Chapter 3 A Parade

The third day after my room door had been removed, the school held a parent-teacher meeting.

Mom arrived at my classroom thirty minutes earlier.

When Ms. Romano brought up students' mental health, Mom raised her hand.

"Ms. Romano, I'd like to share my input on this topic," she said, as she retrieved the medical report from her bag. Not long ago, my daughter claimed she was depressed. I paid for a checkup, and it turned out she isn't depressed at all."

The surrounding parents' gaze encouraged her to share more.

"Kids nowadays learn new terms on the internet and label themselves. They excuse their bad grades with 'anxiety' and their resistance to going to school as 'depression'. If parents try to advise them, it somehow traumatizes them. Their future will be ruined if we don't intervene."

A few parents nodded in agreement.

Someone asked, "How's your girl doing now?"

Mom smiled, and her eyes found me at the back of the classroom. "She's better now. Come, Nadine. Tell them about yourself."

Everyone's attention was instantly drawn to me.

I walked up to the front, and Mom shoved the report into my hand, encouraging me, "Go on."

I clutched the paper so hard that it creased.

I eventually forced a smile as I announced to the crowd, "I was troubled by negative thoughts before, and it gave the people around me a hard time. But now, I've come around, and I won't cause any trouble anymore."

The classroom erupted into thunderous applause.

One parent praised Mom, "You did the right thing. We can't just spoil our kids."

Mom's eyes curled into a smile, but she tried to be modest about it. "I'm doing this for her good."

When I arrived at the classroom the next morning, the boys at the back mocked my tone. "I'm fine. It's just stress."

Someone even wrote "minimal depression" on the whiteboard.

They drew a crying face next to it and added "attention seeker".

Everyone laughed in my face.

…

Later, during the afternoon physical education class, the teacher made us run a few laps.

My heartbeat went out of control on the second lap.

A suffocating pain washed over me. I winced at every intake of breath.

Someone behind me shouted, "Is that a new stunt to grab attention?"

Another person immediately chimed in with amusement in their tone. "Don't talk nonsense. Her report shows that she's totally healthy."

I forced myself to complete the laps.

When I finally crossed the finish line, I collapsed to the ground.

I scraped my knee, and blood trickled down.

The teacher allowed me to rest on the side.

As I sat on the edge of the field, my heartbeat gradually slowed. I was almost convinced that things had gotten better for me.

When Mom picked me up after school, she noticed my scraped knee and asked, "What happened?"

"I fell while doing laps."

"Your teacher told me that you nearly passed out."

"It didn't happen."

"Were you overthinking things again?"

"No." My answer became simpler every time. I met her eyes and concluded, "I skipped breakfast."

Her expression softened, and she did not dwell on it. "I see. If you're feeling unwell, it has to be related to your physical condition. Don't blame everything on mental health."

Back at home, she had prepared a hearty meal for me. She ordered, "Finish it. Don't give your teachers the idea that I'm starving you."

I began to eat.

Before long, my stomach started to churn violently.

That very night, I threw up in bed, but I did not dare to draw Mom's attention to it.

My room was doorless, and she would check on me at any time.

I rolled up the soiled bedsheet and shoved it under the reading table, covering it with my school uniform.

…

Meanwhile, Mom was on the phone with Aunt Ghita again.

Her laughter reached me.

"I knew all along Nadine was seeking attention. After taking her to a checkup and removing her bedroom door, she has started to behave. If your child pulls the same stunt one day, send them to me."

She paused dramatically before announcing, "Everyone knows I'm a master of fixing problematic kids."

I covered my mouth with both hands and swallowed back the sickness rising in my throat.