A Normal Life

Disclaimer: I don't own Animorphs. Period. So don't sue.

All I wanted was a normal life. All I wanted was to go to school like every other eight year old and giggle through class with my friends and wonder why boys were so stupid. Maybe even to get over that someday and think they're cute. But I didn't have a normal life.

My name is Samantha Diane Browning. I'd tell you my address and my phone number and all that good stuff, too, but my grandparents would get mad at me. No one would try to kill me, but with a grandfather like mine, I'd still rather not risk it. No one would try to kill me because the war was over.

After the war, I decided to live with my grandparents. The thought of going back to that city made my blood run cold. Mom and dad weren't particularly pleased, but they went along with it. I think they thought it was a good idea, too.

So I stayed at my grandparent's house and Grandma home schooled me, but everyone worried about me. I was anti-social and didn't want to do anything. Grandma tried to help by teaching me to read, something which I took to with surprising speed. I didn't have the great love of literature that my sister had, but I loved reading fairy tales and fantasy. In those tales of love and grand adventure I could loose myself and be someone else, somewhere far, far away.

"Sam! You got something in the mail!"

I'd been watching television when my grandmother's cries reached me. I jumped up off the couch and raced to the front porch to meet her.

"What is it?"

"A package from Connie," she said, handing it to me. "And a letter."

I gave her a grateful smile and took my prizes back to the living room. The package was a book, The Princess Bride, and her letter was long and rambling and all about the unit she'd just been assigned to. Connie was a great writer and loved to talk about all the strange people she met in the Army. I laughed all the way through three pages, until I got to the end.

"So, all in all, the Army's treating me pretty nice. I'm certainly getting better food than I thought I would, especially after all of Grandpa's stories about SOS. (Please tell him they don't serve that anymore.)

I talked to Mom and Dad the other day and they say you sound well. When are you going to go back home? They miss you terribly.

All my love,

PFC (got promoted!) Browning

P.S. Enjoy the book. It's one of my favorites!"

I put aside the letter and sighed. She asked me to go home at the end of every letter, even though she never mentioned it in her calls. I could tell Mom and Dad wanted me to go back, too, but at the thought of having to go back to that place, to the constant reminders of what happened.... I simply wasn't ready to go back.

So I watched TV instead. I liked watching the news. Somehow, hearing all the straight facts of things appealed to me. If I could think of the war in those terms... But every time I tried, I remembered pain, humiliation, and the sounds of the host cages. How could any newsperson put that in nice, simple terms?

"Sam?" Grandma wandered back into the living room from putting her things away. "Why don't you come help me make dinner?"

I left the TV on and followed her into the kitchen. The sounds of some publicity stunt of Marco's followed us. Some promotional about a new TV series he was supposed to be in.

"Did you know Connie used to have a crush on one of the Animorphs?"

Grandma smiled at the chicken she was pulling out of the fridge. "I don't suppose there's a girl alive who hasn't done that."

"No, I mean back in high school. She used to talk about Jake all the time and get mad at me for eavesdropping."

She chuckled as she pulled out ingredients to make a batter for the chicken strips and shook her head, but her heart didn't seem to be in the teasing we usually shared right before dinner. I talked about my day and about Connie's letter, since my day had been rather uneventful. She laughed at the right times and made all the right comments, but I could see the signs of bad news. The war had at least taught me to be observant.

But I didn't ask her about it. Bad news had a way of coming out right when it needed to and I didn't want to find out a moment before that.

After we all sat down for dinner, I knew without a doubt that something bad was going to happen. I could see it in my grandparent's faces. So I ate slowly, hoping to put it off, but chicken dinners only last so long. Escape to the kitchen didn't work either.

"Sam, hold on a moment," Grandma said as I rose to take my plate to the kitchen. "We need to talk about something."

I sat down again with a resigned air. It was time.

Grandma sighed and tried to find the words she wanted to say, staring at me with a thoughtful, worried expression. "I... Well, you know the school year starts soon and, well...."

I didn't quite grasp what she was saying, so I just stared at her blankly.

"Your grandmother and I think it's about time for you to start going to public school again," Grandpa told me with his usually directness.

"Huh? But... but I don't want to go back yet." I turned pleadingly to Grandma. "Why can't I stay here with you?"

She crooned and leaned forward to hug me. "You can, precious. You can go to school here."

"But why can't you teach me still?"

"Because, dear, you should be out with other people your own age. It's not healthy for you to stay inside all day watching the news."

"Why not?" I asked, pulling out of her embrace. I couldn't believe what they were asking me to do. Go back to school? As if nothing had happened? As if my life hadn't been turned completely, irrevocably upside down? How could they do this to me? I wasn't like normal kids and they couldn't force me to be!

"I don't want to! I'm different from the other kids. I don't want to go school."

"Look, honey, I know you've been going through a rough time, but you need to start working past all that. You can't hide here forever."

'Rough time?' Understatement of the century. "You have no idea what I've gone through!" I shouted, ready to throw a fit.

But it was Grandpa's calm, cool command that stopped me. "You're going and that's final. If you don't want to go to back to San Francisco, then we'll register you at Bright."

And that, it seemed, was that.

Two weeks later I found myself standing outside the doors of Bright Elementary School, ready for my first day of third grade. Technically, I was at a fifth grade level, but why add more stress to my life than needed?

I glanced around the crowded hall nervously. People were everywhere, clogging the halls, talking and laughing together. Nervously shifting the weight of my backpack, I glanced down at the scrap of paper I'd written my room number on. 217. I didn't really want to go to room 217, but my other option was to spend the next twenty minutes out in hall, all alone, so I decided to bite the bullet and face my new classroom and a teacher who would know next to nothing about me.

When I got to 217, the room was empty. Even the teacher had stepped out, so I gratefully entered, chose a seat by the window, and pulled out my copy of Princess Bride. I'd saved the book for school. Anything that was Connie's favorite must be good enough to get me through the first day of school.

Just as I opened the book, a young woman with short brunette hair walked in and hesitated at the door.

"Oh?"

I glanced up from my book as she stared at me.

"Hello. You must be a new student. I didn't see you at orientation."

"I didn't go," I told her, still sitting in my chosen seat.

She frowned at me, looking confused by my attitude. What had I done that was so strange?

"Well, I'm Miss Forester, your new teacher."

"Hello." I decided I didn't like this woman who obviously thought I should be a simpering, simple-minded pre-schooler. She couldn't have been teaching very long, to think that an eight-year-old would ooh and ahh over a new teacher. I turned back to my book and kept reading.

Miss Forester came over and tapped on my desk, smiling at me like she thought I might bite her hand off.

"Is this the assigned seat you want for the next six weeks?"

I looked out the window, which gave me a clear view of the road outside and the small park across the street. A perfect view for daydreaming during class.

"Sure. I'll sit here."

Miss Forester left, still smiling her strained smile, and sat at her desk. Soon, the other students filed into the room, one by one or in groups, and chose their seats. Most of them stacked all their supplies on their desks, then turned in their seats to talk to one another. No one approached me, and I simply continued to read my book and ignore them. It was quite a good book.

But time finally came for to put my book aside and start class. The principle came on over the PA system and did the ritualistic, 'beginning of the school year' speech and then we were left to our own devices.

As the first 'assignment' of the year, we were given an information sheet to take home and have our parents fill out and sign. I already knew all the phone numbers and addresses and other information she asked for, so I quietly filled it out while the rest of the class made introductions, not really paying attention.

"Hey, it's you're turn." The boy behind me poked me to get my attention.

My head shot up. The whole class was looking at me and I heard a few badly covered snickers as I looked about.

"Uhh... Introduce myself?" I could feel my face go red, but Miss Forester just smiled her 'aren't you a cute simpleton' smile and nodded. "Ummmm... My name's Samantha Browning."

I looked around, unsure of what to do.

"Tell us a little bit about yourself."

A little bit about me? I could feel the panic build up inside me. What would I say to them? I used to be a host? I once saw my own hands murder a man? I know more filthy words and deeds than the rest of you put together? I can speak an alien language? What could I say to these people? How would they react? Would they pity me? Fear me? Ignore me? Question me? What to say? What to do? I couldn't tell them about being a host, they'd look at me with that horrible mixture of pity and fascination. I hated that look and I got it all too often.

"Wha...what should I say?"

"Just, what do you like to do, where you used to live, anything you want."

"I... uh.. I like to read. And I live with my grandparents, and my grandma used to home school me." There. A nice safe answer with no looks of pity attached.

"Hey, is it true you lived in San Francisco during the war?" The question came from a blond-haired boy a few rows over.

People muttered among themselves as I sat there in silent shock. How did he find out? What else did these people already know about me? And why couldn't they just leave me alone?

A few people gave little, conspiratorial whispers of "yeah, tell us," before Miss Forester called their attention elsewhere. The class went on, but I could feel them staring at me for the rest of the day.

------------

"Hey, isn't that the girl..."

"Yeah, I heard she knows the Animorphs..."

"I heard my mom talking to someone. They say she won't go home..."

"I wonder why..."

I sat in the cafeteria, quietly eating my sandwich as the rumors flew around me. Why did they have to keep talking about me? Why couldn't they just shut up and leave me alone? Didn't they realize I could hear them? They didn't know anything about war. They didn't know anything about pain or loss or fear. They were just normal children with normal lives and I hated them. I hated them and I just wanted to go home to my grandparents where no one pretended to understand things they didn't and grandma loved me and made me whatever lunch I wanted.

I sullenly ate my sandwich and every word I overheard only made me angrier. I seethed as thoughts chased each other through my head until I could hardly see strait, I was so mad.

"Hi."

A girl my own age with curly red hair abruptly sat opposite me, startling me out of my furious thoughts.

"What do you want?"

The girl shrugged. "You're sitting all by yourself, so I thought I'd come sit with you." She looked down at the tray of cafeteria food in front of her. "I bet you get better food when you're home schooled, huh?"

I just stared at her. She hadn't mentioned the war at all, but she must have been curious about it. Why else would she come talk to me? She was just beating around the bush, trying to small talk her way into getting what she wants. I'd met plenty of Yeerks like that.

"So, I'm Jackie," she said, obviously not bothered by my silence. "And you're Samantha. Do you mind being called Sam?"

I shook my head at my sandwich. "My sister calls me that all the time."

"Oh, cool. You have a sister. Is she older or younger than you?"

"Older."

I wanted to tell Jackie to go away and mind her own business, but I also wanted her to stay. She didn't really care about me, but pretending to be normal was pretty nice.

But Jackie had broken some kind of taboo by coming to talk to me and soon a few more children came to sit on either side of me.

"So, when you were San Francisco, did you meet any Controllers?" asked the blond-haired boy from class.

I didn't answer him.

"Hey, I heard you lived in the same neighbor hood as the Animorphs. Is that true?" A brunette girl, also in my class.

"Why are you living out here?" An Asian looking boy I didn't recognize.

I ignored them all, scowling at my food and hoping they'd leave me alone. They didn't. They just continued to pester me with questions and crowd around me. I felt closed in, trapped. They wouldn't let me out. Wouldn't let me go. Just like the Yeerks. I don't want to talk! I don't want to be here! I don't want to do this! Don't make me!

"Hey, why don't you talk?" The blond boy grabbed my shoulder and I snapped.

"STOP!" I screamed, swinging my fist and punching him with all my might.

------------

I spent the rest of lunch and most of art class in the principle's office, then in the councilor's office. I told them that the other children were shouting at me, and making me feel claustrophobic. It was true, just not the whole truth, but they bought it anyways. They called my grandparents and debated weather I should go home or not, finally deciding that I could go back to class when I assured them that I was fine.

Hearing my Grandpa's voice on the phone made me realize that I didn't want to fail. I didn't want them to think I was weak and a failure. I just had to be strong, like Connie. Connie, who never let anyone or anything get her down.

I went to class and sat in my seat, but no one talked to me. They avoided me and I avoided them, and that was just fine with me. They all knew what a freak I was, so maybe I'd be able to get a bit of peace and quiet.

The blond boy would glance at me every now and then, but I read my book, or did my work and pretend not to notice him or the large black eye that was forming over his bloody nose.

------------

Nothing was said about my fight at school. In fact, nothing was said about school at all. I wanted nothing more than to have them tell me that I obviously wasn't ready for public school yet, and that I should stay at home. But they didn't say it, and I sure as hell wasn't about to. I hadn't survived a war just to be beaten by a silly group of eight-year-olds.

So we talked about other stuff, things in the news, and I had them sign my info sheet, and that was that. I got ready for bed early and fell asleep reading The Princess Bride.

------------

Slowly, school got better. I finished The Princess Bride and immediately started it over again. The kids left me alone and eventually stopped talking about me where I could hear them, although I had no doubt that they still talked about me when I was gone. Miss Forester treaded carefully around me, and I resented everything she did. Every blank smile, every childish activity, every attempt to draw me into the class.

I did extremely well in class, which was only to be expected. Everything we did was below the level I was used to at home. Pretty soon I got bored and would pull my book out in the middle of class. Miss Forester never stopped me, and since I always did my work and answered the questions, she really had nothing to complain about. But I could tell she didn't like it. I could see her hesitate every now and then, as if she wanted to object. She always bit it back just before she said anything. I didn't care. If she wanted me to participate, she'd just have to make the class more interesting.

The first change came about two weeks into class. Jackie came to me before school as I sat at my desk, reading Ella Enchanted. I'd finished my third reading of Princess Bride the day before.

"Good morning Sam."

I looked from my book and glanced around, unsure of what to say, or if she was even really talking to me. "Um, hi."

She handed me a plain, pink envelope. "Here."

"What is it," I asked, taking the envelope from her.

"It's an invitation to my birthday party next Saturday."

I dropped it on my desk. "No thank you."

Jackie sighed and looked at me like I'd done something silly. "I know you don't really get along with many people, but it's just going to be a small group of us going bowling, and no one will ask you about anything you don't want to talk about." She frowned thoughtfully. "Um... what is it we shouldn't ask about? You never really said what it was that made you so mad."

I didn't answer her. Couldn't she see I wanted to be alone?

"Oh well, you're still invited and you can call me if you change your mind."

I stared at the pink envelope on my desk after she walked away. It seemed to be mocking me. Taunting me. 'Here I am,' it was saying. 'I'm the normal life you want so bad, but you're too afraid of me to do anything.'

I wasn't afraid. I just didn't want to see the looks of pity. I didn't want to deal with the questions. I didn't want to deal with people. I didn't want to be around the constant reminder of what I could never be. These kids were carefree and innocent, but I was on a whole different level. I'd lost whatever could be called innocent years ago. They had what I wanted, but it was just out of my reach.

'Grab it,' the envelope was still saying. 'I'm right here. Can't get any closer than that.'

I opened the envelope. Inside was a store bought invitation with bowling pins printed on it. It held the standard time/place/RSVP information. And I didn't really have anything to do on Saturday anyways. So why hesitate to go?

The invitation mocked me. 'Because you're afraid. You're weak.'

I marched up to Jackie's desk. "I'll go. But no one better ask me anything about what I did before I came here. Or... or anything about San Francisco!" I stared defiantly at her, waiting for her to say something, but she just smiled at me.

"Okay. Mom will pay for your shoes, but bring money for snacks."

------------

At noon on Saturday Grandma dropped me off at the bowling alley. She'd wanted to come with me, but I asked her not to. What normal kid goes around with her Grandmother in tow?

Inside, Jackie met me at the door by squealing happily and running to hug me.

"Yeah! You're here! Now everyone's here and we can play!"

She bounced excitedly in place and I just stared at her for a while. What on earth did she have to be so happy about? It was just a birthday party.

Stiffly, I handed over the bag with her birthday present and she took it and ran back to the group. Four children and two adults waited at a table covered with a blue plastic table cloth and food. All of the children were classmates of mine, including Allen, the boy I hit. I wandered a bit closer, but didn't quite join the group.

"Hey, Sam, come on. We're gonna go get our shoes."

I didn't want to be part of the group, but Jackie dragged me into it anyways. They tugged me over to the desk for shoes, then over to our designated lane, where Jackie promptly sat behind the control panel and stared at the buttons.

"What do you hit first?"

I rolled my eyes and came up behind her. "I can do it, if you don't mind."

Jackie just smiled at me and gave up her seat. I entered everyone's names and started the round.

Computers came easily to me after Gotrid. Just like weapons became familiar after Chikra. I could reprogram the controls to show everything upside down and inside out. I could shoot center mass on every pin from the end of the lane. But no one had bothered to teach me how to bowl and I didn't have a weapon handy. Because there were quite a few times I just wanted to shoot something.

Allen laughed at me after the first time I walked up the lane and just stood there, looking at the ball. I thought about chucking the ball at him, but then I realized that he was just amused, not teasing me. He came up right away and showed me the proper way to hold and throw it, but I still got a gutter ball. Everyone laughed. After my sixth gutter ball in a row, even I was laughing. Then Jackie's mom showed us how to put up the bumpers.

All through the afternoon, no one asked me a single question. Not about the war, not about my part in it, not about my life now, not about anything. We sat and told jokes and laughed and they let me feel like part of the group, but I could tell I wasn't. I could still feel that I was different from these other children. I laughed when I was supposed to and said what I was supposed to, but always, in the back of my mind, was the thought that I was different. That they were still children, but I was something closer to an adult.

When Grandma asked me a few hours later if I had fun, I told her yes, and that Jackie liked her present. I didn't tell her that I spent the whole time thinking about something I could have. That normalcy was dangling in front of me, but I still couldn't go back and recapture my youth. That something as small as being able to set up a game of bowling when no one else could set me apart from my peers. So far apart that I felt I could never bridge the gap.

------------

After that, Jackie would come to eat with me some days and at times I could almost pretend to be normal. I enjoyed her company. The girl had a cheerful energy that was infectious. A few of the other children in class would sometimes join her, but no one else approached me alone. Apparently, I was still scary.

At the end of the six-weeks, we had a open house. The announcement had to be brought back to class signed, so I was forced to tell my grandparents about it. They would have found out anyways; it was such a small town. I didn't want to go, but never even had a chance to voice my opinion. Grandpa took one look at the letter and marked it on the calendar. Nothing gets changed after Grandpa puts it on the calendar.

So, one chilly fall night, I led my grandparents into my school and gave them a grim faced grand tour. Other children were there with their families, but they ran around excitedly, eager to show off the school and their works. I wasn't really proud of anything I had up and walked around calmly.

We finally made it to the classroom and Grandma asked to see my desk, which I showed them. It looked just like every other desk in the room, but it had my name taped to the front. After that they moved to the crowd of parents trying to talk to Miss Forester, a process hindered by over enthusiastic children.

I lingered by my desk for a while, thinking longingly of the copy of Beauty I'd hidden there earlier in the day. But Grandma would get that worried look if she saw me reading now. The only look she had that I hated. The one that bordered on pity and didn't understand why I was different. So I wandered over to the other side of the room and leaned against the corner formed by a cabinet and a wall, people watching. Jackie and her parents came and talked to me for a while, and her mother smiled and shook my hand. Allen introduced me to his mother and step-father, although I had no idea why. They seemed friendly.

Slowly, the students and parents trickled out until only a few groups were left. I stayed by the door, watching the hall way. Hidden as I was by the cabinet, my grandparents didn't see me when they thought they were having a private conversation with my teacher.

"How is she doing in class?"

"Well, she's doing fine with her work, but I'm still worried about her. She won't interact with the other kids."

"She's got that one girl. What's her name?"

"Jackie's been such a sweet girl to her, and I think that's helping her a bit, but I'm still worried. If she doesn't start to participate in class, I'll have to recommend that she be put in a special education program."

"She's not like that."

"No, Miranda," Grandpa told her sternly, speaking up for the first time. "If she's too immature to deal with this, then maybe she does need some one on one attention."

Immature? I wasn't immature! If anything I was the most mature kid in the class.

"I am sorry, ma'am, but he's right. Does she have a history of developmental problems?"

I almost came out of hiding at that statement. Developmental problems? They thought I was retarded?

"No, no." Grandma answered this time. "It's because of what she went through in San Francisco. I think she has trouble connecting with the other kids."

"More like she refuses to connect with them." Grandpa again.

"It seems like she considers herself above the other children," Miss Forester interjected. "I know she's smart enough to skip a grade or two, but I can tell by her actions that she knows it, too. She intimidates the other kids. Then when they try to approach her, she rejects them."

"She'll have grow up and see she's no different from anyone else some day. Might as well be here."

Miss Forester sighed. "Well, I'm afraid if it doesn't happen soon, It'll have to happen somewhere else. She's a disturbance to my class. Have you considered counseling?"

"She's seen a trauma therapist before. He said she was adjusting nicely."

I didn't really listen to the rest of their conversation, which was cut short by the other parents anyways. They thought I was the problem? Me? I was the one being misunderstood! I was the one getting the looks of pity! I was the one who woke almost every night with nightmares! I was the victim! Other people didn't try to understand me. They couldn't even if they wanted to. How could I possibly be to blame? And immature? I wasn't immature! I was above the other children, and if knowing the truth about that made immature, then so be it. I didn't want to be mature.

I tried to convince myself that I was right as we drove home, but somehow, that little shadow of doubt still nagged at me. What if they were right? What if the war had just made me different, but not anything else? And if I was so great, then why did I want to be just like everyone else?

------------

The next day at school I was more or less determined not to talk or anyone. Open House had made me think, but not in ways that I wanted to. So I avoided the whole process, choosing instead to escape into my books.

I read Beauty quietly before school. I loved that half hour before class, when I had the whole room to myself and the sun would slant in through the window to light the open book in my lap.

"Sam."

I looked up from my book, angry at being suddenly dragged out of my peaceful state. Jackie was standing over me, smiling cheerfully.

"What do you want?"

He smile wavered a bit, but I wasn't really in a mood to care. Couldn't she tell when I wanted to be left alone?

"I just wanted to say hi." She hesitated, then pressed on. "And to see if you wanted to go to the county fair with us on Friday. It's opening day."

Go out? With people? Again? Why should I when every time I left feeling like crap and everyone still thought I was retarded? Thoughts of the previous night pushed themselves forward in my mind and I became even angrier. Why did everyone want to push me? Why wouldn't they just leave me alone? What did they want from me? I didn't want to be around Jackie and her annoying cheerfulness, or Miss Forester and her ignorant pity, or even Allen and his stupid jokes. I didn't want to be around anyone!

"No!" I shouted, my anger finally boiling over. I stood at my desk and shouted in her face. "I don't want to go to your stupid fair and I don't want to hang out with you or anyone else! Just leave me alone! Can't you see you're annoying me!"

Jackie stopped smiling and backed away from me. "I...I was just wondering. I didn't mean to-"

"Well stop it! Stop trying to help me, okay! You don't know anything about me! You can't help me and you can't be my friend and I don't want to talk to you! Just leave me alone!"

"Um, I'm sorr-"

"Just shut up and leave me alone!"

She did. She turned abruptly and walked over to her seat. I sat down again, opened my book, and promptly felt ashamed of myself. Jackie hadn't really done anything to me besides try to be nice. I had taken all my anger from the night before out on her. Well she shouldn't have bugged me, I rationalized. She should have known to leave me alone, just like everyone else.

I couldn't read, so I looked over at Jackie. She was sitting at her desk with her homework spread out in front of her, crying.

And I was supposed to be the mature one?

------------

"Hello, Sam. How was your day at school?"

I threw my backpack on the couch, ignored my grandmother's question, and marched strait into my room. As soon as I got there, I threw myself down on my bed and buried my face in the comforter. I didn't cry, but I didn't do much else. I couldn't even think. Thinking made my head hurt.

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke an hour later to Grandma shaking me gently.

"Go away," I muttered. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Connie's on the phone. Do you want to talk to her?"

I groaned and sat up slowly. I always wanted to talk to Connie. Connie could make anything better. But I wouldn't tell Grandma that. Instead I stubbornly held on to my disgruntled front as I shuffled through the house and took the handset off the kitchen counter.

"'Lo?"

"Sam? Hey, there. I heard you had a bad day at school."

"Yeah." I didn't offer any more information, but she didn't take the hint and move on. "I don't want to talk about it," I told her.

"You do want to talk about it, Sam. Otherwise you wouldn't have picked up the pone."

She was almost right, but I really just wanted her to tell me that everything would be okay. That I wasn't selfish or stupid or immature. That the world sucked, but that I was still right. I wanted her to say it; to make it true.

"Look, Sam, just tell me what happened. We'll figure it out."

So I did. I told her everything. I told her about Jackie and Allen and the lunchroom fight and the birthday party. I told her about how the other kids whispered about me and pestered me. I told her about Miss Forester and how she patronized me. I told her about how immature all the kids were, and about how I didn't feel like one of them anymore. I told her everything and she listened. And the more she listened the more I talked. And the more I talked, the less sense I made. Jackie wasn't mean to me. Miss Forester gave me different work in class so I could keep up with what I'd been studying before. Allen was even pretty nice and taught me how to bowl. And so I talked some more to try and make sense of it, or to make her see that I was right, or to convince myself that I was right. I talked myself in circles and when I was finally done, Connie stayed silent on the other end, not saying a word.

"Connie?"

"I'm here."

"Well?"

"Well," she shot back. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I-huh? Do... about..."

"So the world isn't ordering itself the way you like it. What are you going to do?"

"I...I don't know."

Connie sighed again and I could almost see her on the other end of the line, hunched over with her head in her hand. "I'm sorry Sam. I'm angry, but I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"But you never get mad like that."

She chuckled, a harsh, disbelieving sound. "Right, I don't get mad, and Mom doesn't get sick, and Grandpa never cries."

I frowned a bit. I knew Connie was just a normal human. She got mad just like everyone else. Grandpa crying was a bit hard to believe, but it could happen. I just tended not to think about such things.

"I didn't mean that."

"Yes you did." She paused, like she was trying to figure out what to say. "Look, Sam, I know you want me to say that you're right and the world sucks and that everything's going to be okay, but I can't do that."

I started to panic. The kind of panic that was tinged with hate. Connie was turning on me, too! How could she do such a thing?

"Sam, please listen to me. I know you don't want to hear this, but please listen to me."

I calmed down. I listened. Connie always made everything better.

"Fine."

"You're eight years old, Sam. You're eight and you've been through hell, but you're still eight. However different or mature you are, you're still a kid."

"But-" I started to object, but she wouldn't let me.

"No, you talked my ear off, now you get to listen. You may think you're hot shit and the only one in your classroom who's seen bad times, but you're not. I was a host, too, remember? But I've met perfectly ordinary people with stories that would make your hair turn white. They've been through things I don't even want to think about. I bet if you'd stop and listen you'd find some people like that in your class, so don't hold your troubles out like a banner and think it makes you better some how."

"I don't do that!"

"You do, Sam. I've seen you do it."

Her voice pleaded with me to listen, but I was so mad I hardly even paid attention. My own sister tuning on me! How could she?

"Find someone in your class. This Jackie girl, maybe. Talk to her. Your first impressions aren't always right; she'll probably listen to you and empathize. You do that all the time, Sam. You get an impression of someone and then hang onto that, even when you're wrong."

I snorted, but didn't try to say anything. She stayed quiet for a long time and I wondered if she'd heard me.

She obviously did, because when she spoke again I could hear the anger and frustration in her voice. "Until you can admit that you're wrong and get over your silly pride, you'll still be just another immature brat, no matter what you did during the war."

Connie hung up and I was left staring stupidly into space, listening to a dial tone.

------------

I couldn't sleep. A million thoughts chased each other through my head and wouldn't leave me alone. I tried to push them aside, to sleep or read or watch TV, but I couldn't. I couldn't get rid of my thoughts anymore than I could make sense of them.

Connie thought I was immature. My teacher thought I was immature. Even Grandpa thought I was immature. Why was everyone against me? Why couldn't they see what was really wrong with me?

What was really wrong with me?

My thoughts were brought up short by the question. What was my problem? What did I want? And what on earth could anyone else do for me?

I couldn't answer the questions, so I wandered into the kitchen for a midnight snack instead. But even while munching on cereal, I couldn't make the world make sense. It didn't make sense watching TV or sitting on the patio swing either.

I thought about my conversation with Connie. 'What are you going to do about it?' I'd never thought about such a thing. I knew I was unhappy. I knew I wanted to be happy. Maybe not normal, but happy at least. And I'd never thought about how reach that. About what to do. I didn't even know what exactly I wanted to have happen. All I knew was that I wanted something different.

I had a problem, but I didn't know what it was. I wanted something, but I didn't know that either. Other people thought they knew. They thought I was immature and wanted to talk.

Perhaps the people closest to me knew me better than I knew myself.

And all I knew for sure was that I didn't want to sit on a porch swing and mope. I didn't want to be called immature. And I sure as hell wasn't about to let a war that had already ended ruin my life.

------------

They always say that admitting you have a problem is the hardest step. Never believe 'they.' I decided not to be beaten, to take charge of my life and to do my best to fit in, but I still had no idea how. I still feared talking to my peers. I feared their thoughts and their words and their pity. And I was far too ashamed of what I'd done to Jackie to even approach her. I had no idea what to say to her. How to apologize. I spent a week sitting in class, nervously waiting for a chance to change, but too afraid to make one.

On Friday, out of the blue, I had a flashback. I was sitting in my seat, contemplating pulling out my book as Miss Forester droned on about grammar, when the fear hit me.

Where was I? There was no voice in my head, so that meant I was with the other hosts. I started shaking as I looked around, unable to identify any of the faces around me. Any minute now, the Hork-Bajar would come to take me back to the pier and someone new would yell at me. Cause me pain. Make me do something terrible. I didn't want to go back! I didn't want to be a host! Don't let them take me!

I looked around again, trying to find something to calm me down when it hit me that I was in class. I wasn't in the host cages. Why wasn't I in a host cage? They'd discover me missing and then come to find me. They'd burst through the door at any moment now and drag me away. I'd seen what happened to hosts who tried to run. I didn't want to die! I had to get out! I had to get away, before they found me and tortured me! Panic took hold and couldn't think. The adrenaline made me shake so bad I could hardly stand, but I knew I had to get out. Had to run. Had to fight. Had to do SOMETHING!

"SAM!"

Someone was shaking me, but I couldn't focus on their face. I saw a door and tried to run for it, but couldn't move. I could only stand there, shaking.

"SAM!"

The shaking stopped and Miss Forester brought her hand down hard across my face. I snapped out of my walking dream and stared at her in shock, breathing heavy and holding my face where she'd hit me.

"Are you okay?" she asked, genuinely concerned. Slowly, I was able to focus on reality. Everyone in class was turned to me, staring at me. I stood a few feet from my desk, still shaking slightly.

They'd seen me flashback. They knew what a freak I was. Soon they'd start talking about me again, but this time they'd know. They'd know everything, and I'd get the looks. The looks and the questions and the fear and the pity and everything I didn't want.

I covered my face and ran from the room. How could I face my classmates now? How could I sit in my seat and go on as if nothing had happened?

I ran blindly into the bathroom and locked myself in a stall where I cried in noisy, racking sobs. How could I have let such a thing happen?

"Sam?" Someone outside the stall tentatively knocked on the door. I recognized Jackie's voice. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Go away." I tried to swallow my sobs, but only managed to sound like a dying animal. "Just leave me alone."

I saw her feet wander away after a moment, but then they came right back.

"Sam, please let me in. You don't have to talk or anything, just come out of the stall."

I unlocked the door, too disoriented to really put up much of a fight. I chocked back a few sobs and looked at her, dreading what I'd see on her face.

She looked sad. There were a few tears gathering in her eyes and her whole face looked anxious and worried. But I saw absolutely no pity. She put one hand on my shoulder in a friendly gesture that was simply too much for me. I broke down completely and cried into her shoulder.

------------

I left school as soon as I was clam enough to leave the bathroom. Grandma came to pick me up. Jackie stayed with me until I left, but never asked me a single question.

That night, I went over to her house and told her everything anyways. Allen was there, too; they'd just gotten back from the fair. I sat in her living room and told both of them my entire story. They just sat and listened, although Allen had a look of pity mixed with interest when I stared. It was gone by the time I'd finished and he just looked horrified. Jackie simply watched me as I talked. Neither of them said a word.

No one really knew what to say for a while. Allen made a few half-hearted jokes but the atmosphere was too uncomfortable. So rather than deal with it, I left.

Strangely enough, talking to Jackie seemed to help. It was almost a relief to know that I wasn't alone. That some one else in the world had heard and understood me. But I still couldn't face anyone. I stayed home from school the next Monday. Tuesday, too.

On Wednesday, Jackie came to visit me. Grandma let her in and led her into the living room where I was watching TV.

"Hi," I said without getting up. "Sit down."

She sat on the couch with me. "We missed you at school today."

"Was it boring without a freak show to watch?"

"A little."

I looked at her, surprised. Most people would deny that I was a freak or that anything was wrong.

"Some one made fun of you in class yesterday and a bunch of people tried to beat him up."

"Really?"

"Really, really."

She smiled at me, but I didn't smile back. Those kids can do whatever they want.

"So, when are you coming back?"

"Never." I slouched down where I sat and faced the news again. I expected her to argue with me, but she remained silent. I sneaked a look at her. She was just watching me, like she was waiting for me to do something. "What?"

"I'm just waiting for you to stop being mad long enough to listen to me."

I slouched further. "I'm listening."

"Come back to school. You don't have to be the same as everyone else. Probably no one would like you if you were. But you're not and you're fun. I like you and I don't think you're a freak and most of the other kids don't either. They're just curious."

"Well I don't want them to be curious."

"Well, if you tell everyone everything, they won't have anything to be curious about, will they?"

I stopped mid-argument and stared at her. Tell everyone? Everything?

"If you take away the mystery, people will treat you more like a normal person."

"You come up with that all on your own?"

"No. Aunt Ramie told me to say that. But I agree with her."

I thought for a moment. To be treated like a normal person. The only thing I knew that I wanted.

"Okay," I muttered, turning back to the TV. "I'll think about it."

Jackie smiled and let the subject drop. We talked about the news, and about school, and about boys, and about the fair. Then we talked about Jackie and it was my turn to listen. Evidently, the woman I thought was her mom was her aunt. Her mom had died while on a business trip to San Francisco at the end of the war. Her dad decided he couldn't support her and left her with his sister to go off and 'grieve.' She only saw him about once a year.

After Jackie told her story, I felt like the world's biggest jackass. Connie was right. I'd been living as if I was the only one affected by the war. After Jackie left, I decided to follow her advice.

------------

On Friday, Miss Forester let me talk to the class. I spent half an hour talking, then turned and walked out of class. Most people were too stunned to do anything. Even Miss Forester didn't know before hand what I wanted to say. But Jackie followed me and found in the bathroom, crying.

I hadn't bothered to lock the stall door. There really wasn't any point. Jackie put her arms around me as I sat on the lid of the toilet and let me cry for a while before she finally asked me, "What's wrong?"

I shrugged and wiped my face. My tears had more or less stopped. "It's just, I don't know, I was scared the whole time I was up there talking."

"Scared of what?"

"Of....of....I don't know. Of what people will do and what they'll say."

Jackie smiled at me and gave me a fierce hug. "Well I'm proud of you."

"You sound like my mother."

"Then I'd probably like your mother."

I laughed a bit and wiped away the last of my tears.

Jackie patted my shoulder. "All better now?"

"No."

"Well, can you go back to class?"

I glanced toward the door of the bathroom and I'm sure face spoke volumes. I wanted to hide out in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

Jackie straitened up and stood in front of me, giving me a comically reproaching look. "You're going to sit and hide in a bathroom stall because you're afraid of some gossip from your classmates?"

And I finally saw the humor in my situation. "That sounds so typically..."

"Childish?"

I smiled up at her. "Yeah."

"See," she said, offering me a hand up. "We're not so different. You'll be fine."

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

Jackie beamed at me, hooked her arm in mine in a grand, overdramatic gesture and led the way out of the bathroom.

I'll be fine.