my partner
That night, I think of Mage. Her mouth turned down, eyebrows pulled together. And I hear her saying, You are a very different person than I thought. I have to make it up to her. I have to prove that I’m not the person I pretended to be. Even though it’s late, I step into Julia’s room. She has her headphones in, plugged into her keyboard. “I need your help,” I say, She smiles, and together, we create.
track one
For once, I get to English early. I place the disc on Mage’s desk. It catches the glint of the sun, creating a rainbow. I rub my palms together, wipe them off on my jeans. But it’s a good kind of nervous—a dance in my stomach. I move to the back. I wait for Mage to see my apology: a mix of some of her favorite songs, covered by Julia and me. Drumbeats created on bongos and Julia’s keyboard programmed to sound like a guitar. I sang for the first time. I don’t sound like Julia, or the singers Mage enjoys, but I know that when Mage listens, she’ll hear me. The real me.
track two
She finds me after class. “Did you make this?” Mage asks. I nod, knowing she hasn’t listened to it yet. Wondering, wondering, what she thinks it is. “Why?” she asks. “I was wrong before,” I say. “You said—” “I know,” I say. “I didn’t want you to know the truth. My truth.” “I thought you told me everything,” Mage says. “Listen to it,” I say. “Please.”
to be free
Later, my parents and I have a meeting with all of my teachers. I smile when I see Dr. Sprout, who winks and takes a seat across the table from my father. Miss Jones asks me to start. Even though I’ve done it a lot by now, I still get nervous to explain all of my thoughts. Everybody listens, taking notes. In the end, we come to the conclusion that I might get what’s called a 504 plan that will let me have extra time on assignments and tests. For the times when my mind becomes extra-stuck. When we start to pack up to leave, Mr. Maxwell comes to my side. “I’m proud of you,” he says. I feel my face grow warm, and I mumble, “Thank you.” “I hope I get to see you play,” he says. And for a moment, I’m confused, until I remember that next Friday is the talent show. I take a deep breath and say, “It’ll rock.”
forgiven
At home, I get a single text from Mage: “This mix is magic.” I send her a message back, “I’ll explain anything you want to know.” “When?” she writes. “Band practice at six?” I say. “I’ll be there.” And, just like that, without needing to count, without needing an OCD ritual, I become the luckiest 16-year-old in the whole city— maybe all of the world.
the bad, the good
luck
The night before the talent show, Mom brings me cookies and milk. Like I’m a kid again. I think she’s been happier, too, because they aren’t perfect circles. She asks, “Nervous?” and I can’t lie. She smooths down my hair, and says, “You don’t need to do anything for luck. It’s all in your heart.” And I think she’s right: all I need is trust in myself.
i was
Undone, taken apart, examined, and reassembled. Afraid, overcome by thoughts. I believed I was my OCD. Sometimes, it feels like I’m barely stitched together. But instead of hiding, I will perform.
body and mind: IN SYNC
The day of the show, Mage looks at me, gives a thumbs-up. And Julia squeezes my hand. We take our places on stage. There’s this feeling— a tugging deep in my gut. Like I’m attached to a string. Being pulled somewhere. I let my mouth go dry. Let my hands grow damp. Let my thoughts scream, “What if.” Before letting it all go. Then, the curtain rises. I clink my sticks together (clack clack clack) and everything starts on my count: one, two, three.