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  “Sorry I’m late,” a young male voice said. I stopped staring at the floor. It was Juan, from the store. “I had a busy morning with—”

  “Juan, see me after class,” Mr. Hunter said, but not in a scolding way.

  Juan walked past me to a table on the left side of the room, far from the door. He sat next to the curvy Latina and whispered something to her. On the other side of him was an empty chair.

  But only for a moment. “Hey, girl from the store,” Juan said as he waved for me to sit next to him. I tried to hide my face as walked over, my cheeks burning. “This is my cuz, Selena.”

  “Jessica Johnson.” I dropped my heavy camo book bag on the floor next to me. It landed with a loud thud that seemed to echo through the room of new faces, new judges, and one Juan Fernandez.

  10

  MAYBE NOT SO CRAZY AFTER ALL

  “I can’t prescribe medications, Jessica, but I can certainly recommend a psychiatrist who can,” Nina Martin said. That was my first question to start off our session together. “Or perhaps your family doctor could consult with me to consider prescribing something.”

  “I want ’em all: antidepressants, antianxiety, beta-blockers, whatever else will help.”

  The psychologist laughed. “You know, I sometimes long for the old days, before the Internet, when patients didn’t think they knew more about their treatment than health professionals do.”

  I slumped in my chair. “Everything else seems so hard,” I confessed. I saw enough kids with pills at Rondo. Drugs seemed like an easy out.

  “Cognitive behavior therapy is hard work, and that is why it’s effective,” she explained. Her suit today was light brown, and her mood was once again chipper; she was a chipmunk.

  “The diagnosis instrument we worked on last time has helped identify areas that we—”

  “You’re throwing me into the deep end of the pool, aren’t you?” I asked. “You’re going to make me speak in class?”

  Dr. Martin gave another smile. “Well, you’re correct that part of the process will involve exposure therapy, in which we’ll confront fears such as public speaking by facing them.”

  No smile from me. “What’s all this we stuff? I’m the one you’re making do everything.”

  “That’s true,” she said with kind of a shrug, “but remember that I can’t ‘make you’ do anything. This is on you.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, hiding the ugly blue top I’d chosen. She scribbled something in her notes. Was she the fashion police, as well as Jessica’s Crazy Doctor?

  “I don’t believe in the deep end of the pool approach,” she continued. “As a matter of fact, we should begin with those items that cause the least anxiety and avoidance.” She ran down the list.

  I stopped her at “presenting in front of a small group” and told her about the manga club that Mr. Aaron had asked me to join.

  “That is a smart choice,” she said in an approving tone. “It’s people your age with a common interest. And there would be no academic pressure, like there is in your classes, so it sounds like a good environment to practice in.”

  “That’s what I thought.” But I’d thought the same about softball in seventh grade, Spanish club in eighth, and band in ninth. They all seemed like good ideas until the dragon inside me caused me to flee.

  “Another part of our time together will be social skill building,” Dr. Martin said. “We’ll role-play social situations, so again, that will be good practice for when you encounter them in the real world.”

  “That sounds silly.” Role-play days would equal school sick days for Jessica Johnson, I decided.

  “Well, then, you’ll probably think the next idea is sillier. What do you know about yoga?” she asked.

  “Not much.”

  “Look, in addition to changing thought patterns, we need to look at ways to reduce the physical symptoms of stress in your life, and yoga is one way to do that. Would you consider it?”

  I nodded an okay. I knew it was a healthier stress release than smoking. And cheaper, since Skylar had stopped selling cigs.

  “And finally, at the base of all of this is cognitive restructuring,” she explained. “In other words, we want to change the way you think about things. Your anxiety all starts because of negative thoughts. As a kid, did you ever play dominos?” I nodded.

  “The negative thoughts are like the first domino, Jessica. They set everything in motion. We’ll work to change how those pieces fall—eventually giving you a different way of thinking. That should cause your anxiety to decrease.”

  I looked for the tissues. She set them on the small round table next to me. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, Jessica. You’re going to do all the heavy lifting, and then—”

  “Then I’ll be normal?”

  “Then you’ll be Jessica, the person you were meant to be.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I did both at the same time. Jessica Johnson, maybe not so crazy after all.

  11

  CAN SHAMAN WARRIOR SLAY THE DRAGON?

  Dylan devoured his sandwich in about four quick bites. Tonisha drank milk and dipped her hands into a box of animal crackers, eating them one at a time. Instead of my normal lunch of smoke and solitude, I sucked down Altoids with my mom’s paranoid voice running through my head, telling me not to choke on them.

  “So, do we want to start by telling a little about ourselves?” Mr. Aaron asked, which was odd since I knew Tonisha and Dylan from language arts. The four of us sat in Mrs. Howard-Hernandez’s classroom. She ate lunch at her desk, headphones on, grading papers. “Or jump right in with manga?”

  “Manga!” Dylan and Tonisha said at the same time, which made everybody laugh. Once we settled, Tonisha started talking in detail about some of her favorite series. Every now and then, Dylan would agree with something she said, or Mr. Aaron—who didn’t seem to know that much about it—would ask questions. I waited my turn.

  “The books are way better than the anime, way better,” Tonisha said about one of my favorite series. So, just as I had practiced with Nina Martin, I stuck a toe in the shallow end.

  “I agree, Tonisha.” Agree with someone first, use their name, and smile. Three for three.

  “What’s your favorite series?” Mr. Aaron asked me. A couple times before, he had glanced at me, trying to prod me with his eyes to speak, but now he’d finally called me out.

  And as I had role-played in our session and then practiced until late last night, I provided a short summary of Kimi ni Todoke: From Me to You. “The main character is a girl named Sadako, but her classmates call her something else because she resembles a scary character in a famous horror movie. So … she’s feared and misunderstood because of her looks. But, despite her appearance, she’s a sweet and timid girl who longs to be able to make friends with everyone and be liked by everyone. It has great artwork and stories.”

  “Sounds cool,” Dylan said. “Is there an anime series?”

  “Only on DVD in Japan, but you can find it on YouTube.”

  “Cool. Thanks, Jessica,” Dylan said. Thank you for that smile, I thought.

  I followed up with my well-rehearsed line. “Dylan, what is your favorite manga series?”

  Dylan answered quickly, “Shaman Warrior.”

  We waited for details from Dylan, but none followed, so Tonisha took over. “That isn’t true manga, ’cause it’s not Japanese. It’s manhwa. Like all the best series, it’s Korean.”

  Mr. Aaron jumped in. “Why is Korean better, Tonisha?”

  “First, because I speak Korean. My mom’s Korean.” She kept going. For someone who hadn’t wanted to read her six-word memoir in front of the class, Tonisha revealed a lot. We eventually got back to books before the bell.

  “So, good first meeting, everyone,” Mr. Aaron said, and applauded, per usual for meetings with him.

  “When do we meet next?” Dylan asked Mr. Aaron.

  “How about once a week, on Thu
rsdays at lunch?” Heads nodded all around, including mine.

  Tonisha started to talk about the anime club at her old high school while I gathered up my things. I popped in another Altoid and started toward the door. “Jessica, wait up.”

  I turned. Dylan stood behind me. He was all gangly arms and legs, and that goofy smile.

  “Oh, before the next meeting, I’d like you all to do something,” Mr. Aaron called out.

  “What’s that?” Tonisha asked, tossing her empty box of crackers in the trash.

  “Go out and recruit more members,” Mr. Aaron said. “Talk to all your friends.”

  The smile that had been on my face quickly vanished.

  “Yeah, right,” Dylan said. “I don’t think we need any more people, do you, Jessica?” Dylan asked.

  I could feel my blushing face turning redder than red, so I quickly shook my head no. I wondered if there was any chance Dylan the Shaman Warrior could slay the dragon inside.

  12

  THE NEXT LEVEL

  Dad and I sat in the therapist’s waiting room. Mom was not feeling well and was in the bathroom down the hall. (We knew it was bad if she was using a public toilet—“so many germs.”) Suddenly Dad broke the silence.

  “I’m proud of you,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks.” Like most conversations with Dad, it wasn’t so much a dialogue as a single word from each of us.

  “For what?” I asked. He just pointed at the door to Nina Martin’s office.

  “It’s hard,” I confessed. “Like trying to get to the next level of a video game.”

  “Yeah? Is it a little fun too?” Not only did I get more two words, I managed to get Dad’s attention away from his phone. He didn’t make much eye contact, but the focus was on me.

  With just the two of us in the waiting room, and him for once not sucked into cyberspace, I told Dad about therapy. It seemed the meds Dr. Lane had prescribed—an antidepressant and an antianxiety—had kicked in, at least a little.

  “We’re both proud of you,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  And then we returned to a normal Darryl-and-Jessica-Johnson conversation of long pauses and one-word sentences, distracted by our devices.

  They’d said before that they were proud of me, but usually it was Mom, and it was always for the stuff that came easy, like schoolwork. They’d never said a word for or against when I joined and then dropped various groups, going all the way back to an ill-fated Girl Scout experience. Were the meds and therapy sessions the cheat code I needed to reach the next level?

  As always, I started the session reviewing the twos and threes from my test.

  Nina Martin looked at me for a second, like she was sizing me up. “Now that you’re working on the treatment plan and you’re on some meds to stabilize things, I think it’s time to push yourself. You can choose which, but let’s tackle one of these threes.”

  “Why not another two?”

  “Well, like you said about moving science classes, it seems you respond best to challenge.” I of course hadn’t told her the real reason I jumped to eleventh-grade science—Juan—so it was time.

  She nodded, scribbled, smiled, and nodded more. “That’s real progress.”

  “I didn’t mean to lie to you,” I confessed. “I was embarrassed, that’s all.”

  “Well, you’re taking on a lot right now, Jessica,” she said. “So I don’t expect everything to be perfect. Therapy, like life, is untidy.”

  I thought about our house—that’s what it felt like sometimes, that Dad and I were messy boarders in Mom’s perfectly kept house. “Maybe I’ll try talking in a group or something.”

  “Jessica, you choose, but remember what we talked about last time.” She leaned closer and put her hand on the edge of my chair. “Control your breathing, which will relax you. Think about, write down, or even rehearse what you want to say. Ask yourself the reality-check questions we talked about. But most importantly, don’t let fear take away your power.”

  “I know.”

  “Social anxiety disorder isn’t your fault, but it is in your power to overcome it.”

  “I know.”

  “Relax, Jessica. You’re getting there.”

  13

  DEEPEST BREATH, THEN INTO THE DEEP END

  I dropped the heavy bag from my late afternoon library score onto my bedroom floor. In addition to my usual manga stash, I’d picked up another book on social anxiety disorder, a yoga DVD, and some books from Dylan’s favorite series, Shaman Warrior.

  Mom began her tedious process of unpacking the items we got at the store on the way back from the library. Dad offered me a soda and then took his sixty-four ounces of Dew downstairs. See you tomorrow.

  “I’m taking the dog for a walk,” I yelled toward the kitchen and basement. The W word and sound of the leash brought Maurice to the front door, tail wagging in anticipation. Like me each morning before science class, sort of. Mr. Hunter pushed small-group work in his eleventh-grade class, since it was more lab focused. Selena was my lab partner, and Juan was my tablemate. Like with Tim back at Verdant Hill, the closeness brought conflicting feelings of crush and being crushed.

  When I arrived at the swings, I pulled out the last cigarette from the pack. I savored it as I looked at my phone and admired the growing list of contacts: Tonisha, Dylan, Selena, Skylar, and Juan. Add me, and my six-word Rondo memoir could be a list of names.

  After I finished the cigarette, trying to swing through the smoke rings I’d blown, I visited Juan’s Facebook page. When he’d asked about my page, I told him half of the truth: that my mom didn’t want me to have one. With her fears about online predators and perverts, that wasn’t a lie. But the whole truth was sadder. Other than Tim and a couple of his friends from band, I had no online friends. And even Tim and his friends hardly ever posted. I went crazy at first, posting links and even some of my manga drawings, but nothing. No comments. My online life was a ghost town. The only thing missing was tumbleweeds.

  Juan, Selena, and Tonisha had hundreds of friends and plenty of action on their pages. Only Dylan didn’t seem to be online. Only Dylan didn’t have many friends at school, other than Tonisha and me. I started to call his number but hung up before it started ringing.

  Behind me in the park, I heard the noises of a late fall afternoon. There were children playing and sounds of family get-togethers. As I stared at Dylan’s number, I wondered what my life would be like if things were different in my family. If Mom’s family hadn’t more or less disowned her for marrying Dad, if my parents weren’t as messed up, if I had brothers or sisters, even nieces and nephews, then would something as easy as dialing a phone number not be quite so hard? I kept imagining it as I pushed the Call button again.

  “Hi, Dylan? It’s Jessica.” I petted Maurice as I spoke, and it helped calm me a little.

  “Oh, hi,” Dylan said softly. “What’s going on?”

  I could almost see the words I’d practiced, scrolling like on a movie marquee in front of me. The therapist had said I could write down what I wanted to say, but I shouldn’t use the paper on the actual call. I controlled my breathing like she’d taught me. “I picked up a Shaman Warrior.”

  “Good call.” Did he mean it was good I called? Why did I overanalyze everything?

  “But, the library just had volumes five and six.”

  “I own them all,” he said. “I could loan—”

  “Or maybe you could …” I petted Maurice’s head so hard I probably gave him a concussion.

  “Or maybe?”

  Deepest breath, then into the deep end. “Maybe at lunch you could tell me what happens?”

  14

  SIT. STAY. ROLL OVER. GOOD DOG.

  “Is Skylar here yet?” I asked Juan before school. I had money in my pocket ready to burn on smokes. “I heard he was selling again.”

  Juan laughed. I hoped it wasn’t at me. “Don’t be saying stuff like that
out loud.”

  “As if I’d talk too much.”

  More laughter—with me, not at me, it seemed. Although the joke was on me in science. I’d joined the eleventh-grade class mostly to be around Juan, but when we got assigned lab partners for a big final project, he wasn’t in my group. In my group were three strangers, which meant tackling another two on my list of stressors.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know,” I replied.

  “I’ll let him know you’re looking for him,” Juan said and offered me a fist bump. The thin skin of my hand pressed for a microsecond against his tough-as-nails knuckles.

  “Hey, did you hear about this party coming up?” Selena asked. I turned to leave.

  “Jessica, you gotta hear this,” Selena said, and she was off and running about some party. She touched my arm, as if to pull me back into the group. Their group. My group? “So what do you think?”

  What did I think about a party where everyone was going, except no one had invited me? “Sounds like fun,” I lied. I barely knew the kid hosting it, and while maybe Selena and Juan were my group, neither had actually invited me to the party. I couldn’t believe I’d fooled myself with Juan—as if someone that cool and connected would like me.

  I bummed a smoke off Juan, let the techno from my headphones invade my ears, and walked, head down, back behind the school, away from the other smokers, to my fortress of solitude.

  I wasn’t called on in any of my morning classes, so I arrived in language arts unscathed but still nursing my wounds from the conversation before school. On my way to my assigned spot, I stopped by Dylan’s seat. As on most days, he was drawing fantastic manga characters. I wondered if I’d fooled myself with Dylan too.

  “Dylan, on for the lunch?” I tapped his shoulder. He nodded but never looked up. Eye contact wasn’t his strongest suit, but I also wasn’t eye candy like some of the girls here.

  “Jessica, a moment please,” Mrs. Howard-Hernandez said, way too loud. Other students might have generated the you’re-in-trouble-now buzz, but my drama earned only indifference.