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“Happy Sixteenth Birthday!”
That is what I opened my eyes up to. My parents and sister with two wrapped presents. I sit up and reach for them, my knuckles are still scabbed from where I tapped them against my wall exactly 250 times. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop. Yesterday my boyfriend broke up with me. I suppose he just got tired of me. Or embarrassed of me. He hated going to dinners with me. I just couldn’t control myself sometimes. I really liked my boyfriend. He was just being-
“Stupid,” I say. I didn’t mean to say it. My parents and sister look at me, they’re worried. They always have been. I don’t blame them. Ever since I was diagnosed with turrets I’ve had to deal with they’re worried looks. But, I don’t want to, not today. It’s my birthday.
“Is everything okay, sweetie?” I hear my mom say. I nod my head and smile. My teeth are still just as crooked as they were when I was nine. I open my first present and it’s a book. I love books. The second one is a new dress. I love dresses. I smile widely, hug them both to my chest, and then hug all three of my family members.
“Thank you so much,” I say to them. We lean out of the hug and they’re smiling and I’m smiling. It will be a good day. We all go down to the kitchen and I see a huge, elaborate breakfast set out for us. I immediately start walking around the table. I touch each of the four chairs as I count to 83. I don’t know why my brain chose the number 83, it just did. I had the number 83. I hate any number that doesn’t end in 5 or 0. I like doing things an exact number of times. But, my brain always loves to break the rules, including mine.
We all sit down at the table and start eating. My mom asks me about my play coming up. It’s Peter Pan and I’m Wendy. I really love being in plays. I think I might want to be an actress when I grow up. When I told my sister that, she laughed, and said I couldn’t be one. When I asked, she said it was because I would shout rude things during the filming. So, I spit it at her.
“LIAR!” It accidentally slipped out of my mouth. I just yelled at my sister. But, she did lie. I could be an actress, I wouldn’t shout or say things. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. It just-just,” I start to say. I didn’t want my birthday to go like this.
My sister rolls her eyes at me, “Yes I know, Phoebe, it’s fine.” She looks at me and smiles and nods a little. My sister doesn’t smile often, it must be due to the fact that it’s my birthday.
I smile back and nod my head. I turn back to my mother so we can finish our conversation about the play. “You’re going to do wonderful, I know it,” she says, “I can see it now: Phoebe in Neverland.”