The Perfect Silence Of The Stars (También en Español)

Chapter 5. Overdrive 💫

It's five fifty-four. The only thing I can think about after the parking lot encounter is how my favorite pair of Mom jeans made my ass look flat. I'd never realized it until twenty minutes ago, when I caught a glimpse of my behind in Earnie's passenger window while standing in front of Chase.

He was all broad shoulders in a perfect wool coat, while I was the girl that care forgot—loose, wrinkled tee, and the works. Note to self: Take a long hard look in the mirror before leaving the house.

For many, late teenage years are a symbol of growth and change; nature's own way of paying it forward after dragging you through so much angst, mood swings, and repressed emotions. You bloom in all the right places, so you can score and hit first, second, and third base with dignity. The male voice finally achieves those sexy bass chords to it, and girls get a rack and start looking curvy like guitars.

Where was I when those things happened to the rest? Sandy Wilson came back from summer break with a 'Frankie says relax' tee so stretched out by her new boobs it silenced the entire football team by the cafeteria. Those boys were craning their necks and salivating on every bounce. Even Kenny Thornton's high-pitched squeals mutated into velvety, low undertones and soft hums. He now leads the school's podcasts for crying out loud with an impressive follower count if I might add.

What about me, though? Where are my curves and my double rainbow D cup?

Maybe you should ask Sandy, you sad sack.

Anamathea's thunder voice cuts deep.

Ana, don't be so mean to Imogen. A girl's self-confidence in her body is very fragile. Like hummingbird wings, fluttery and oh-so-delicate.

The way Violet has my back is adorable. If she weren't a figment of my imagination, we could be close friends. Kassie would freak and punch her in the face since that's her solution to everything.

What a load, Vi. Who cares? Imogen needs to wake up and smell the meds. Stop moping around, please. It's giving me a headache, and I'm inside your head. How messed up is that? I mean, this is a real problem, not your boy chest. Own it. Rock it like there's no tomorrow.

Anamathea! Manners! If not for me, do it for yourself. Be a lady, or karma will find you.

Karma? She's a bitch. Like me.

Anamathea's laughter makes me remember the female hyena from Lion King. Guess she's right, though. Swallowing pills and naming voices in my head. That's where I was. Coping with my diagnosis while concealing it from the world, at the same time.

I need to keep my eyes on the prize and bide my time.To graduate and leave the school premises without the 'psychotic' name tag glued to my left ankle, I have to hide my insanity from the different ecosystems I inhabit.

My scrawny arms are full, my hormones feisty, and the rest of the cells in my body working overtime—24/7 devoted to keeping me in one piece. A true woeful story, no doubt.

I've coated my illness with razor-sharp ability. I've compensated for the losing-touch-with-reality thing along with the visual-and-auditory-hallucinations and paranoia extravaganza with a blossoming array of ironic comebacks and teenage attitude. Blaming all my recent weird changes in adolescence is paying off.

I gulp. Because... my life sucks, and my mother keeps calling. I should've come out of class and head straight home. But I stalled instead. Why? Because of a strong jawline, sexy broad shoulders, and a tight bum wrapped in a boy package. Ribbon made of cute plump lips and sassy personality, as if his hotness weren't enough. Does he know the effect he has on girls? Not that I've seen it, but I can imagine how he must collect waves and batting lashes daily. Not mine, though. When he was in front of me, ripped jeans and tousled hair, I kept my eyes glued to my worn out combat boots. I stared at them as if they were ridiculously interesting.

If I had eyes, I'd be rolling them so hard I'd go blind.

She did great, Ana. Considering it was the first time they spoke after the rooftop meet-cute.

Did you just say the words meet-cute? Where do you come from, Vi? Seriously. This isn't some cheesy, romantic chick flick. Imogen was there first. Dude showed up out of the blue. Hot? Yes. Pestering? Also yes.

A deep, defeated sigh escapes my dry mouth as I shake my head at the memory. Both my voices are right. I was up there, hanging out with my dust bunny delusions—which were cuter than him—when he interrupted. Not only that. He acted all high and mighty with his let-me-talk-you-off-that-ledge charade.

My jeans' back pocket vibrates again with irking haste, making me jolt back to reality and the road ahead. Fine, Mom. I'll answer on the next ring with the classic hurried 'On my way' phrase before hanging up on you as usual.

Dude, ignore her. Teach the old hag who's the alpha. Also, check out the pecs on that cyclist and by pecs I also mean crotch.

Ana! She's driving. Deep breaths, Imogen. You'll be home in no time.

Much against my will and better judgement, Chase's face invades my thoughts again. His self-confidence that night was borderline annoying. But I must confess, it took every ounce of my willpower not to cave in to his charming ways while the moon sighed and that purple owl eavesdropped shamelessly.

My shoulders sag from exhaustion as I drive ahead. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse tiny, rainbowy birds flitting about in the thin branches. Those twirled twigs morph into barked hands that rise in salutation as Earnie speeds up down the empty street with their brown fingers extended and joined.

If my chronic brain disorder didn't scare me shitless, I'd admit how majestic my paranoid world is. How vivid and terrifying. Heady combination.

As I'm about to make a left turn, a deer jumps out of nowhere. A loud scream and a swerve later, I'm hard braking at his hoofed feet. His nose lifts, sniffing in curiosity as we measure one another with a defiant stare. A second later, he lowers his head, and I gasp at his neon antlers.

I know he isn't real... but my hand flies to the door and I step out of the car, anyway. He closes the distance between us with an elegant prance.

"Hey, friend. Sorry I startled you. I know the feeling too well." With utmost care, I dare rub his nose with my thumb. A second later, he licks my hand and disappears into the undergrowth.

As I said... my new world isn't safe, but it's mine.

A warm laugh tickles my throat. It feels good to laugh, here, in the middle of this empty road. All by myself to the untrained eye, but never alone. It's a reminder that this is not the end of my journey, but maybe the beginning of something greater than my weary mind can grasp quite yet.