Young Writers Society

THINGS WORTH MENTIONING

UPDATED SYNOPSIS: Donna Haley seeks solace from her mother's alcoholism and a chaotic family by moving in with her aunt. Lonely, she joins a support group for unhappy teens, where she meets 'Groupie,' a girl raising her sister in a neglectful, drug-addled home. Their bond deepens quickly, and Donna realizes she may be falling in love and quicker than she ever thought possible.

As their secret relationship blossoms, Groupie's struggles with an eating disorder and self-harm come to light. Despite Donna's efforts to help, Groupie's behavior worsens, straining their relationship and endangering Donna's stability. Can Donna support Groupie through her challenges without losing herself in the process?

UPDATED AUTHOR'S NOTE: Adolescence is a time of profound discovery and growth, but it can also be a period of great struggle. Through Donna and Groupie's journey, I hope to shed light on the challenges many young people face, from mental health issues to family turmoil, and the importance of empathy, compassion, and support.

Yes, I did change the synopsis. The only thing changing is the direction in which the story goes in. Everything else is pretty much the same so if you've already read parts 1-3, don't worry! Everything is the same. I suggest reading those parts, or at least part 3, before reading this one.

PART FOUR

* represents footnote (listed at the bottom)

"I think it might make Donna feel more comfortable opening up if we play a quick icebreaker game*."

It was now eleven forty-five, and the other three had arrived. Not one of them acknowledged me; nor did they acknowledge each other. I was perfectly fine with that. I got it. They wanted to get in, get whatever advice they needed, then get out.

I wondered how many of us were only here because our guardians wanted us to be*.

"Anyone want to go first?"

None of us said a word. Not Groupie (now chewing on gum and observing her gnawed nails with one leg over the other; such a woman in a teenage girl's body), not the two boys (with no notable uniqueness), and not the only other girl there (whose sadness seemed to be a natural part of her).

I know the noble thing would've been to offer, but I really didn't want to go first.

"That's alright. I'll start," Lena eventually said, her arms crossed and her spine relaxing against the chair's backrest. "My name is Lena Stewart, as you know. I just turned twenty-eight. I graduated from Auburn University with a master's in counseling, and I started this group a little over three months ago." She shrugged casually, in a way that seemed to say See? That wasn't so hard. "That was pretty simple, I think, right? Groupie?" The freckled junior miss lifted the famous green eyes, halting the leg tap. "Why don't you go next? Tell us your name, age, and something you hope to change during your time in this group."

Groupie fell silent for a few seconds, as if weighing whether or not she would refuse. Then, I suppose she decided reluctance was pointless, and she lifted her head dispassionately. She started off with a sullen and irritable,

"You guys know me. I'm Groupie. I'm fifteen right now, but I turn sixteen in a little over a month." The thought of this brings her a wistful smirk. "I can't wait. That's two more years until I'm finally eighteen and I can get the fuck out of here." Lena grimaced. "Sorry. Anyway, something I hope to change during my time here..." she sighed and did that thing where our eyes look up when we're thinking really hard about something. "I guess relying on other people to make me happy."

Lena shook her head in a satisfactory manner. "Could you get into that a little more?"

"I guess just like," she shrugged a bit, evidently not knowing exactly how to put her thought into words, "trying to find happiness within myself and not in other people. I don't really know how to explain it beyond that. I mean, sometimes I wonder if I'm just incapable of making myself happy because I don't necessarily like myself. It's kind of hard to make yourself happy when you're not happy with anything about yourself."

When I looked around, I noticed that the group was suddenly very interested in this game. So was I. How many of us knew how she felt?

"I get that," I said, as quietly as I could but still audible.

Lena looked at me. "Would you like to talk about that a bit, Donna?"

I glimpsed at Groupie, silently observing her for any sign of vexation about me interrupting her turn to speak. I didn't see that in her. I saw a look of Really? You get me?

So, I stopped slouching and sat up a bit in my chair. "I just get what she's saying. I'm autistic. I was diagnosed when I was eleven. They thought it was ADHD for six years." No one cares, Donna. It's still not your turn. Get to the point. "I say all that to say that I completely understand hating yourself. I've never had a lot of friends because people always thought I was annoying, amongst other things. But there's this book, and it has a movie. It's called White Oleander*. It's about this little girl being moved through the foster care system after her mother gets arrested for murder. There's this part of the movie where the little girl, her name is Astrid, goes to visit her mother in prison. And Astrid doesn't really look how she used to before everything. I think she was wearing like a cross necklace or something, because the family she was with were Christians. Her mother didn't like that, so she said to Astrid, 'don't do it again. Don't attach yourself to anyone who shows you the least bit of attention because you're lonely.' And every day since I watched that movie, I've thought about that quote."

It was so quiet I swore I could hear some of us breathing. I could even feel the curious gaze bubbling up in Groupie's eyes as she watched me speak*. Maybe it was the first session where that had happened; where someone said something that made everyone think.

Lena asked if there was anyone else who wanted to add on to what we said. No one spoke up, so we continued our icebreaker. The girl sitting to Groupie's left was the next person to go.

Julianna "Jewel" Thompson; very blonde, very pale, too broke for real therapy and now orphaned in a group home. Her mother was brutally killed by a drunk driver two years prior. She didn't know her father, and had no family in Jersey. They were all back in Vermont, where she was bred, born, and raised for twelve out of sixteen years of her young life. Her goal: living, like her mother would have wanted, instead of "drifting thanatomorphose*."

After that, it was Cameron Little; a bipolar and chronically depressed dark-skinned boy who found this support group more helpful than his therapist because it made him feel less crazy. He was sixteen turning seventeen and living with his grandmother; his parents were intolerably religious. They refused to get him into therapy and relied exclusively on prayers and Bible study sessions. Poor boy. His goal: meet people who get it.

Followed finally by Juan Andrews; a Cuban-American boy with anxiety so bad that it was consuming his entire being. His parents were both from Santa Clara, but came to America to settle down. They started in New York, but they hated it, so they uprooted their family and moved to New Jersey when Juan was seven. He was ten when he was diagnosed with Panic Disorder, and has been on numerous medications since. He was fifteen. His goal: find effective ways to manage his anxiety from other teenagers that know what it's like.

Compared to what the rest of these kids were going through, I felt ridiculous even being there. Most of them didn't even have access to therapy. When the circle came back to me, I didn't want to speak. But what choice did I have? To refuse? After everyone else decided to be vulnerable? I couldn't have been any weaker.

"My name is Donna Haley," I said, politely, trying not to focus on all twelve of the eyes watching me. "I'm fifteen. I already mentioned the autism. It's made it hard for people to find me likable; and also affects my life in other ways. Um," thinking of any examples, "like I am very sensitive to sunlight, but only in closed spaces. I couldn't handle not having some sort of cover over my bedroom windows because I can't stand all the sunlight. It's the same thing with certain loud sounds and some textures. Pep rallies, parades, and cold tile are just a few things that I can't stand. If I ever somehow ended up around any of these things simultaneously for too long I could end up having a mild meltdown, which I don't tend to have. But they do happen." Okay. This was when I realized that I was over explaining and focusing way too much on one thing. "Other than that... I also struggle with anxiety and depression, and I have since middle school. Ever since my mom married this," stopping myself from swearing, "terrible pathetic man that ruined our lives."

Groupie seemed to be deciding on something, her eyes going soft when I looked at her and her right foot once again tapping gently as though it had a mind of its own*.

"And something you hope to change?" Lena reminded me.

The answer was simple, but so hard to say.

"How lonely I am."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

After our icebreaker game ended, Lena asked everyone if they had anything in particular they wanted to discuss. Juan wanted to talk about something that had happened in his family. Jewel was feeling guilty about lashing out on one of the lunch ladies a few days prior; she'd promised to make a dinner favorite that Jewel's mother made for her every other Friday night*. But it turned out they didn't have all the ingredients the lunch lady thought they did.

"Sometimes I forget that they're just lunch ladies. It wasn't her fault," Jewel had said, "but I'll make sure I make it up to her. She really tries. She really cares about us. I know that she does. She didn't deserve that from me."

Neither me, Cameron, nor Groupie (once again) had anything to contribute. I suppose I could've mentioned Aunt Tracy and her prejudiced views on everything I stand for, but in all honesty, I didn't care enough to talk about it.

I thought that maybe Groupie would've ended up saying something, but she only listened. That was fine, even though I really wanted to hear her talk some more. She might've been in the same boat as me. Knowing she should open up about _______, but didn't care to. 

Anyway.

The previous week, the group had been asked to try and break a bad habit. Lena wanted everyone to share how that was turning out.

Jewel was doing good with leaving her house more. Cameron was only mildly successful with not procrastinating his school work. Juan had little success with breaking his nail biting habit, but he was "still really trying." And Groupie had apparently barely even attempted to stop smoking.

"I would like to choose a different habit," arms crossed in poise, "if possible."

Lena's eyebrows arched in question and for a second I thought she was going to say Of course you would.

"Any particular reason?" she asked instead.

"I don't think I'm ready to give up the one I chose just yet," Groupie went, not smiling. "Plus, I didn't realize how hard it would be."

"Have you considered trying to stay busy?"

"I'm busy enough."

Cameron quietly rolled his eyes, slouching with both hands in his hoodie's kangaroo pocket.

I started trying to think up things to offer, but I was pretty sure you had to be eighteen to purchase nicotine gum and patches.

"What about fidget toys?" Juan chimed in.

"Great idea," Lena agreed. She looked back at Groupie, her furrowed eyebrows going What's your excuse now? "What do you think, Adrian? Fidget toys might help."

Five minutes left on the clock, if this thing would be over when I thought it would.

"I don't have any fidget toys," said Groupie.

You're in luck; or I guess I should say I am.

"I have some you can have," I said, hoping she'd pursue this, which she did. "I mean, my aunt does."

And Aunt Tracy really did, from years ago. Jude had generalized anxiety disorder as a teenager, and she still had that same collection of fidget toys up in his closet. I saw them every morning when I got dressed.

Groupie smirked pleasantly. She almost looked her age.

"Cool," with all her calm moxie still intact. "Gimme your phone number before you go."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

I was right. The support group did end at twelve thirty. I also got Groupie's phone number that day; or she got mine, I should say.

Aunt Tracy also managed to get me re-enrolled in school all within the hour that I was gone. The next morning, we would be sitting in my new counselor's office to work out my schedule. I was not looking forward to it. The schedule part was fine. It was, once again, being 'the new girl' that I dreaded.

Speaking of school, I regretted not asking Groupie which one she went to. I secretly hoped she went to Union County, in case it all went wrong. At least I'd have her.

"Didn't I tell you?" said my self-satisfied aunt. "You put yourself out there and what happened? You made a friend."

"We don't know that yet," I insisted, rolling my window up. "Maybe after I bring her that little toy she'll delete my contact and we'll never speak again*."

I was trying to be realistic. Keep my feet on the ground. I knew I'd feel ridiculous if I got all excited about a possible new friend and all Groupie wanted out of me was some little novelty to help quit her nicotine addiction.

"Typically exchanging phone numbers with somebody is the mark of a friendship."

"She only wanted my number because I told her I'd give her one of those old fidget toys you have sitting in Jude's closet. She kind of has this nicotine habit she's trying to kick." I then realized Aunt Tracy still hadn't known about my plan to give one of those things away and (potentially) snag another for myself. "If that's okay with you."

"I don't care what happens to those old toys," she murmured. "Are you sure you don't need one," all skeptical and incredulous, "with your 'autism' and all."

She was trying to be nasty on purpose, for whatever reason. There were about fifteen other of those old toys up there, and she knew that. I didn't take it personally, though. I chopped it up to old people being old people.

"I don't need them."

Liar, liar, pants on fire, I thought, you're really gonna let her ignorance make you insecure about something you can't help?

"Actually," instead, "I might."

Aunt Tracy took a right-hand turn, not giving me any response, until going,

"Tell me a little more about her," in a subtly catechizing fashion.

"She's really pretty," was the first thing that came to my mind. "Like, gorgeous. It kind of intimidates me."

She laughed. "Only a fifteen-year-old girl would be intimidated by a fifteen-year-old girl."

"I'm just so curious about her." I drew a long breath, thinking about everything Groupie might be. My new best friend, maybe. Maybe*. "And she asked me for my phone number. She didn't have to do that. She could've easily said 'could you bring me one of those fidget toys next week.' But no, she wanted my number."

"I don't know if you should be friends with a girl like that."

The car slowed as we approached a yellow light.

I looked at Aunt Tracy, whose eyes were glued to the road ahead. "Why? She's so nice*."

"I didn't say she wasn't nice. She's a chronic smoker at what, fifteen? And don't you think that any young girl who wants to be called something like Groupie has some serious psychological problems going on?" Red light. "Pray for her."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

it was nice talking to u today. thank u for backing me up. i think we should hangout sometime outside of group. but until we see each other again, i've written u a small questionnaire type thing and i think everyone should do this if they want to get to know someone better. answer whenever u can.

It was eight o'clock at night now, and I was in the middle of a phone call with my mother; she was now staying with a coworker and not at the shelter, in case you happened to be wondering. I'd been waiting all afternoon for Groupie to text me, but by seven, dinner was over and I'd accepted that I was nothing more than her fidget toy dealer.

Needless to say, as soon I got this text message notification, I told Mom that I'd suddenly been hit with an "unexplainable wave of nausea" and shamelessly rushed her off the phone.

There were ten questions.

do u live in jersey? if so where? (me: i live here in elizabeth but i was raised in asbury park.)

what are ur top five favorite films? (me: showgirls, vanilla sky, wild at heart, xanadu, heathers)

are ur parents together? (me: idk if u could call it a relationship)

do u live with a parent? (me: yes)

are u a good kid?

what do u wanna be when u grow up? (me: im going to vegas with my boyfriend as soon as i turn eighteen. ill be a waitress by day and a dancer by night. ill be called groupie or angel. i havent decided yet.)

do u care if ur friend lives in a mobile home?

are u willing to try new things? (me: as long as it's fun)

is ur guardian strict? (me: they don't care)

do u hate people who smoke and drink?

I gave ten answers*.

do u live in jersey? if so where?

i do live in jerz. i live in elizabeth as well.

what are ur top five favorite films?

white oleander, mysterious skin, thirteen, speak, fire walk with me

are ur parents together?

no. my dad has been in prison. ive never met him.

what happened to ur mom?

nothing shes just selfish and an alcoholic

are u a good kid?

yes (are u still interested?)

what do u wanna be when u grow up?

a feline specialist. urs sounds interesting. just don't get trafficked.

do u care if ur friend lives in a mobile home?

of course not

are u willing to try new things?

to an extent yes

is ur guardian strict?

somewhat

do u hate people who smoke and drink?

nope.

After that, I thought up ten of my own questions to ask; what school do u go to? are girls jealous of u? do guys drool over u? whos ur fave singers/bands? do u have any siblings? are u italian? what do u do for fun? how do u get ur hair and style to look so early nineties (idk how else to describe it)? any birthday plans? any pets?

It was going on eight-thirty by now, and I was way too tired to stay up and wait for her response.

Just as I laid my head on my pillow and pulled the duvet over myself, Crucify* acting as a lambent background melody, my phone let out a meek little bing sound.

I'll just look.

thank u for ur answer airisu* to answer ur questions: girls hate me, i only have eyes for one, sonic youth and third eye blind and garbage and hole, i have one big sister who's 22 and a little 6 year old sister who i would sacrifice my entire being for, i don't know, i like to do makeup and draw in my sketchbook, my hair has always looked like this and nearly all of my clothes are thrifted or hand me downs that i just style, my bf wants to take me to new york maybe you can come, i have a rag doll cat called barbie. ok ok no more questions. it's almost nine pm. aren't u sleepy?

Subconsciously, I imagined her lying next to me, batting long, mellow lashes in an unintentionally flirtatious manner. Speaking those last sentences angelically and demurely.

My eyes grew heavy as the words on the bright screen seemed to blur. Before I knew it, a trickle of drool escaped onto my pillow, and the phone fell out of my hand while I fell in love*.

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FOOTNOTES:

* - said Lena

* - this is not an insinuation that I was only there because Aunt Tracy wanted me to be

* - still my favorite book of all time

* - in the best way possible, like I'd hit the head right on the nail

* - "Thanatomorphose is a Hellenic word referring to the visible signs of an organism's decomposition caused by death." - IMBD (so basically, Jewel felt like a living dead girl)

* - her right leg was still over her left

* - chicken quesadillas with cheesy broccoli

* - Aunt Tracy didn't catch on to the mention of the fidget toy

* - I really didn't want to be let down

* - I meant winsome

* - even though I really wanted to

* - the lack of spaces in her message drove me insane

* - a song by Tori Amos

* - Japanese for "iris"; a flower said to represent cherished friendship and promise in loving relationships

* - unknowingly, of course