was the first day at my new school, I was sitting in the principal’s office, waiting to be shown around, and I was trying to decide which seat I should get used to just in case I wound up being sent to the office as much as I did at my last school. It’s bad enough being new, but I was also transferring mid-semester, which is kind of like walking into the middle of a movie and not knowing any of the setup. My leg was bouncing uncontrollably, a clear sign that I was anxious about being dragged around by some random kid who would have to pretend to be nice to me all day.
I was predicting that I’d be completely abandoned by third period.
But then I heard my name called.
I looked up to see a smile.
A real smile. Not a “grown-ups are making me do this” smile.
“I’m Suzie. Suzie Minkle. Welcome to New Old Wayford Middle School!”
My face flushed and my throat closed up before I could even croak out a mumbled, “Slim Pickings.”
She cocked her head curiously, which made her dark, natural curls bounce like they were alive and excited to be there. Then she laughed, but not at my expense. “I guess you have a point. It’s not like there are a lot of schools to go to in town.”
I blinked at her as if trying to clear floaters from my eyes. Suzie was one of only a handful of black kids I’d seen walking into this school, but if she felt the slightest bit like an outsider, I couldn’t tell. She was wearing a Twenty One Pilots T-shirt under a blue mesh cover-up with yoga trousers and red Doc Martens. The whole look gave her a cool, relaxed vibe that made her seem at ease in ways I didn’t know existed. And man did she smell nice. I had no idea what it was, but whatever soap or perfume or shampoo she used, it was literally a breath of fresh air. “No. It’s my name. S-S-Slim,” I stuttered as I followed her into the hall.
And believe it or not, she smiled when I said that. “Slim – that’s a cool name. Mine sounds like an annoying neighbour on a sitcom, but that’s okay. I’m used to it.”
Despite my trouble talking like a human, Suzie made me feel like I belonged. Which is something I never felt at my last school – or anywhere else, really. The funny thing about Suzie is that she genuinely wants to be friends with everyone. “My dads own a yoga and wellness centre in town, so I think it’s important to be centred and mindful, don’t you?” I liked the sound of those soothing words strung together, even if I didn’t understand what she meant. So I nodded. I wanted to agree because I wanted her to keep smiling. Normally I’d find it strange for someone to seem so obviously, outwardly happy. I’d overanalyse what it means and what she’s hiding and wonder if she’s making fun of me. But somehow Suzie made it work. I guess happiness can be a genuine thing. Imagine that.
Instead of going straight to homeroom, Suzie gave me a tour of the whole school so I would know my way around. And as we walked the halls or popped our heads into the library, cafeteria and gym, she greeted everyone we saw by telling them, “This is Slim. He’s new and interesting.” I’d never seen anything like it before: everyone liked her. I liked her. In fact, I pretty much instantly “like-liked” her. There’s no point in pretending I didn’t because you’ll figure it out, and even if you didn’t, my sister Lucy would tell you. She’s a total blabbermouth; she’ll do anything to get a little attention.
But at the time, walking the halls in New Old Wayford Middle School, with Suzie Minkle treating me like a normal human being, it felt like maybe I wouldn’t have to be the freak at this school. Maybe I wouldn’t have any meltdowns. I even made it through most of my classes and a whole lunch period without any issues. And I got to sit next to Suzie in algebra! By the time I headed for my last two classes of the day, I thought maybe, just maybe, there was an upside to the divorce, the two homes, the change of schools, the whole life ruined for ever thing.
“Mr Pickings,” said Mrs Bowers in an exasperated manner that made me realise she’d been saying my name repeatedly. Why do teachers always think using your last name will make them sound more intimidating? It never does, especially in the raspy monotone Mrs Bowers uses that makes her seem so bored even her glasses lose the will to stay on her nose. Upon hearing my last name, the whole class snickered. And I felt the cold shudder of familiar insecurities running up my spine. The same thing happened at my last school. Otis Miller would hide behind his book to my right, stick his finger up his nose, and pretend to flick boogers at me while whispering, “Picky Pickings,” as if it were actually clever.
I had been so relieved when his family moved across town and he got transferred out of my school. But one disgusting sniffle behind me was all it took to remind me where he had been transferred to.
Like a slow-motion reveal in a horror movie, I turned round to see Otis Miller and his lanky limbs folded into a desk right behind me. “Picky Pickings!” he said with a wicked smile and a finger up his nose.
I instantly felt a rush of blood heating my cheeks as I turned to face the front. “Mr Pickings,” continued Mrs Bowers, “since you missed homeroom this morning, would you please stand up and introduce yourself now? Tell us something we should know about you.” I should have seen it coming. Despite multiple periods of glorious anonymity, there was no way to make it through an entire first day at a new school without some sadistic teacher torturing me with unnecessary personal introductions.
My legs wobbled as I forced myself to stand. Everyone was staring at me. Dismissive. Expectant. Judgemental. A paper crumpled. Another loud, gross sniffle from Otis followed. Then whispers. And snickers. And a couple of subdued laughs. I was frozen. Tunnel vision set in and the room felt uneven. I didn’t want anyone to know anything about me. That was the whole point of today. I wanted to be no one. I wanted to not exist. But I couldn’t and I did. I had to at least say my name. Just as I managed to prise my dry mouth open, something hit me. Literally. A wet, sticky glob was stuck to the back of my neck.
I spun and saw that Otis looked almost as shocked as I did that he’d actually flung his actual booger and that it was actually stuck to my actual neck. He clearly didn’t mean to take it that far and I didn’t know how to respond now that he did. Normally his disgusting sniffling was enough to get under my skin. But this time, his booger-snot was on my skin.
I wiped it with my hand, but then it got stuck there and I tried to flick it back at him, but it just got stuck to my finger instead. Mrs Bowers was yelling something unintelligible. In my panic, I started to flail around like I was trying to get away from my own hand. I felt a full-blown panic attack coming on. Who knows what noxious germs are in Otis Miller’s boogers?! So, I did the only thing I could think to do: I wiped it on Heather Hu. She was sitting in front of me and I thought it would come right off on her perfectly curated hair.
I’m not exactly sure what happened after that. There was a lot of squealing and stampeding. I heard more than one person yell “Booger!” But I was paralysed with panic on the cold, cracked floor tiles. There were a lot of squeaking shoes and crashing chairs, a lot of screams and shouts that all melded together into one overwhelming ROAR. I clenched my eyes tight, but when I opened them again, the whole class was blurry. They were one giant, roaring MONSTER. I curled up into the smallest ball I could be, willing myself to be anywhere but there.
Next thing I knew, I got my wish. Mrs Bowers was dragging me by the ear to the principal’s office. The panic had faded enough that I could sort of breathe again. “You’ve made quite a first impression, Mr Pickings,” she proclaimed, as if I somehow started this. “And it’s not a good one.”
“He flicked a booger at me. What did you want me to do?” I asked, as if there couldn’t possibly be a more rational response to a wet booger hitting my neck than a total and utter meltdown.
“Get a tissue,” was her exhausted response, punctuated by shoving her glasses back onto her nose and slamming the office door behind me.
I took a seat in the lumpy chair I had started the day in and tried to calm down as I waited for the familiar soft shuffle of Nurse Nellie’s feet coming down the hallway to deliver a child-size Xanax. But then I remembered – Nurse Nellie is in my old school and I’m