Each day is a little better? You’re feeling okay? You’re improving? The inquisition of declarations.
I didn’t even turn on my phone for a while, a decision endorsed by Dr. Singh.
When I finally did power it up, I felt an insoluble fear. I both wanted to find a lot of text messages and didn’t.
Turns out I had over thirty messages—not just from Daisy and Davis, although they had written,
but also from Mychal and other friends, and even some teachers.
I returned to school on a Monday morning in early December.
I wasn’t sure if the new medication was working, but I also wasn’t wondering whether to take it.
I felt ready, like I had returned to the world—not my old self, but myself nonetheless.
Mom drove me to school. Harold had been totaled, and anyway, I was too scared of driving.
“Excited or nervous?” Mom asked me. She drove with both hands on the steering wheel, ten and two o’clock.
“Nervous,” I said. “Your teachers, your friends, they all understand, Aza.
They just want you well and will support you one hundred percent, and if they don’t, I will crush them.”
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