She was my newly assigned lab partner. The first thing I checked for on the outline was due date, 3 weeks. That’s how long I would be with her. Too bad our teacher didn’t find it necessary to tell us who we were paired up with discretely; otherwise I’d still be the social butterfly of the school. Hanging out with someone says a lot about who you are, be it voluntarily or not. 

Day one, I didn’t want her at my house because neighboring classmates would definitely see. I wasn’t being petty, at least I wouldn’t call it that, I’d say I was being careful. Careful is a good word although my reputation had been ruined the very moment the teacher said our names together. I got my older brother to drop me off on a back street, better him than my mom who’d start to ask about a friendship that could never exist. I think I’m a nice enough person, I would befriend her, I mean, I should, but I can’t, or to be more honest, I won’t.

I walked up to the back door and with my jacket sleeve covering my knuckles I knocked. The door was answered so abruptly I think she watched me walk up to the house. She stood there, I did a slow body check, and I thought at least she’d try to change it up a little knowing I, the most popular kid in school, was coming. 

She wore house slippers; they used to be white, I could tell because of all the random stains. Her shorts had holes in them, not the pre-damaged tears the store sales but actual tears. The denim was old and had what looked like dried up snot and blood. 

Her shirt definitely had blood on it, with dried saliva and other unidentifiable stains. She had crust around her mouth and in her eyes. She looked like sleep was never an option. Her hair hung lifelessly, uncombed, and dirty looking. I gagged a little, she noticed and pretended not to see. 

I remember the first time she fell asleep in class and woke up in a pool of blood. We were all frightened and a little afraid for her. She wiped it with the bottom of her shirt and said she had mouth surgery “no biggy” she said. During lunch, we’d see her picking her nose, and then stair skeptically at the booger, inspect it, and then consume it as if she had to check for bacteria first. That wasn’t all though, she scratched consistently as if she bathed with poison ivy; we all knew she didn’t bathe. Sometimes, when she scratched her head, you could see “things” fall, and we never really got close enough to identify what those things were. Her smell was another issue and it was beyond horrible. We overheard the teacher asked her if there was a problem at home. She claimed that there wasn’t, she was dirty to us, and for us, it was contagious, and I? I was ill.