Zoë and Winston have their presentation today. Seeing them together is ridiculous, so I expect the presentation will be as well. When they walk into the classroom, I have to suppress my laughter at Zoë's geisha costume. She is trying so hard to make her fake relationship with Winston memorable with pictures and projects and other showy, public things. I'm guessing she uses those things to mask how underwhelming things are in private.
Just to weaken her confidence, I raise my hand and say something about cultural appropriation. I read on Tumblr that it isn't cool for white people to dress like geisha. I've never been heavy into social justice, but some vindictive part of me wants Zoë to fail. I want her project to fail so her bullshit relationship will fail. The weird anger inside me feels unfamiliar; normally I ruin people for fun, not out of spite.
Zoë and Winston are told to redo the entire assignment. It's a cruel punishment, considering they could just take off the stupid costumes and finish their presentation, especially since whatever the hell they're reading off notecards doesn't require the "konichiwa" and the costume shop. Degrassi teachers are weird. Still, I like that my cultural appropriation complaint is causing an actual problem for Zoë. Too bad I couldn't zing her for appropriating straight culture too (not that that counts, I've read, since straight people are not oppressed).
When class is over, she practically pushes me against one of the lockers. There's passion in her anger. I like that.
"What the hell was that?" she asks angrily. Her makeup is washed off, and she's dressed in her normal clothes now.
I shrug. "I just feel strongly that the people of Japan deserve better than your mockery," I say with a smile.
"You don't even care about the people of Degrassi," she said, "and you expect me to believe you care about people in a country you've never been to?"
"Clearly I care enough about you to try and sink this pitiful ship you're in," I say.
"Wow," she says, backing up a bit. "Real mature."
As she backs up, her sleeve raises a bit, and I see something I hoped not to see.
"Are you cutting yourself?"
Her smug expression turns to horror and she runs from me like I'm toxic. Do I actually feel worried?
Cutting is something I've thought about but never actually done. It's hard to play the beautiful mess/damsel in distress when you look in over your head from the first moment a guy or girl sees you. You have to wait until at least halfway through the relationship to fake-cut so that your date mate will wonder what the hell is going wrong and worry too much to let you go. My fake cutting was always about attention, retention really. Zoë's doing it for real, and I don't know how to help her.
She finds me as I'm headed out the door toward the bus after school.
"Tell anyone, and you're dead," she says.
"Relax. I'm not gonna tell anyone," I say. "I'd play the concerned friend and say that you should, but I already know therapists are crap. You should probably stop, though. I've heard it can be addictive."
"It's none of your business," she snaps, walking away from me.
"Wait," I say, rushing down the steps to catch up to her. "Why are you doing this? Maybe I can help."
She rolls her eyes. "Like you helped Miles? Thanks, but I'll take my chances on my own."
With that, she storms off toward her mother's car, and I head to the bus. I've never really felt the need to stop someone from self-destructing. Normally I encourage people to do it because otherwise, I have no friends. I have to fuck them up like I'm fucked up, or they won't like me at all. For whatever reason, Zoë likes fucked up me just the way I am. Maybe it's because she's already a mess, without my help. Still, I don't want her to be a mess. I want her to be okay, and I want to kiss her and hold her while she cries and make it better.
I've been crazy all my life, but only now do I feel like I'm losing my mind.