“That’s what
being shy feels like. Like my skin is too thin, the light too
bright. Like the best place I could possibly be is in a tunnel
far under the cool, dark earth. Someone asks me a question and
I stare at them, empty-faced, my brain jammed up with how hard
I’m trying to find something interesting to say. And in
the end, all I can do is nod or shrug, because the light of
their eyes looking at me, waiting for me, is just too much to
take. And then it’s over and there’s one more
person in the world who thinks I’m a complete and total
waste of space. The worst thing is the stupid hopefulness.
Every new party, every new bunch of people, and I start
thinking that maybe this is my chance. That I’m going to
be normal this time. A new leaf. A fresh start. But then I find
myself at the party, thinking, Oh, yeah. This again. So I stand
on the edge of things, crossing my fingers, praying nobody will
try to look me in the eye. And the good thing is, they usually
don’t.”