Chapter 4

Three days after the door was taken away, the school held a Parent-Teacher Conference.

My mom arrived thirty minutes early.

When Ms. Jenkins brought up student mental health, my mom immediately raised her hand.

"Ms. Jenkins, I actually wanted to speak on this."

She pulled the report out of her bag.

"My daughter claimed she was depressed a while ago. I paid for a full medical checkup, and she is completely fine."

The classroom was packed with parents.

My mom's voice grew more passionate as she spoke.

"The internet is always teaching kids to label themselves. Bad grades mean anxiety, not wanting to go to school means depression, and if a parent says a word, it's called 'toxic parenting.'"

"If we don't put our feet down, these kids are going to be ruined."

Several parents nodded in agreement.

Someone asked, "How is your daughter doing now?"

My mom smiled, looking back at me as I stood at the rear of the classroom.

"She's completely cured. Come on, tell them yourself."

Every head in the room turned to look at me.

I walked up to the podium.

My mom shoved the report into my hands.

"Go on, speak."

The paper crinkled under my tight grip. I forced a bright smile onto my face.

"I was just overthinking things before. I caused a lot of trouble for my mom and Ms. Jenkins. But I've cleared my head now, and I won't make a scene ever again."

The room erupted into applause.

One parent praised my mom.

"You raised her well. You really can't coddle them."

My mom's eyes crinkled with pride.

"It's all for her own good."

The next day, when I walked into the classroom, a few boys in the back row mocked me in high-pitched voices.

"I'm fine, I was just overthinking things."

Someone had written "RESULTS: NORMAL" on the whiteboard.

Next to it, they drew a crying face with the words:

I have depression, poor little me.

The whole class laughed.

In the afternoon, Coach Anderson made us run the 800-meter.

During the second lap, my heart rate went haywire again.

My chest felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton; every breath I took burned like fire.

Behind me, someone yelled.

"Oh look, she's having another 'attack'!"

Another kid laughed. "Shut up, she has a medical report. She's perfectly normal!"

I didn't stop.

The moment I crossed the finish line, I collapsed onto the track.

My knees scraped against the gravel, and blood started dripping down my shins.

Coach Anderson told me to go sit on the sidelines and rest.

As I sat by the edge of the field, my racing heart suddenly began to slow down.

I actually thought I was finally getting better.

When I got home, my mom saw the gashes on my knees.

"What happened?"

"I fell while running."

"Coach Anderson called and said you almost fainted."

"I didn't faint."

"Were you letting your mind wander again?"

"No."

I looked at her.

"I just skipped breakfast."

My mom's expression softened.

"Exactly."

"If your body feels bad, fix your physical health. Stop blaming everything on your psychology."

She went to the kitchen and scooped a massive bowl of homemade lasagna for me.

"Eat all of it. I don't want your teachers thinking I starve you at home."

I forced it down, forkful by forkful.

By the time I reached the end, my stomach was violently spasming.

That night, I threw up all over my bed.

I didn't dare make a sound.

My room had no door; my mom could walk by at any second.

I rolled up the soiled duvet cover, shoved it deep under my desk, and threw my school uniform over it to hide it.

In the living room, my mom was on FaceTime with Aunt Mary.

She was laughing happily.

"That kid was just being dramatic. I saw right through her."

"One checkup and taking her door off was all it took. Look how obedient she is now."

"If your kids ever start acting depressed, just send them to me."

She paused, her voice dripping with pride.

"I'm basically a professional counselor for dramatic teenagers now."

I covered my mouth, swallowing down the bitter acid that kept rising in my throat.