{5} Session 1

                                    

                                          
"So, Zayden, what happened yesterday?" My therapist asked, pushing her glasses up her nose with her pointer finger.
                          
I frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"
                          
She took her glasses off and sat them down on the coffee table next to her. I knew she was going to ask me more of her pointless questions; it was her gesture for me to get ready for the flood of her aimlessly questions. It took me a while to get used to it; at that point, it felt like homework and going to school, things I couldn't escape doing.
                          
"I'm talking about you telling the entire school that you're new here," she announced as she looked at me suspiciously.
                          
I blinked, unsure how to respond to that. How did she know? Did the teachers tell her that I was new here? Was it that guy with the dark brown eyes the one who told her? Wait. Why did I think about him? I groaned and shook my head.
                          
"Would you care to explain?"
                          
I looked away from her and checked her office, and I noticed a picture on her desk. It was her and a man holding each other and smiling. I grabbed the picture and handed it to her. "Who is this?"
                          
Her eyes widened, and she snatched the picture away from me, making my eyes wide. I leaned back on my chair and thought of what happened. Why did she snatch the image away from me? Who was that man? Was she afraid to tell me who he was?
                          
She breathed deeply, put the picture on the desk again face down, and then she put her glasses on. "We are here to talk about you and only you, understand?" she asked, and I nodded.
                          
"If I told you something that has been in my mind for some time, would you tell me who he is?" I asked. Maybe if we made a deal, she would tell me who he was.
                          
She narrowed her eyes at me. I could tell she didn't like this. "What are you going to tell me?"
                          
"First, agree with me."
                          
She sighed and put her right leg over her left, then she put her clipboard on the desk and folded her arms over her chest. "Fine, you start."
                          
"I've been thinking about that guy," I said, and then started to feel a little bit unfortunate that I've told someone besides my mom.
                          
"Is he your friend?" She asked, getting back into her investigative-mood.
                          
I glared at her and snorted. "Like hell, he'd be my friend. I don't even know why I can't get him out of my mind."
                          
She shook her head at me, then got her clipboard again and wrote down something. "Why are you thinking about him?"
                          
I thought about it for a second. Why was I thinking about him? He seemed like any other person in the school, but what he said about him not leaving me alone, was the thing which made him stuck in my mind. Why did he say that? And why in the world he cared if I was alone or not?
                          
"I don't know," I admitted truthfully. There wasn't a reason why I would lie to her. I didn't know why he was in my mind.
                          
"What does that boy look like?"
                          
"Light brown hair, dark brown eyes, and I admit, he has a nice smile."
                          
She wrote more and then turned back to me. "Have you considered that maybe, and I'm just saying maybe, he wants to befriend you because he's lonely?"
                          
Lonely? You're kidding me, right? I thought silently but then couldn't keep silent for long. "The guy is a jock! I could see it in his face, let alone the way he dresses!" I almost yelled. Her words took me off my guard, and I couldn't handle how ironic this was.
                          
"What if he wants to meet someone else new? You know, people make new friends all the time."
                          
"Why me? There is a bunch of other kids who would love to be his friends. I hear it every day, and it makes me what to throw a knife at them so they can shut up."
                          
My therapist blinked and chuckled. "A knife?"
                          
I frowned, not wanting to smile because I don't smile much.
                          
"I couldn't think of anything else," I confessed.
                          
She nodded and smiled. "That's not what I meant, Zayden. I suggested maybe someone else besides his 'group,'" she clarified, and I was stunned. I found it surprising how an adult knew those typical "groups" from TV and books. I never thought I'd ever had to label myself as the loner.
                          
"There are other loners around; I'm not the only one, you know," I said and scowled, not at her but the situation. Who does this guy think he is?
                          
She put her clipboard on the desk and said, "Do you know what I think? I think he wants you because of something, but he won't tell you yet."
                          
I scratched my head and sighed. "What does he want from me?"
                          
"You have to figure that out."
                          
I raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were supposed to help me."
                          
"I just did, didn't I? I'm telling you to go and ask that guy the reason why he won't leave you alone." Her smile hasn't faded away for a second. Maybe she was right. I nodded and thought it over. This was the first time I've told my therapist anything that has been bothering me, and it felt surprisingly pleasant.
                          
She looked at her wrist, and her eyes widened. "Damn it; I'm late! We can talk about this tomorrow, okay?" She asked as she walked to her bag and started to gather her stuff.
                          
Then I picked up my bag and was walking toward the door when her voice stopped me.
                          
"Oh! And Zayden."
                          
I turned around to face her. She was still busy gathering the papers from around on her desk. "I want you to think about how you're going to ask the boy why he won't leave you alone and," she looked up from her desk, "do you want him to leave you alone?"
                          
I titled my head and remembered his light brown hair and dark brown eyes filled with sadness and nervousness, but something I couldn't catch, and his smile. Did I really want him to leave me alone?
                          
"I don't know," I whispered.
                          
I wasn't sure if she heard me or not, though.