The Space Between

Class Switch

My leg bounces like crazy; I try to stop but it's hard for me not to. I'm parked in the back corner—the safest spot—where nobody can sneak up on me. Mrs. Henderson drones on about ionic bonds, but all I hear is my own heartbeat hammering. Eli's sitting just a few seats over, and my brain won't shut up—did he hear? Did everyone hear? Why is Dulce staring? No, wait—she's looking at the board. She's watching me freak out, isn't she?

Now I can't remember if I took my meds this morning. Did I or didn't I because my brain feels like TV static mixed with that feeling when you miss a step going downstairs, except it's been three weeks of missing that step over and over and my leg is bouncing again. Stop bouncing Hazel, but if I don't bounce I might explode or cry or both. The smell of hand sanitizer is making me nauseous because it smells like the nurse's office. Ionic bonds, ionic bonds, focus on ionic bonds not on how everyone's whispering or maybe they're not whispering maybe that's just the air conditioning but also what if—

"Hazel?" The voice cuts through my thoughts. "Hazel." This time the voice is a bit more firm.

I blink and my eyes land on Ms. Henderson pointing to my case worker, Ms. Mercer, standing in the doorway. Everyone's eyes zero in on me as I collect my things and leave with Ms. Mercer.

"You've been switched to Ms. McCormick's class, you don't need to be in this one," Ms. Mercer told me as we walked down the hallway and downstairs. The ground floor hallway stretches out—painted red and beige, a little quieter than upstairs, where the SPED classes are tucked in with the wide doorways. And finally, the door to Ms. McCormick's room—the first to the left.

This room is actually kind of cozy with all these fairy lights twinkling like little stars and the fall decorations making everything feel warm and safe. Which is weird because safe isn't a feeling I'm used to having at school but here we are. The lights are dim enough that my eyes don't hurt and there's no buzzing fluorescent lights trying to drill into my skull. "Hazel," Ms. McCormick already knew my name from the last time I was here. "Hazel," Ms. McCormick says, already knowing my name from last time, her voice quiet but steady. "We're doing these worksheets." She points to a stack on her desk, and I take one and sit down in the front.

I put the worksheet on my desk—addition. It's an advanced addition worksheet with 2-digit numbers on it. I swear I did this in grade school. I looked over at the girl next to me with hers almost done. f**k—suddenly, we're both looking at each other. The girl introduces herself first. "Hi, I'm Starlet," she says, putting a hand to her chest. That sweater looks so soft, I contemplate asking her where she got it. Her bangs frame her face beautifully, her eyes are dark but glisten in the light. Her dark skin glowed in the light.

I beam. "Hey, I'm Hazel," I tell her, still holding my pencil.

"I hate to ask this but," Starlet says, "are you—"

"Yes I'm mixed," I told her with a smile before she even finished the question. I'm used to getting asked that. "My Dad's black and my mom is Hispanic."

"That's cool," Starlet's eyes widened and she nodded her head slowly.

Out of the corner of my eye, there's a cute guy in the SPED room, but he doesn't look like he belongs. He looks like he should be on i********: or t****k. Why is my heart beating so loud?

And that hoodie—it's just black fabric, but the way it hangs on his shoulders... and those grey sweats? It's not fair how good some people look in them. My brain is malfunctioning, like too many apps open at once, and everything's frozen, locked on him.

I'm wearing this Outside Warrior shirt with shorts because I didn't think too much of my fit. My brain is running on fumes right now over this guy sitting across the room in Ms. McCormick's class. I never met this woman a day in my life and I honestly think she looks like a horse. She talks in this fake chill voice that makes my ears bleed. But back to the guy—I'm staring holes into him and he looks over at me, notices my stare and doesn't say anything. I swallowed hard and the first word out of my mouth was, "Damn."

He laughs and so do the other guys sitting around him. Ms. McCormick gets onto me for saying that and I profusely apologize. I didn't mean for it to slip out. I squeezed my eyes shut and reopened them, finding Starlet staring at me bug-eyed. I looked over at her and back at the guy. I take in his features. His eyes were dark, filled with a lustful expression as he stared at me. Don't ask me how I know what that looks like. He bit his lip, asking me what my name is. "Hazel," I answered, perking up after Ms. Horse-face embarrassed me.

He licks his lips. "Mm...Hazel," he says, "I like it." The other guys at the table laughed again.

Oh my God, he knows my name now he KNOWS my name and the way he said it back to me like he was testing how it sounds in his mouth. Why does that make my stomach do that flippy thing and Starlet's staring at me like I just grew a second head which honestly maybe I did because I feel like I'm not even in my own body right now. Ms. Horse-face is talking about her dating app experience or whatever. But all I can hear is the sound of my name coming out of his lips and the way his eyes are still on me. When's the last time someone looked at me like that like I was worth looking at and not just some weird SPED kid who can't sit still and talk too loud. Why is my leg bouncing so hard?

By the time I finish one math problem, it's already time for buses. Ms. McCormick tells me I can take the worksheet home and finish it. Yeah, right. Why are we even doing baby work anyway? I shove it into my bag and follow the others out.

The hallway outside is already full of SPED kids waiting for dismissal. A teacher rolls a wheelchair-bound student past us while Starlet walks beside me, hugging her binder. Wooden benches line the wall near the doors, and I drop down onto one, the varnish cool against the backs of my legs. Starlet sat down next to me, putting down her binder.

I watch as the cute guy from earlier strolls up to the vending machine, moving like he's got all the time in the world. He slides a dollar in, presses a button, and out drops a bag.

"I never got his name," I mumble under my breath.

"That's Taylor Holloway," Starlet says, crisp and sharp, like she's spitting out something sour. She says his full government name like we're in some Disney Channel hallway scene where the mean girl announces the hot guy's arrival. "Quarterback of the football team."

Taylor turns, and my stomach does a dumb little flip. He's walking toward us, a bag of Flamas chips in hand.

I glance at Starlet, and she's making a face like she just caught a whiff of spoiled milk. Her nose wrinkles, upper lip curling. Disgust radiates off her so strong I can practically taste it.

"Whatchu looking at me like that for, Star?" Taylor asks, stopping right in front of us. Without even looking at me, he holds the chips out like it's nothing.

It takes my brain a full three seconds to process that he's offering them to me. My fingers move before I can overthink it, and suddenly I'm holding the bag. "Uh... thanks," I say, trying not to sound as startled as I feel. The heat from the chips seeps into my palms. Unexpectedly, but... not unwanted.

When I glance back at Starlet, her eyes are wide, like she just watched me stick my hand into a fire. She doesn't say anything, but the disgust is still there—only now it's aimed at me.