CHAPTER SIX
I step out of the cold shower, wrapping a towel over myself.
I had decided against showering at school, worried about the privacy situation of the school. I stand in front of the mirror which is only slightly fogged due to the lack of steam. My eyes start drifting to below my neck but I force it back up to meet my brown eyes. They look vacant. They have for a long time now.
I pull my face into a smile but it doesn't bring any warmth to my face. I start analyzing my features. My eyes are framed by long lashes, a small nose, and full lips. My hair—which I've dyed auburn—is probably my best feature. The curly strands reaching mid-back.
I once thought I was pretty. My eyes go to the skin of my collarbone, the scar tissue reaching to almost my wrist. My shoulders, right side of my chest and upper back too.
I wrench my eyes away and reach for my hair brush.
Once my hair is tamed–put into two plaits for a braid out tomorrow–I walk out the door to my adjoining room. Michael's doesn't have one and I used to wonder why the guest bedroom had an adjacent bathroom when his own didn't but They told me they used to host a lot of guests and wanted to prioritize their comfort.
It had already been decorated in pastel pinks and greens when I got here. A feminine touch to the covers and curtains. It fit my tastes well–as if they knew the kind of daughter they wanted.
The thought should make me uneasy, but it doesn't.
After getting dressed in pajamas, I go over to my desk and decide to study ahead. About an hour passes when there's a knock on my door.
"Yes?"
The door opens a crack and David pops his head in. He gives me a smile, "Hey, kiddo."
"Hey, come in," I say, closing my laptop.
He walks over to my bed and I turn in my seat to face him.
"How was your first day?"
"It was good."
"Yeah?" he looks unconvinced.
"Yeah," I echo. "I mean, it was pretty uneventful. I recognized some of the teachers."
"Okay…," he waits for me to go on. I roll my eyes at him, used to his tactics by now. When I first moved here, he used to let the silence brew and wait for me to fill it, to open up. It actually worked–at first. I used to blabber about random things but eventually it actually led to me being almost too comfortable with sitting in silence.
"I met Michael's friends," I volunteer.
"Were they nice?" he asks.
"Yeah, but I don't know if they're my kind of people."
"Why, what's wrong with them?"
I huff a small laugh at the implication that the problem doesn't come for me. I pick up a bouncy ball from my desk and start bouncing it.
"Nothing," I say as he opens his palms. I bounce the ball on the floor, passing it to him. He bounces it back.
"They're settled in," I say.
"Hmm?" He's still focused on the ball. I hold on to it as he passes it to me, catching his attention.
"They're settled in," I repeat. "They have an established dynamic and I feel like it's too late to try to figure out my place in that."
I bounce the ball back to him.
"That's to be expected," he says. Passes the ball. "Plus they're graduating this year."
"Yeah," I say. "I'll find some extracurriculars or something, to pass the time."
"You can." This time he holds on to the ball. His smile makes his eyes more slanted. "But that's not all you can do."
He waits a beat but I say nothing. I open my hands again, urging him to pass the ball but he doesn't budge.
"What about feelings, Lia?"
He's cut to the chase today. Normally it's a roundabout conversation that gets us to this point. "How did you feel today? How did students, and Michael's friends make you feel? How did the day make you feel?"
I grit my teeth and turn away, opening my laptop once more. The ball hits the back of my head.
I turn back around, slowly, mouth agape. David blinks at me, the picture of innocence. "Oops. Sorry, Liaye."
My eyes narrow at his use of the Ethiopian suffix of endearment. He used it rarely and it was always jarring hearing it so far from home, coming from somebody that served as a contrast from that life.
He picked it up while we were still there, having heard one of the guardians at the orphanage use it.
Now, I glare at him, crossing my arms. "It didn't make me feel anything, Uri dawit!" I snap at him, using the endearing term used in his–Korean–heritage. I would, of course, never talk to Sarah or Michael like this. But then again Sarah and Michael don't hit me with a ball.
"I felt like an outsider which is barely a feeling and that's it," I pick up the ball again and throw it at him but he catches it, puts it down on the bed, looking triumphant. I roll my eyes again.
"I'm sure that's very difficult to barely feel, Lia." His voice becomes serious. "New kids feel like outsiders all the time, but it must be much harder for you."
I look down at my hands for a moment then look up at him with a small smirk. "You still haven't found your voice." He frowns in confusion. "Your advice still sounds generic."
He lets out a laugh.
When I told them I wanted to stop going to counseling, Sarah resisted but David convinced her on my behalf. He started reading books and researching and I didn't notice until a while later until he started behaving like my therapist.
"I'm sure I'll get there," he tells me. "I'll best you one day and you won't even know it. Also, don't let my mom hear you call me Uri Dawit. It's Uli Abba to you."
I already knew that of course. Abba is what dads are called where I grew up too. I've never called anyone that and I'm not about to start now.
He gets to his feet then, ceding the battle for now. He pats my head as he passes—I tense despite expecting it. By the time I relax again, he's already halfway to the door.
"Dinner's in 30, okay? Love you, kiddo."
He closes the door without waiting for a response; he knows by now that I won't say it back.