From: Lost To: The Universe

124.6867

"As I'm sure you're well aware, we have a new addition to our group this week. Elliot, how about you go ahead and introduce yourself to everybody?"

Tha-thump. Tha-thump.

I very much wish I were capable of pressing a button and engaging a cloaking shield like some kind of sci-fi spaceship, but alas.

"Hey. My name is Elliot Bishop. I just turned seventeen last week." My voice sounds very small and like it's coming from somewhere outside my body. I look around the small circle and try to swallow the lump in my throat.

The church looks much bigger on the inside than it does from without; a domed ceiling rises high enough above our heads that everything sounds a little echo-y and distorted, like we are in a velvet fishbowl. A huge painting of some guy--I'm guessing it's Jesus, despite my lack of exposure to this kind of thing--hangs high up on the wall above a small platform bearing a plain black pulpit. His skin is pale and stands out like a beacon against a hazy background with dark, luxurious hair flowing past his shoulders. Shoulders which appear to be twisted in agony because he's nailed to a freakin' cross. I'm not sure whether to stare at it or keep my eyes away out of some kind of brutal respect. My parents aren't religious and I can't think of time I've ever been in a church before; maybe for my great-aunt's funeral in California, but I don't remember it being anything like this.

I tear my eyes away for what seems like the dozenth time to find six pairs of eyes, including those of the good Dr. Julian Rodriguez, are parked intently on my face. My palms feel like they've been plunged into what I imagine swamp water feels like. Dr. Rodruiguez is sitting in the only padded chair; the pews have been carefully stacked against the back wall to make room for our circle of folding chairs. His legs are crossed and he cradles a notepad in the crook of one knee. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap goes his pen against the arm of the chair.

"Anything in particular you'd like to share about yourself? Hobbies? Interests? Fears?" The doctor's gaze bores into me and I know better than to refuse.

"I like astronomy," I say automatically with a half-hearted shrug.

"Oh! I'm a Capricorn!" A stocky, muscular Hispanic kid who looks to be the oldest grins over at me and I can't tell if he's making a joke or not.

"That's astrology, Isaiah," says a dark-haired girl, the only one in the room who isn't looking at me. Her eyes seem locked on some point on the ceiling and she doesn't bother removing her gaze to correct him. She brushes a lock of dark hair away from her face and snaps a piece of gum.

"Uh, yeah. Astronomy is the, uh, study of planets and stars and stuff," I add, giving her a sidelong glance.

"That's a pretty cool hobby." Dr. Rodriguez says, but the word cool just seems wrong coming from his mouth. "So, Elliot, why are you with us this evening?" The doctor stops his insufferable tapping long enough to scribble a short note while his eyes jump from one face to the next.

"His other plans must have fallen through." It took me a moment to realize the voice had come from the dark-haired girl again. The rest of the group chuckles; Rodriguez looks annoyed. Her interjection allows me to study the profile of her face long enough to decide she's the kind of girl I'd avoid at all costs at my own high school.

Her eyelashes bear a noticeably dark mascara and her fingernails are painted acid green. She wears dark jeans with a rip in the right knee and positively filthy canvas sneaks that look impossibly large. "Disruptive," is what my parents would probably call her, and I'm sure Dr. Rodriguez would agree wholeheartedly.

"Ms. Langley--Quinn, we've talked about interrupting, haven't we? You should respect Elliot's time, I'm sure it would help reinforce the idea that this is a safe space." He purses his lips and I can suddenly see the slightest of cracks in his slicked-back persona.