Kamala's bluster evaporated as she pulled out a lollypop and reclined on Dr. Shortman's couch. After steeling a glance at the bookshelf and musing it bursting under the weight of its contents, she stared intensely at the ceiling while the stick dangled from her mouth like a cigarette.
"What can I say about being a girl in middle school that hasn't been said by any of those chuckleheads?" She sighed pointing her thumb in the direction of the little library. "The biological changes, the social pressures, the cyberbullying, the emergence of our sexualities, the worry about how some Pop Tart is going to influence what we wear …you know, all the run-of-the-mill crap written to sell books to worried parents wringing their hands as to how and why their little princess became a thermonuclear warhead of snark, insecurities, and rebellion."
"Um…that's quite an assessment Kamala." Arnold began as he looked down at his notepad and tried to hastily copy what she had said. "And at the risk of coming off as condescending, that's the good thing about these therapy sessions; as long as you aren't threatening self-harm or harm to others it's your time and your words."
"Do you know what a Sand Flea is Doc?" She asked after a minute of silence.
"Um…yes." Arnold replied. "A terrestrial shellfish known for burrowing and feeding on the ocean's swash zone."
"Biologically, yes." Kamala began. "It's also something of an in-group term among those of us who make their home and livelihood in Spencer Beach. You know, non-tourists who have to deal with an off season…and sometimes the financial consequences therein…"
Kamala seemed to get uncharacteristically quiet. A turn of events not lost on Dr. Shortman.
Before he could ask where she fit into this scenario, Arnold looked up from his notepad to see his patient shedding her oversized hoodie. Underneath her technicolor bunny-hug was souvenir apparel of a different sort; a washed-out black tank tee from the Babewach Café advertising a promotion of sorts from yesteryear. An image faded and worn from age and washing. Sensing his speechlessness, her rage comes back in full force.
"Poor. Just say it. I. Am. Poor!" Kamala said ragefully. "It's not like Spencer Beach inspires postcode envy in the first place; but even with that my life is like something out of Oliver-effing- Twist! Every aspect of my livelihood comes from this damn restaurant; what I eat, what I wear…and… and those who you think would be oblivious to this are the first to act like sharks around a wounded seal!"
"You mean your classmates."
"You didn't get your degree for nothing." She shot back with a smirk and a knowing gesture to his direction. "Adults get so hung up about ThE iNNoCenCe of CHiLdhOOd and all, but…it seems that the stuff you think kids wouldn't notice are the things they have the most laser-like focus on. Particularly when it comes to how and when the social hierarchy begins to take form."
"And when…for you did that-" Arnold began.
"Picture day." Kamala finished with finality.
(Flashback: Second Grade)
The 'It Girl' look had been outdated for years; no one even wore it ironically. Yet that didn't stop the local thrift store from having enough matching bows/ jumpers and white tees on hand to clothe half the freaking galaxy. And on one fateful day in the name of school pictures, my mother in her infinite wisdom, saw one of these in the window and thought, 'hmm, this would be worth squirreling away some money over'.
Knowing what I know now, it almost seemed stupid how enamored I was by this dress. In hindsight, it was a bit snug in some places and a subtle stain mark could be seen on the back, but I knew that up to now mom never let me have a dress, or for that matter any clothing that hadn't a thing to do with Babewatch. I was a bit too old to feel like a fairy-princess, but the novelty of wearing one wasn't lost on me.
It wasn't until I found myself sandwiched alphabetically by last name between Krissy Lang and Joanna Morton that I felt like a pumpkin. I could hear them snickering as they cast glances at me. For a while I tried to blend in and giggle along with them. Even after picture time, the whispered giggles continued. By then it had gotten annoying and tiresome of having to try and keep up with whatever joke they tittered about.
But then came Lunch.
Out of nowhere I am not only charley-horsed but treated to a torrential downpour of garbage falling over me as I went to throw away what remained of my meal. Upon wiping away the mix of unwanted food and drink, I turn to see Krissy and Johanna, alongside a third girl Stephanie Lang.
"Whoops." Krissy remarks. "I guess we missed."
"But then again, how could we tell the difference?" Steffi finishes as the three share a cold guffaw.
(Present)
"Oh my." Arnold said sympathetically. "What did the teachers do in the end."
"A week's detention and a half-assed apology." Kamala replied. "Axe murderers have shown more remorse."
"And your clothes?"
"Burned once mom realized that some of the stains were permanent." Kamala said. "The mental gymnastics on her sometimes…it's like every Babewach shirt that doesn't get sold is given to me because money, but the one dress she huffed and puffed about gets set on fire."
"You don't seem to get along with your mother."
"Well it's not like you've met her." Kamala snapped. "Anyway, I thought it was my time and that I could talk about whatever I wanted."
"Oh, you're right." Arnold said. "So, it appears you seem to have little to no friends in school, but what about the teachers?"
"Well, in this day and age, teachers have to walk a fine line because if they get too chummy in a particular student, things get real ugly real fast." Kamala said with a sardonic chuckle. "Besides, I wouldn't trust them to lead lemmings off a cliff."
"I see." Said Arnold catching on. "Unfortunately, I'll have to ask you to put a pin in that and we'll continue next week."
"Yeah, my ride just pulled up."
From the office window, Arnold looked down at the windowless white van. Airbrushed on the side was a cartoonish crustacean holding a wrench and leaning alongside the words 'Sand Flea Plumbing Co.' followed by the address and phone number. Rounding from the driver's side of the van was a balding and slightly paunchy man in a sleeveless tee who greeted Kamala with a warm but reserved hug before opening the front passenger door. Judging from his patient's conduct toward this strange man, it was clear that she didn't seem in any imminent danger.