate had to stick me with the psychopath.

Not that I can judge.

"I picked this up from the library a few weeks ago." Stuart thrusted a thick, hard-covered book in front of my face.

The dictionary appeared to label every fear known to man. For a psychologist who wanted to fight against the labels of society, we sure had to work with them a lot. Maybe Dr. White didn't know about this. Could I get Stuart caught?

I opened the book to the back.

"Why are you starting there?" Stuart asked. "There's an order for everything, so we should follow it. Without order, there's chaos. Chaos leads to wars. Wars to demolition."

I flipped towards the center of the book.

"Um…that's even worse. At least going end to beginning has some of its own logic to it. Going randomly will only delay time. Just look at the poor progress of recent politicians."

I'd know all about that, wouldn't I?

I cleared my throat, then flipped to page 225. "Pediophobia," I read. "The fear of children or dolls."

I glanced up, then wrote it down on Stuart's list.

His left eye twitched. "You should really just start at the beginning. It's alphabetical. Or if you go to the table of contents, they label everything by category. I suggest the 'object-related' fears first."

"Phobophobia. The fear of fear."

"Could you please…go to the table of contents?"

"Check." I added the word to the sheet in my hand.

"Dude!"

I paused, flipping towards the beginning. "Anthophobia, the fear of flowers."

"That's not the first item on the list."

"Check."

He breathed hard. "Did Austin put you up to this?"

"Nope."

"So, you're just being a jerk to be a jerk then?"

"Optophobia, the fear of opening your eyes."

"I'd say I'm more afraid of closing my eyes," he muttered. "But would you seriously just listen to me and-"

"Check."

He growled.

"Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, the fear of long words." I made quick dashes on the paper. "Check… Ergophobia, the fear of work. Double-check."

"That's it!"

Stuart snatched the book and scribbled on his sheet. My fears. I watched his nervous energy explode out of his fingertips as he made frantic movements with the pen. It gave me the perfect idea. I had picked Stuart's worst fear.

I opened my mouth.

"Don't say it out loud," Stuart ordered. "Let me read it myself."

I wanted to say it, but the desire departed when Stuart slowed down. His pen made distinct movements across the page, like he was thinking really hard about something. I guess I should give his fears the time and thought they deserved.

But my idea was perfect.

I crossed out and erased what I could manage. I wrote in a word I'd once heard Austin use:

Panophobia.

The fear of everything.

Stuart flipped through more pages. His hand moved in a free-spirited, dance-like motion. I should have written "fear of bad hand-writing."

Dr. White tapped his pencil on his desk. "Whenever you're ready, go ahead and exchange notecards. You do not have to share these with the room."

We swapped cards.

Stuart snorted when he read what I wrote. I swore he smiled at me, but then his eyes hardened at my notecard, widening when they met my own. My eyebrows creased. I scanned over it.

Then I read it again and paid attention.

You're afraid of other people having more control over a situation than yourself. You would rather be able to blame other people for your problems than have them fix your messes for you. From everything I observed, you have a fear of relationships in general.

I considered methods of outbursts.

A female voice erupted before my open mouth could croak. "Animotophobia? I am NOT afraid of my own emotions you senseless, heartless…I mean, what do you think I'm doing right now. DO I look afraid of anger?"

Austin held up his hands. "No, look at the note at the bottom. You're not afraid of expressing positive emotions, just the negative ones. Well, emotionally daunting ones. And it's not as bad as mine. Catoptrophobia? My reflection? Do I look like a cat?"

"How can I read the bottom? Your handwriting looks like vomit!"

Okay. Stuart had taken this as well as he could. Austin and Julia were not. I glanced over. Kim did some half-hearted giggle while Willie performed a mime's version of laughter. They'd both written, Chiraptophobia, a fear of being touched. Small world.

And a weird one.

Stuart sent me a small smile. I crumbled the notecard and shoved in my hoodie pocket.

Fear of relationships?

This kid had some nerve. It would be one thing if he addressed my fear of evil doctors or being called a "success" rather than a failure. To make up some fear of other people… I am not afraid of relationships. I make a conscious decision not to take part in them because I hate people. There's a difference.

After the phobia-fanatics fiasco, Dr. White decided to end the session early. One of his wisest decisions. Julia shoved me in the car and geared into drive. I still didn't have a good comeback for Stuart.

She ranted the whole time.

"...I mean, do I get a little…overly-emotional? Sure! But there's this thing called hormones in any teenager, especially a girl. For him to go as far as to say that I'm afraid of my own emotions. It's just…ridiculous! At least I put the time in to write something that makes sense. He's just trying to irritate me."

I wanted to say something, but nothing came. Actually, I didn't want to say anything. I wished I had a video camera. This was entertaining. Her face was so red, I thought it might explode.

"What's that face for?" Julia jerked the car into an unfamiliar street.

"I'm not making a face."

She put the car in park. "Do you think I'm afraid of my emotions?"

"No, you're very emotional."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I swallowed.

"You know." Her eyes fell back on the hood. "You and Stuart didn't exactly seem to be on 'Happy Times' over there. What label did he stick on you?"

"Oh…um, a fear of spiders."

One of Julia's eyebrows climbed up a mountain. "Spiders. Right. Gimmie the card."

"What?"

"I saw you shove it in your pocket. Give it here."

Julia unbuckled. I pulled myself away as she closed in on me. "Your dad said that this could stay private."

She bit her lip. "Why are you lying to me about this?"

"Because…" I struggled to swipe her arm from my hoodie. "It's personal."

She didn't answer me. While my hands climbed up in self-defense, her James Bond fingers slipped into my pocket.

"Hey!"

Julia pinned back my forehead. At first, she read aloud in slow, elongated syllables. As the words got longer, her voice faded off into a frown. I snatched it back like a bank robber. Her big mouth clamped shut as she pulled off the curb.

"I'm going to have a very serious talk with my father when I get home," she mumbled.

I leaned against the car window and drew faint little circles. I didn't feel like being mad. That took too much energy. Oddly enough, I felt my anxiety fly for the clouds now that she'd read it. The big weight in my chest climbed up for my tiny person.

"Promise me you won't let this go to your head," she said.

I crushed the notecard in my fist, hoping to disintegrate it into nothing.

As Julia pulled onto the road, I stared at the details of her bracelet. Four sky-blue beads separated the brown, grey, and black. Not a very "Julia" thing to wear. Yet I'd never seen her without it.

I wanted to ask her about it. She needed to think about something else. So did I.

I eyed the notecard and recession settled in my chest. Why care, anyway? If I'm really afraid of relationships, why start one? Maybe Stuart was right. Maybe hate and fear really were the same thing.

We pulled in front of my house, and it was as if I'd been struck by lightning.

Every feeling of the day eroded. My feet made a dead sprint the front door, too much hope to question it. For there was a red Ferrari in my driveway.

Footsteps rang behind me. "Ben, whose car is that?"

My hand paused on the knob. A drum throbbed in my chest, a big one meant for old-timey jazz music. Not the Canadian stuff I listen to. I shook my head, letting the emeralds in Julia's face swell over my vision.

"My brother's," I said.

I turned the handle. The door was unlocked.

Surprise Number Three.