One of the worst things about having a seizure is the reaction you get when you come back to school. The Larkingwood State Middle School of East Arwick, or the LSMSEA, is the center of every rumor that enters the world. Gossip spreads like wildfire, and can become totally ridiculous. On days like today, I'm the target.

"I heard she passed out right away and they didn't know what was wrong with her."

"No, she was crying and screaming and she threw up all over her bedroom. Francis A-W told me, and you know he's always right. "

"Ugh, Maia, you have such a crush on Francis A-W! I know what seizures are like, and she was probably in a coma for the whole day. It's a medical miracle she's back now."

"Really? Did she need a surgery or something?"

"No, you idiot! You can't get rid of a coma with surgery!"

"You guys are all idiots! Seizures aren't that severe. She would have vomited, probably, and then passed out. Who's smart now, Chad?" A smattering of snickers bounced throug the halls.

The whispers follow me, and every step becomes harder. I bend down, trying not to be noticed.

"Hey, did you know that she went totally crazy and was begging the doctors to poison her?"

I can't help but laugh at that one. So much for not being noticed. If I'm going to draw so much attention, I at least wish someone would ask me for the truth! How would those idiots like Francis A-W and Chad know?

I have never been so relieved to reach the end of the hall, never so happy to see the large white door that marks Room 305, Mrs. Allar's room. My homeroom. Taking one last glance at the mumbling, staring kids, I push open the door and to my relief, only six kids are there, out of the usual sixteen. There's seventeen in my class, including me. Right now? Just Eli, Sophie B., Peggy, Carlos, Maya, and Joseph. I hang my backpack and hoodie up on the hook of one side of the room, drop my binder, folders, and textbooks on my desk, and slump into my seat, right by Joseph. No one says a word.

Finally, Eli, from the desk behind me, speaks up. "Hey Brooke. What's up? On a vacation?" He sounds annoyed, almost. Oh, out of all people, Eli doesn't know? I don't look at him, instead fixing my gaze on Sophie B., whose eyes have narrowed in a glare. At Eli, not me, thankfully. Sophie B. is not someone that you want to be angry at you, and she and I have been in agreement in most things. After being in both second and third grade classes together, you kind of have to be friendly with someone. Now, I can almost count the seconds until her temper strikes. Five, four, three, two, two and a half...

"Shut up, Eli," Sophie snaps. I smile. I can't help it. If Mrs. Allar was here, Sophie B. would be facing quite a chastisement. But we're alone in the room. It was a good choice to come early. The kids here are there for me. Well, maybe not Peggy or Carlos, and though Eli tries to be, he can't help but make things uncomfortable. Sometimes. Like now.

"Brooke, you okay?" Asks Joseph from my right. My eyes flick away from Sophie B. and onto him. He's genuinely concerned. Slowly, I nod, and I begin to stare at my knees like they are the most fascinating thing since electricity. Hey, there's a hole in my leggings. Fascinating.

"Hellooooooo Homeroom!" Proclaims a voice, right before Rosa Alvarez barges into the room. By far the craziest and most adored kid in seventh grade, Room 305 'got lucky this year,' as Rosa said herself. Today, her thick brown hair is plaited into four elaborate ponytails, swishing down her neck, which bears a pink and silver choker as well as a long, sparking green chain. Over her hot pink, sequined shirt that says in bold orange letters, IT AIN'T MY FAULT I'M SO AWESOME, she has on a sunny yellow sweater that hangs open over her body. Even though she's just wearing jeans, she even makes them crazy, with exactly eleven little pins with emojis and flashy sayings and designs all over. There's no socks on her feet, but she does have a pair of snow-white high heels that are at least three inches off the ground. Everyone in the room is looking her over with wide eyes. And though I hate to admit it, I'm no different.

Once again, Eli is the first to speak up. "Hey, if it isn't the remarkable Rosa!" That's a lot nicer than his greeting to me. But I can't complain, though I want to release an annoyed huffing noise rising in my throat. I was absent because of a seizure, which is something no one understands, and have rumors about me swimming through the halls. Plus, everyone knows Eli adores Rosa. He's not the only one. Carlos is practically drooling, his eyes shimmering with stars. If my count is correct, twelve boys out of the thirty-one in our grade have a huge crush on Rosa, and four girls out of the twenty-nine in our grade like her as well. It ain't her fault she's so awesome. And yet I can't help but blame her.

"Eli, you're too kind. And hey, Brooke! You're back!" Rosa squeals. I tug out a strand of my flat brown hair, and give a terribly fake smile. "Yep, it's me," I tell her, doing a small "jazz hands." I should be honored that she notices me, that someone as cool and happy as her even looked at me. But she always acts this way around people that come back after being absent. I know it's fake.

Rosa flashes a huge beam before gracefully claiming her spot at Sophie B. and Carlos's desk. I fidget with the strings on my sweater, thinking about how I'm always jealous of someone. Perfect Tracey, Amazing Rosa.

Other kids slowly fill the classroom. Henry, Sophie U., and Lenah all sit down at my desk, Sophie U. and Henry with a friendly smile and wave, Lenah with hardly a glance at me. Ever since third grade, she hasn't so much gifted me with a smile. I don't know what her problem is, but I'm not asking.

After fourteen of our seventeen kids have arrived, Mrs. Allar enters. "Hey, 305," She greets, smiling warmly. I love Mrs. Allar. Everyone in seventh grade last year told every sixth grader to get her as their teacher. Tracey had Mr. Ovelanchi, but even she said that I should get Mrs. Allar. That makes sense, though. I have Mr.Ovelanchi for history, and boy, is it dreadful.

"So, who's late? Hmm....anyone?" Mrs.Allar makes a gesture with her hands, holding them out and bending her elbows back, like, 'c'mon, guys!' Geremy, who walked in only a few minutes before and is already sitting up straight right by Eli, Peggy, and Will D., fires his hand into the air like a bullet. "Geremy?"

"Laura, Francis A-W., and Julio," He reports, beaming like he won the lottery. I'm not the only one who rolls my eyes. Will D. even lets out a groan, and Geremy glares fire at him, crossing his arms tightly. Will D. laughs and pokes Geremy, but he just turns away, his nose in the air. What a priss.

"Okay, thanks Geremy." Mrs. Allar laughs lightly. She glances at the clock, and shrugs, then, much to our disappointment, she says, "Okay, well, there's still three minutes till eight. We'll give them time. Actually, Geremy, since you have a talent for tracking down the students of this class, you wanna take attendance?"

Everyone suppresses a groan except Geremy. He insists on calling us all by our full name, and makes a comment on everyone's reply. Also, he'll call your name three hundred times if you don't say, present. It takes forever. Geremy doesn't mind, no, anything to impress the teacher and stay his/her pet. Lucky us, huh?

"Of course, Mrs. Allar. Alright then, everyone. Victoria Oona Aarons?" Geremy stated loudly. The irritated call saying, "present," comes from right next to Geremy. He has an attendance sheet in his desk? Is he insane?

"Okay then! Tory, you have such a lovely name, why do you insist on a nickname such as the one you do?" Geremy interrogates. Tory shrugs, turning pink. "Well, let's see, Francis Robert Applestein-Warren is tardy, so....Sophie Elle Coletta Babille?"

"It's Sophie B., forget the full name. Sheesh, I tell you every time, Geremy. And yes, present," Sophie B. snaps, and Geremy laughs lightly. "Don't get so angry! You should take pride in your name, as Sophie is such a generic one, but Sophie Elle Col-" He falls silent under Sophie's murderous glare. "Okay, okay! Joseph Canting?"

He continues to read off the names, and after three and a half whole minutes, Geremy addresses me. "Brooke Faith Tatiana Ellis?" I pull my hood over my head and keep my eyes fixed on the desk. "Present," I mumble, hoping to avoid any sort of commentary. Unfortunately, Geremy is totally oblivious to my attitude, and launches into a lecture about his very unwanted opinion on me.

"Brooke! I hadn't noticed you before, but welcome back. What did happened to you yesterday? I heard a ton of rumors, and while some sounded ridiculous, are they true? And should you really be here, than?" He babbled. My face was a furnace, and I was about to explode at Geremy. My temper is usually pretty cool, but he's saying all of this to my face? What is he thinking?

Thank god for Mrs. Allar. "Geremy!" She exclaims, glaring with her blue-grey eyes through thin, black glasses. Geremy tenses up suddenly, and bows his head. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Allar, but I don't understand what I did that was so wrong," He murmurs, using the usual excuse. Several people groan, and I would have been with them, but I am dead. Humiliation has killed me.

"It's unacceptable, in this classroom, in this school, in this world, to bug someone about a certain trait of theirs as you have just done to Brooke. Why not rely on the truth itself, straight from Brooke, instead of questioning her with questions based on nothing but silly hallway gossip! Don't apologize to me, Geremy. Apologize to Brooke. She deserves it. And if you want to say something like that, ask her for the facts first!" She spits.

Geremy's the color of a ripe tomato, but I'm even redder. One would think my face is bleeding. Mrs. Allar stood up for me, but is that because she thought that I couldn't stand up for myself? Can I?

"O-of course, Mrs. A-Allar. Uh...Brooke, I-I'm so sorry, I-I wasn't thinking," Geremy sputters. His eyes are as wide as teacups, and the attendance sheet is bouncing in his trembling hands. It's like he's in shock. Maybe he is. Geremy has never gotten in trouble before, and every teacher has adored him. For that, most of the students despise him. Right now, I hate him the most. I thought he wouldn't be crazy enough to keep talking, but he suddenly blurts out, "What did happen yesterday? With your seizure?"

I moan and bury my head in my hands. "Hey, Mrs. Allar said I could ask," Geremy insists.

"She didn't say I had to answer," I grumble. Of course he doesn't hear me.

"What was that, Brooke? I didn't hear you," He smiles idiotically, holding a hand to his ear.

"Mrs. Allar never said I had to answer," I hiss, sending Geremy my dirtiest look. To my satisfaction, he backs up.

"Okay, okay, no need to be so nasty," He mutters angrily. "Henry Edgar Falacor?" Thank goodness. Geremy.....why. I'm going to request to be in anyone's class but his, next year, I swear. He never learns, either. 

Attendance takes up the majority of homeroom, thanks to Geremy, and by the time Eli 'Elliot Joshua Yellomare,' has been called, we are all exhausted, even Mrs. Allar. Geremy, however, remains as upbeat as ever. He hands his attendance to Mrs. Allar, purposely avoids my eye as he walks back to his seat(which is smart, considering I'm giving him a major death glare. I could be a basilisk.), and sits down. The moment his butt hits the chair, Mrs. Allar springs out of hers.

"Okay, Room 305, that's enough homeroom for today, I think. You're all dismissed. Except you, Brooke, could you stay behind for a minute? Don't worry, I won't make you late for class. I just want to talk," Mrs. Allar announces, smiling at me. She is one of the nicest, fairest teachers in Arwick, but my face still goes numb. What did I do wrong?

Slowly, I nod, and her smile grows. She sits down, fixes her hair, and types on her computer as the students bolt from the room. If they were in a cartoon, they'd leave behind a cloud of dust. Now, all they leave behind is a note, with the name Brooke written on it in careful penmanship. I've seen that penmanship before. My confusion and nervousness grows, just seeing the note folded up. I snatch it off the floor, where it's landed, and slowly, fearfully, unfold it.

Hey Brooke,

Today at lunch, meet me at my table. It's at the end of the cafeteria. We need to talk.

-Rosa

Rosa. What does the coolest girl in seventh grade want with me? She didn't even ask. She thinks I won't refuse. And though I hate to admit it, she's right. No sane sixth or seventh grade girl at this school would. While she is always super sweet to the kids who were absent, she doesn't leave notes inviting someone to her lunch table to just anybody. She picked me. That feels....pretty nice.

Keeping a poker face on, I tuck the note into my pocket just as Mrs. Allar takes her hands off the computer and beckons me to her desk. "Brooke? Could you come here for a moment?" Slowly, my legs force themselves to shuffle over to her desk. I stare at the floor, not sure what I'm doing here. Shame and confusion fills up every atom of my body. Am I in trouble? Why?

What did I do wrong?