Against the Universe

01 • grover

In my first year of sixth form I probably showed up 10% of the time.

Rehabilitation is a whirlwind of hospital visits, physiotherapy appointments, and prescriptions. And it's damned tiring. But that's just what happens when you require a life-changing surgery.

I end up doing most of my work from home, and by a miracle, I manage to scrape by. Now it's second year, and I'll be turning up every day.

Well, most days. I may have thrown myself in front of a massive moving vehicle and lost half an arm, but I'm still not insane enough to attend a 2-hour maths class every Monday morning.

I'm already losing the will to live as I drag myself to Sociology. It's an interesting enough subject, to be fair, and you hardly have to be a genius to keep up with it. But it involves a shitload of memorisation.

When I open the door, there are only two other people inside. One is asleep, face planted onto the desk. The other guy is awake, but looks like he wishes he wasn't. I think we were in the same class last year, but I don't know his name.

He stretches his lips in a greeting. It's not a smile, but a look that says 'first day back and I'm already dead inside'. I return the gesture as I slip into the chair closest to me.

A minute passes. Then two. More people start to come in.

"Excuse me," says a polite voice from beside me.
I look over to see a girl with bright brown eyes and a mop of curly hair.

"Do you mind if I sit there? Just so I don't have to annoy everyone else trying to get past with this." She gestures down to her wheelchair.

"Sorry. Of course." I get up and scan the room for another place, but everywhere's quickly filling up.

"You don't have to leave," she says, "just move your chair a place over."

I oblige.

She settles in next to me, taking out a purple A4 notebook and about 50 different highlighters, then starts tying her unruly hair up with a hairband from her wrist. I realise this is the time a normal person would start introducing themselves. What's your name? What subjects are you taking? Oh, that sounds difficult/interesting/whatever.

For fuck's sake. It's a normal social ritual, but it always fills me with dread.

"What's your name?" I ask.

She smiles, and I can tell she doesn't have this same problem. This is a girl who loves meeting new people. "I'm Maddie. Short for Madelyn." Her tone is bright and cheery, and I suddenly feel a bit guilty about all the negative energy that I'm probably radiating in seismic waves. I want to scoop it up and place it back inside of me, nice and compact, so I don't contaminate her mood.

She doesn't ask for my name, so I go, "I'm Grover—"

And she goes, "—What subjects are you taking?"

Our sentences stupidly bang into each other. This is another thing I hate about meeting new people. You have yet to figure out their rhythm, to synchronise your turns.

"Sorry," we say, again overlapping.

She smiles again, clearly amused by the awkwardness of the ordeal. "You first?"

"I'm Grover."

"Yeah, I know," she tells me, which takes me aback for a second. It must show on my face, because then she explains, "We were in secondary school together."

"Oh yeah?" I raise an eyebrow. I don't think I've ever seen her before in my entire life.

"Yeah, you're Grover Simmings. You were captain of the basketball team, dated Candice Stone..." She casually lists these facts about me, and I start to feel sick. I want to disappear into thin air.

I'm not sure what to say, so I just blurt out what I'm thinking. "Well, now I feel like a dickhead." She giggles a little at this. "I'm sorry for not knowing your name before. Or your extracurriculars, or your romantic past."

Her chin juts out in a slightly haughty manner. "You are forgiven," she says jokingly. "FYI, I was in the school band. My romantic past is quite extensive, but I can tell you about it another time."

This gets a small laugh out of me. The first – and probably the last – of the day. "Looking forward to it."

The teacher walks in. She tells us she won't make us do icebreakers, since most people know each other already, and she knows how much everyone hates it. Relief washes over me.

I try to pay attention, but I spend half the lesson racking my brain trying to remember the girl next to me. I'm bothered by the fact that there's someone here who knows me from before. Someone I don't even recognise. I didn't exactly go to a massive school either.

Our eyes lock accidentally, and I realise I need to be more subtle with my side glances. Hers are wide and nervous. Please stop staring at me, they're saying.

My face grows warm with embarrassment. Well, I think, I can never sit here again.