Chapter 50 – Safe Lea Not Guaranteed

Soon, we had exploration questions. For groups again. Three at least. We’d have to be a special exception. It would be easy enough. But I noticed Heather slipping between the rows and moving towards us with a notebook in hand. I tensed my legs and tried to keep my expression calm.

With a frown, Heather began, “Hi…”

I returned the gesture and told her the same. Lea offered a half-smile and whispered, “Hey, Heather.”

“What happened to you, Wes?”

She made sure to look solely at Lea when she asked that. Several people in nearby rows turned from talking to one another to peer over and crane an ear towards us.

Lea rubbed her hands together and answered, “My name is Lea. Did you want to amalgamate with our group?”

Heather’s first reaction was to shake her head slightly. She pursed her lips, looked solely at me, and asked, “What did you do?”

Everything. I did all of it.

I shrugged. “I helped Lea.”

A tremor-shake passed through Heather’s head as she asked, “But what did you do…to Wes?”

Before I could answer, Lea reached to grab my arm and urge, “Kenzie didn’t hurt me. She saved me. I was…I was…in a wretched place and she was there for me.”

Taking a step back, Heather held up her palms and admitted, “I don’t…I don’t get any of this. You…changed. I visited you Wednesday and you were…ready to…I mean you know what you said to me, right? Do you remember any of that?”

I hadn’t realized the two of them talked.

Lea nodded and quickly answered, “I remember. All of it. Every agonizing moment. I was….ready to do something to stop it. But Kenzie found me…and she helped me.” She leaned her head on my shoulder. That side of me was just about total Lea-crushed.

Sighing, Heather rubbed her eyes under her rectangular glasses before expressing, “This is nuts. This…is not a little thing. And I’m caught up in it too. That day…when Wes changed…I felt something. It was like being drunk….how I imagine it would be like to be drunk…” She glanced around to the groups beside her. They just looked amongst themselves.  

Chilton lifted his head from a group he’d been distracted by to ask, “Hey hey…What’s going on over there?”

I smiled and assured him it was nothing, as he reiterated that everyone needed to get started on the work.

Heather leaned against a table, outside the range we’d discovered in the library, and continued, “I didn’t feel...myself then. It was really freaking weird. It wasn’t awful at the time. But, when it stopped…it was like I realized I wasn’t actually in control of my body then. Or it wasn’t me in my body.”

Neither prospect made me feel alright to consider. I brushed my hair back and told her, “I didn’t mean to do anything. I was just sitting there.”

Staring at the utterly uninteresting carpet, Heather made sure I knew, “But you did do something. You did something to Wes and something to me. And I don’t know who else you did it to. But it’s really scary…because right now I don’t know if my urge to hug your arm too is because of feeling bad for you or if it’s because of what happened to me that day.”

Lea’s head lifted from my shoulder and her tight grip unraveled, though she still clasped my fingers. I squeezed her back gently and took a breath. Stalling for time.

What could I say? I’m sorry? I have this power that I can’t really control which changes those around me and which I can somehow, sometimes focus on them to a deeper effect? Never mind that I wanted Heather to be more on my side and I wanted Wes to feel what it was like to be a short, cute girl in conflict with herself.

Do I say that I’m some sort of reality-warper with a predisposition for making people girlier? No. Besides, I was just guessing. No one needed to know my guesses.

I had to say something though. Something worth the time I spent silent and nervous.

But I didn’t get to say it, because Chilton soon came over and placed Heather with another group. He told us, “Just uhh…you two work together. That’s fine.”

The row nearby gave groans of exasperation. The Drama, more exciting than anything we were reading, had been cancelled. A few eyes stuck around to see if there was anything else but most soon turned away, leaving us some measure of privacy.

I whispered for Lea, “I am so sorry.”

She gently shut her eyes and murmured, “Please don’t be. Don’t be sorry for the beautiful things betwixt the challenges.”

A guy in the front row I didn’t know, and whom I barely remember, asked, “So, are you two gonna kiss now or what?”

I trained my fledgling scowl on him. He raised his hands in apology and muttered, “Never mind…fuck…”

Lea trained her own look at him, but he’d already retreated to his group. With a gentle snort, she dipped her head and brushed her hair back again before glancing up at me. She looked to be searching for words but her quiet embarrassment and amusement told me enough.

I offered, “Still…I want to do more to make up for…everything…”

The flush faded from her cheeks as she advised me, “Not everything needs to be on your shoulders. As you said, we will find a way, right? And no matter what I call myself or what people call me…I am me. Changed but still me. And it’s going to be okay…for both of us.”

My words felt a little more certain coming out of someone else’s mouth, even if I did still feel the whisper of those same doubts. But I tightened up what courage I could claim and borrowed one of hers to simply resolve, “Alright.”

With that, we simply returned to our group work. We still got stares from time to time, especially when Lea acted like we were back on the front room couch by ourselves and pressed against me, despite the separating metal rods. I did my best to ignore the looks.

I marveled instead that Lea’s changes had settled. Her bust hadn’t developed further, and her hips hadn’t pressed out like Heather’s in the fallout of Lea’s change. She might’ve been a little softer around the cheeks but nothing more.

Perhaps it was something about my focus and how my will expressed it? I desperately didn’t want Lea to change into someone she was not. But what did I want?

Joy. Energy. Resilience. Exuberance. Self-confidence. All the things which had blossomed in Lea last night to bring her serenity, I wanted them to continue to flower. But were all those things coming from the genuine ‘her’? What about the discouragement, quietness, concern, nervousness, and doubt? Were good or bad emotions truer to her?

I watched Lea as she finished an impeccably-rendered and verbose paragraph. We read it back and both fought the giggles. Her beaming smile flashed a tickle of white teeth. I told myself that a happy expression had to be better than any alternative. I focused on that.

We finished ahead of pretty much everyone, so we did the next thing on the board and read through a little historical introduction of the author. The page, like pretty much every page in the textbook, was an ADD nightmare of so much shit piled into the margins in tiny script with fancy graphics that were laughable years ago (and would be even worse looking back) cluttering everything.

While I skimmed through, Lea brushed a finger through her hair and gave a slight grimace. She uncovered her ears and smoothed the hair back before turning to me and asking, “H-how do I look?”

Like a pretty girl when you started the week as a hot guy. I figured she meant more about her hair and answered, “Fine. Maybe you could use a brush?”

She messed with her hair a little more. Sadly, I didn’t have anything with me that could help her. And I really wasn’t the sort of person to ask about how she looked anyway.

Standing from the desk, Lea crept over, half-crouched, and asked the nearest group with several girls if she could borrow a hairbrush. Not only did one let Lea borrow a plastic brush from her bag, but she also gave her a spare hair tie. They said a few things to each other in Spanish before Lea returned to her seat.

Lea soon explained, “That’s Valerie. She’s in my next period history class. I can give the brush back to her then.”

She stared at the brush a little and turned it around. Gently, she ran it through her hair, catching on a few of the tangles. Wes always took care of his hair, so this didn’t really feel any different.

When she finished brushing, it had a sleek, glossy flow down her neck. It poofed out at the end but there was nothing Lea could do about that. She used the silvered, barred window in the back to check her work.

With a hair tie, it looked under control in a small but puffy ponytail. Still, Lea fussed with it till she finally seemed satisfied. By that time, group work was wrapping up.

Chilton called out for answers. Lea eagerly raised her hand and presented the better parts of our material.

“Though it would risk deliberate hyperbole to categorize the American Dream as the foundation of America, it manifests within the abstract consciousness of preeminent national priorities. First, politicians cite it as a point of fact with rhetorical flourishes in any speech. They say Americans want to be the best and this lofty aspiration transfuses itself throughout society. Second, the unyielding acquisition of wealth as an end in and of itself typifies this same prerogative. Americans are ordained as successful members of society if they add to wealth generation which circulates with the dream of self-attained prosperity. Finally, Americans work challenging, longer hours than the rest of the world in the desire to achieve and fulfill themselves expeditiously. Workers who are the best assail to be the most rewarded. In conclusion, the American Dream exists because Americans fundamentally and ambitiously pursue more than what they currently have.”

Chilton led the class to clap for the speech, while highlighting the points Lea brought up. Needless to say, the above was not written by Lea back then. Rather, I did my best to approximate Wes/Lea’s style. I probably made this version too clear and easy to read.

You’re welcome.

Art by Alexis Rillera/Anirhapsodist