are you okay?

Are you okay?
I couldn't believe it was my voice saying it. My voice, pulling the strings of the universe--or so it felt, back then.

Nobody at my school was supposed to talk to Petunia Hilton. It was just an unspoken rule. She moved from California at the start of eighth grade, marching into the school in an ankle-length yellow dress and wedge sandals, a tote bag slung over her shoulder, a daisy tucked behing her ear. She proved to be the weirdest kid in class, wanting to be friends with just about everyone, yet failing miserably. Everyone immediately wrote her off as strange, I guess. Including me.

She wasn't bullied, exactly. Mostly, people ingnored her, as if she was a ghost, a shadow. Except she was anything but--she had loud clothing and a mouth to match. She wanted desperately to be seen, yet never was. 

Most of the time, she seemed happy, which I couldn't possibly fathom. I had a girlfriend and, while not a large amount of friends, far more than Petunia, and I felt less happy than she seemed. I wasn't unhappy, exactly--just not bubbly, like she was. 

Two years passed. Petunia remained friendless, and I remained with my girlfriend and smallish amount of friends. It was as if we were frozen in the stained-glass window of middle and high school, forced to stay in our places and never dare move.

Until one day, I, against all odds, reached out.

Because while Petunia remained friendless, she didn't remain happy. Some days, I saw her rush into the guidance counselor's office, and if I peered inside the door (okay, I know I shouldn't have done this, but it was hard not to) I could see her crying, head in her hands and balled-up Kleenex littering the couch she was sitting on and the floor below it.

I told my girlfriend, but she didn't care. "It's not your issue, Sofi," she told me. "And you know how weird Petunia is. Are you really that surprised?"

I tried to believe her, but it was hard. Petunia had been ignored by our entire grade for two years straight. My girlfriend was right about one thing--I shouldn't be that surprised. It must have been hard for Petunia to have been so shunned, so forced into silence despite her efforts to share her voice. Maybe, I realized, I could be the one to reach out. To make it so her voice was heard.

So one day, after school, I found her standing by the garbage bins at the back of the building. She had her back to me, and I watched her for a few minutes. She was on her phone, but after a whil,e she opened one of the bins and threw it in. All calm, all peaceful, as if she had simply thrown out a wrapper from lunch.

"Hey." I hardened my voice, but tried not to make it sound intimidating. I didn't want to scare her.

Petunia whirled around, bright-blond hair flying behind her. She was sniffling, and her eyes had a reddish tint. She'd been crying. 
"What do you want?" she asked in a quiet, choked-up voice.

Gone was the girl who marched into school with confidence and a wide smile. She was a shadow of her former self, forced into being the person others wanted her to be, not the one she truly was.

"Petunia," I said softly, taking a step forward. "Are you okay?"

She stared at me, eyes wide and full of fear, like she wasn't sure what answer to give. Finally, maybe realizing that I wasn't there to hurt her, or harm her, she told me, ever so softly, "No."

"What's going on, then?" I asked her. 

"I can't tell you," she said, her guard coming back up fast and furious.

"Okay," I said. I can't say I wasn't expecting that. "Just...I'm here if you need me, alright?"

She nodded.

And I turned away and walked back towards the front of the school building, hoping she'd take me up on my offer.