AN: Wow, it is really hard to write angst and still keep it in character for an eight-year-old. I hope I'm pulling it off all right, please let me know if there's anywhere that seemed like too much or just off.

Chapter 4 – Through the Buffer

"What a jerk," Tina says grumpily. She sits up and crosses her arms on her chest, scowling. "Who does he think he is, going around and calling little kids freaks?"

"He was just a kid too," I point out.

"It doesn't matter. No one should talk like that," she says. "Especially not someone who understands what it's like." I consider, for a moment, defending my friend again but I can tell by her expression that it won't do much good.

"Should I not finish the story?" I ask, trying to hide my smile because I already know her reaction. Predictably, her eyes widen and all signs of hostility go out the window.

"No, I want to know how on earth you ended up becoming friends with someone so awful," she says, retrieving her discarded pillow and hugging it to her chest again. "I mean, he needs a serious attitude adjustment. I thought you said you were in a bad way."

"Oh I was," I assure her. "It just took a while to hit. See there's sort of this buffer zone when you go through things like I did, a little denial stage where you convince yourself that things won't actually change all that much. But once I'd run through that, well, that's when things got difficult." She's staring at me expectantly so I continue…

. . . . .

It's been three whole weeks and I'm real sick of the Center. Gary said all the working out would make me feel better and stronger, but I pretty much just feel sore all over my body. Like way worse even than that time I raced Jake all around the school and then I was so tired I couldn't move anymore. The food doesn't taste good like at home and I miss going to my brother's baseball games and playing with my baby sister. It was Halloween last week, and I didn't even get to go trick-or-treating with Luke and Mike and Jenny like we had been planning all year.

I don't want to be here anymore. I just want it all to be over so I can go home.

"Alright, kiddo, you up to going down to lunch today?" Gary asks in that trying-to-be-happy voice he's been using lots lately. I slouch down in my seat, not listening to my mom's voice in my head that says not to do that, and cross my arms, shaking my head no. "C'mon Artie. If your arms are too tired you don't have to push yourself."

"I don't wanna go," I say, glaring mean-like at the ugly wall in front of me. Gary makes a little sigh noise, but he still goes down to the cafeteria and gets our lunches. Just like every day for the last two weeks since I made up my mind that I don't wanna go there no more. Seeing all the people that are getting better than me makes me mad and sad. And I don't like the way some of them look at me. They give me that look that's real sad, like the way Mom looked when she was talking to Grandma after Grandpa died. I'm not dead, so they shouldn't do that. It's mean and it's stupid.

When he comes back I eat the food real quiet. Gary tries to make me talk to him but I don't say anything while I pick at my sandwich with my nose wrinkled up, and he gives up same as every other day.

It's Tuesday, so after lunch I have to go to group therapy. I've tried not to go no more but Gary always makes me. He says if I don't go it'll take lots longer before I can go home. Gary tries to push me down there, but I don't let him. I don't like getting pushed all over, it makes me feel real mad that people can just move me around when they want to. Even though it hurts my arms more and it makes my hands feel real sore and scratchy, I push on the wheels on my chair to make it move down the hallways until we get to the big empty room where they do group therapies.

There's already a bunch of other people in there when Gary helps me make my chair go through the doorway. I smoosh my hand again, but I just bite my lip and try not to let people see that it hurt. I know some of the people from other days; the guy named Rick with a missing hand, the girl that's my brother's age that has big huge casts on both of her legs. There's a girl even smaller than me with all kinds of metal wrapped around her legs. And then there's Dr. Mary, she does all of the group stuff. But I don't know the rest of them.

I push myself so I'm part of the circle, close to the door 'cause my arms are too tired to make me go more. "Hi Artie, how are you?" Dr. Mary asks. She talks to me like people talk to my baby sister, and I really hate it. I just shrug and cross my arms again, looking at the floor so I don't have to look at her or any of the other people here.

"Well, let's start with a little group sharing," Dr. Mary says, like she doesn't even care that I didn't talk. They all do that. No one cares if I talk. And even when I do, they don't really listen that good. That's why I don't say stuff no more. "Calvin, do you have anything to share with everyone?"

I don't pay attention while everyone else is talking. They all say the same sort of things anyway. They talk about how they are getting better. And I'm not going to get better. I'm gonna be stuck like this forever and ever until I die. When Dr. Mary says, "Artie, do you have anything to share?" I just shake my head and keep on staring at the shiny wood floor that looks like the floor in the gym at my school.

It all goes just like it does every time, but then suddenly Dr. Mary makes this funny little noise and says, "Well hello there." I look up, wondering what she's talking about, and try to twist to look over my shoulder at the door but my back is still pretty sore and I can't twist around as good no more. "Hayden, how nice of you to join us."

It's that boy from the hallway, the really mad one that called me a freak. He walks in real slow and careful like, swinging his white stick in front of him on the floor. It makes a little tappy noise whenever it touches the ground. His nurse gets a chair and puts it down next to me, and then she takes his hand and takes him to it.

This is the first time he's come to one of these things. I've heard him from down the hallway, yelling and screaming lots. A couple days after I got here, he went real crazy. His nurse's lip was really swollen for like a week after that. I'm pretty sure he's like, evil or something.

But when I look at him, he's just sitting there in his chair, playing with the white stick in his hands. He just stares ahead like he's listening to what Dr. Mary is talking about. I'm on the side where I can see all the big white lines on his face, and they look scary this close too. I kinda want to move away, so I don't gotta be by him. And I want to give the other boy a mean glare, 'cause he was real mean to me that one time and I didn't even do nothing wrong, but he won't look at me. He just stares and listens.

I give up and look down at the floor again. Who cares if he comes to these stupid class things? I don't wanna be here anyway. Maybe I should be crazy like he was so I don't gotta come. I kinda thought about it sometimes, but then Gary is really, really big and I don't think it would work right. He might just pick me up and carry me. He can do it; he did it for the first week to move me out of my chair.

Dr. Mary says that we're done, and that she'll see us on Thursday. I don't move 'cause I don't like moving around when there are lots of other people moving. I run into them sometimes when I can't make the chair move right. And people look at me lots and watch me try to move. I hate how people stare at me now.

The boy next to me stands up and turns around to face his nurse, and my eyes get kinda wide in surprise. Because there is a bruise on his cheek that looks like the one Jack had after he got in a fight at school. I wonder where he got it. Maybe his nurse hit him back this time when he got crazy, maybe that's why he's being so quiet.

"Alright, Artie, ready to go?" Gary asks and I shrug. He gives me a look that says lets go so I push my wheels to make the chair turn around. The boy next to me is swinging his stick and it hits against my foot, and the metal on my chair makes a loud cling noise.

"Oh sorry," the boy says real quick. He's looking kinda at me, and it's really weird because his eyes don't look all super mad like the last time I talked to him. He just kinda looks – sad.

"Whatever," I say, feeling too grumpy to care. Then I look down at my foot and my stomach does a really gross twisty thing that makes me feel like I'm gonna barf or something. So I say, "Not like I can feel it." Then I grab the wheels on my chair and push extra hard to get away from all of them. I don't go to dinner, and I just go straight back to my room and go to bed. When June gets here and asks me how I'm feeling, I just tell her to go away.

I really, really hate this place.