Pressure points
1316 Words
The paper burned against my finger even through the thin fabric of my bag.
I hadn’t opened it again. I didn’t need to. The shape of it was enough—folded once, edges sharp, sitting wrong against the curve of my hips as I walked. Every step down the hallway made it knock lightly against my side, like it was reminding me it hadn’t gone anywhere.
Talia spotted me before I reached the corner.
She lifted her hand, mouth already opening with whatever sarcastic comment she’d prepared, but it died halfway when she saw my face.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “What happened.”
I stopped in front of her locker. My hand went to the metal without thinking, palm flat, grounding myself in the cold.
“There was something in my locker,” I said.
Her smile vanished. “What kind of something?”
I slid my backpack off my shoulder and unzipped it just enough to pull the folded paper out. I didn’t look at it, I held it between my fingers like it was dirt.
Talia took it from me, unfolded it, scanned the words.
Her reaction wasn’t what I expected.
She snorted.
“That’s it?” she said.
I blinked. “What do you mean, that’s it?”
She folded it back up and shoved it into my bag, pushing the zipper closed with more force than necessary. “That’s pathetic. Anonymous notes are for cowards and people who peaked in middle school.”
My chest tightened. You’re not even curious who—”
“No,” she cut in. “Because whoever it is wants you to be. That’s the point.”
I stared at her.
She leaned back against the lockers, crossing her arms. “Nova, listen to me. You’ve spent years letting people decide how much space you’re allowed to take up. This?” She tapped my bag. “This is just noise trying to get that power back.”
My throat burned. “It didn’t feel like noise.”
“Of course it didn’t,” she said more gently. “You’re just adjusting. That’s all.”
A group of girls walked past us, their voices dipping as they looked over us. One of them whispered something behind her hand. I felt it like a tug, sharp and familiar.
Talia followed my gaze and scoffed. “Oh please. Whispering behind their hands like it’s 2012? That’s the level you’re letting mess with your head?”
I swallowed. “I don’t want to deal with this today.”
“Good,” she said instantly. Because you’re not.”
She grabbed my wrist and started steering me down the hall. “We’re ditching last period.”
My eyes widened. “We can’t just—”
“We absolutely can,” she said. “I have a standing appointment with self-care when the world gets annoying.”
She pulled me through the doors and out into the sunlight before i could argue.
***
The nail salon smelled like acetone and sugar scrub.
The sharpness of it made my nose wrinkle as soon as we stepped inside, but the warmth hit me a second later, heavy and calming. Soft music played from somewhere overhead. Water bubbled gently in the foot baths.
“Two pedis,” Talia said to the woman at the counter. “No talking unless it’s compliments.”
I let myself be guided into the chair, my movements slow, like my body was still waiting for permission to relax. When I slid my feet into the water, I hissed quietly.
“Too hot?” Talia asked.
“No,” I said. “Just…unexpected.”
She smiled. “Story of your life.”
The chair vibrated softly beneath me, and I sank back before I could stop myself. My shoulders dropped an inch. Then another.
I stared at my knees while the technician knelt in front of me, her hands efficient and gentle as she adjusted my feet. The sensation grounded me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.
Talia leaned back beside me, eyes closing. “Now,” she said, “talk.”
I hesitated. “There’s nothing to say.”
“That’s never true.”
I exhaled. “I hate that part of me still cares. Like I’ve done all this work, and one stupid piece of paper can still get under my skin.”
She opened one eye. “That’s not weakness. That’s history.”
I watched the water swirl around my ankles. “What if it doesn’t stop?”
“Then we ignore it harder,” she said. “You don’t negotiate with insecurity. Yours or anyone else’s.”
I smiled faintly despite myself.
The technician lifted one of my feet, resting it against her thigh, and began working the file along my heel. The scrape was rhythmic, steady. Predictable.
My breathing slowed without me noticing it happened.
Talia nudged my knee lightly. “You’re different, you know.”
I glanced at her. “Different how?”
She shrugged “You don’t shrink anymore. You still feel things, but you don’t fold.”
That sat heavy in my chest.
“Does it show?” I asked.
She grinned. “Oh yeah. People don’t like it.”
I closed my eyes yes, letting the chair hum beneath me, the water warm, the moment quiet.
For the first time since opening my locker, my mind went still. And that was when my phone buzzed in my bag.
Once.
I didn’t reach for it.
Twice.
I opened my eyes, heart picking up again, slow but deliberate.
Talia raised a brow. “You gonna check that?”
I hesitated.
Then I shook my head. “No.”
She smiled, approving. “Good.”
The technician finished my other foot, patting them dry before reaching for the polish samples. Rows and rows of color fanned out in front of me.
“Which one?” she asked.
I looked down at the choices—soft, bold, neutral, bright.
I pointed out without overthinking. “That one.”
I set my foot back on the technician’s leg—then the door swung open.
- Writer
