There are exactly 27 ways to fake being okay at school. I've mastered 24.
Method #3: Loud locker slam, dramatic sigh, storm off like you've just discovered existential dread.
Method #18: Smile like someone just complimented your trauma.
Method #24: Respond "same" to everything. Bonus points if it's not relatable.
Unfortunately, none of these are foolproof when your English teacher reads your essay titled: "Optimism is a Scam (and Other Fun Truths)."
Mr. Patel called it "concerning."
I call it "honest."
Apparently, honesty lands you in mandatory "wellness sessions," which is just school code for "we think you're unstable, here's a circle of strangers and some scented markers."
So now I'm sitting in a cold, windowless room with beige walls, fake ferns, and five folding chairs arranged in a circle. It smells like hand sanitizer and unprocessed feelings.
"Welcome to the pilot group," says Ms. Ramirez, our guidance counselor. She smiles like she's trying too hard. Like we're all sad puppies she's determined to rehabilitate.
I slouch further into my hoodie. If invisibility cloaks were real, I'd pay for same-day shipping.
And then—they walk in.
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The Group: A Live-Action Breakfast Club Knockoff
1. Faith "I-Color-Code-My-Soul" Williams walks in like she's late for a board meeting. Sharp ponytail, matching pens, and a look of quiet panic beneath her perfect smile. She sits two seats away and already has her planner open. I bet she schedules her breakdowns in time slots.
2. Leo "I-Make-Jokes-to-Avoid-My-Life" Rivera follows next, tossing a packet of fruit snacks into the air and catching it with his teeth. He gives Ms. Ramirez finger guns. "Yo, is this the part where we cry and hug, or is that session two?"
3. Lucy "Will-Murder-You-With-Her Eyes" Kim walks in without making a sound. She's wearing a hoodie three sizes too big and clutching a black notebook like it holds state secrets. She sits farthest from the group and glares at a motivational poster that says "Feelings are Valid."
4. And then there's Jason.
Golden boy. Big heart. Big backpack. Bigger eyes. He walks in like a golden retriever in human form—hands full of snacks. "Hey guys! I brought granola bars! They're, like, the good kind. With chocolate!"
Faith smiles politely. Leo claps. Lucy does not react. I wonder what Jason's hiding. No one is that happy without at least some deep-rooted trauma.
I'm the last chair in the circle. The sarcastic narrator. The emotionally constipated one. My role in this little sitcom is painfully obvious.
Ms. Ramirez claps her hands together. "Okay, let's start with introductions. Say your name and one thing you're feeling today."
I raise my hand. "Can 'mildly horrified' be an emotion?"
Jason nods seriously. "Totally valid, man."
Ms. Ramirez doesn't laugh. "Go ahead, Adrian."
I stare at the group. Then at the door. Then at the stupid fake fern.
"…Adrian. I'm feeling thrilled to be here."
Faith writes something in her planner.
Leo gives me a slow clap.
Lucy finally cracks a smirk.
Well, at least it's not boring.
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Later That Day — Diner Booth 7
I didn't plan to see them again after the session. But somehow, we all end up at Marty's Diner down the street, eating curly fries and mocking the worksheet Ms. Ramirez made us fill out. ("Draw your feelings using only colors and food metaphors.")
"Mine was spaghetti and despair," Lucy mutters. She's scribbling in her notebook again.
Leo raises a fry like a toast. "To the weirdest group of misfits I've ever been emotionally blackmailed into joining."
Faith sighs. "We're not a group. This is just… a coincidence."
Jason grins. "We could be, though. A group, I mean."
"We could call ourselves The Emotionally Unstable Avengers," I say.
Leo snorts. "Nah. Something dumber. Like… the Disaster Club."
Everyone laughs.
No one says it out loud, but in that moment, something sticks.
We're not friends.
Not yet.
But maybe—we're on our way to something.
Something messy.
Something real.
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End of Chapter One
Next Chapter Preview:
Session Two gets weirder. Faith has a planner breakdown, Leo reveals his favorite trauma jokes, and Adrian writes a list titled: "Things I'd Rather Do Than Talk About My Feelings."