Another hour passes. I’m still sitting in the corner, and now my back is aching like crazy. I glance over at the mirror leaning against the wall. The heat’s turned my short blond hair into something out of an H.P. Lovecraft story...ugh, I remember when we could afford air conditioning.

I slip out of my shirt so I’m wearing only a tank top. Great, now my sweaty tits are hanging out for the world to see. I hate my fucking tits. Aww, but Kayla, you’re so lucky! Fuck off. If you want to deal with the back problems, the uber-expensive bras, lack of decent clothing, and getting groped by every guy in school, be my guest.

Rose is still staring from the foot of the bed less than five feet away. She’s adjusted to a kneeling position, slightly slouched, with her hands resting lightly on my quilt. The makeshift tissue-toga is moving ever so slightly with her deep breaths. Maybe she’s calmer now? But I can’t make out her expression from here, just her face red from all the crying.

I sit up slowly and stretch my arms over my head, stiff from not moving for so long.

Rose doesn’t flinch. I let my arms down and exhale deeply.

“Hi,” I whisper. “I’m Kayla.”

I wait. She just keeps staring. I suppose no response is better than a bad response.

“We’ve been in the same class for a few years. Do you remember me?”

More staring. Fuck.

“Okay, um...look, I want to help you. But I need you to like...communicate with me.”

Her posture slumps and she sits down completely, hugging her knees to her chest and burying her face in them.

“Okay, you don’t even have to talk. Just nodding your head yes or no is enough for now. Can you at least do that?”

She looks up. I flash an awkward smile at her and try to look as non-threatening as possible.

Almost imperceptibly, she gives a single nod. Okay, that’s progress.

“Do you want something to eat?”

She shakes her head slightly and lowers her head to her knees again.

“Do you want me to call someone for you?”

No response. I raise my voice to a slightly louder whisper. “Rose?” She looks up when I say her name. “Do you want me to call somebody?”

She shakes her head again. What’s going on? I thought she was trying to call her Aunt before; now she doesn’t want help from anyone?

“...do you want me to leave you alone?”

Even from a distance, I can see her eyes go wide at this. She shakes her head vigorously.

“Um...do you want me to just sit here?”

She stares blankly. This is going to be a long evening.

I sigh deeply. “All right. I’ll stay here with you, but I need to be able to leave this corner. Can you promise me you won’t freak out?”

Still no response. Great, she’s going catatonic again. “I’m going to stand up now, okay?”

I place my hands slowly on the floor and push off, taking extra care not to bang anything as I have a habit of doing. Rose’s eyes never leave mine. After about ten seconds, I’m standing at my full five feet and three inches, and she’s gaping up at me -- but she hasn’t freaked out. That’s good.

“Okay, sweetie, you’re doing great. Now, I’m just going to slowly walk over to the bed and lie down on it.”

Her eyes go wide again and she clutches two tiny handfuls of the quilt.

“Please, Rose...I won’t do anything to hurt you. Can I please lie down on the bed? My back is killing me,” I plead, lifting my obnoxiously large breasts up with one arm and adjusting my bra with my free hand.

After what feels like an eternity, she nods her head once, but her expression stays fearful and she never lets go of the quilt. Her eyes still locked on me, I carefully take one step toward the bed. Then another. And another. I could get on from here, but it would mean climbing over Rose. I take another five light steps to the other side of the bed and sit down slowly next to my pillow, as far away from the terrified little girl as possible.

Rose squeezes her eyes closed as the terrain shifts, and she clutches the quilt more tightly to keep from rolling towards me. I quickly bring my legs up onto the bed, distributing the weight more evenly and keeping the surface more level. I scooch my butt forward and turn on my side facing her, resting my head on the stack of blue pillows and stretching my legs out.

Crap. I have a twin bed. My feet are only a few inches away from her. The wrong twitch could send the tiny thing flying across the room. I guess Rose thinks the same thing, because she instinctively scooches away. Now she’s too close to the edge of the bed.

“Hey, careful of the edge,” I caution her, louder than I mean to. Rose gives a tiny, barely-audible squeak and crawls diagonally away from both the edge and my feet, but that only takes her closer to my stomach. If I roll over, she’ll be squashed like a bug.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a better bed,” I apologize as she looks at me, still fearful and breathing quickly. “We can’t afford much with my mom being sick and stuff.”

Her demeanor shifts at those last words; her breathing slows and she looks away, rubbing her eyes. I guess hearing about my problems made me seem more human.

“But hey, we get by. Mom has her disability check coming in, and I pick up odd jobs where I can. Occasionally dad can send stuff from back east.” I shrug my shoulders. “One day at a time, you know?”

Rose nods slowly.

“Hey,” I say carefully. “Do you want to come over here where I can’t...um, where it’s safer? Or you can move to my nightstand?” The tiny girl looks directly at my face, which must be the size of a bus to her, and then over to my nightstand.

“C’mon,” I say gently. “It’s okay.”

Rose hesitates for a moment and then starts to stand up, but the plush, uneven surface of the quilt throws off her balance. She falls to her hands and knees. I hear her start to cry, but she sounds different than before. Now it’s a sad, pathetic whine instead of an anguished wail.

She looks over at me, teary-eyed. Her expression, now close enough to read, is one I immediately recognize. It’s exactly the expression mom had when we first got her diagnosis. It’s the expression of hopelessness.

I slowly move my arm from its resting place on my side and extend an index finger in front of her. Still crying, she flinches, and I immediately withdraw.

“Let me help?” I ask softly. “Please?”

She glances at my hand apprehensively, than looks back to my face. I know her thoughts –– if she accepts help, it’s like admitting that she can’t do things on her own. Mom went through the same thing.

I carefully re-extend my hand in front of her, palm up, with all my fingers curled inward except my index finger. Rose and I stare at each other for a few seconds. It feels like an eternity.

Then she slowly reaches with her left arm and grips the skin on the pad of my index finger.

A tingle shoots up my arm. I can feel each individual digit on Rose’s hand pressing in on my finger pad, like a gentle pinprick. Her right arm extends and rests lightly below my first knuckle. She slowly hoists herself to her feet, using my finger for balance, and takes a small step towards my face. She wobbles a bit, but stays on her feet. I adjust my arm ever so slightly to keep pace with her. All this time, she’s looking at my finger as if it might jump up and bite her.

I breathe deeply as she takes another step, more steadily this time. I move my arm again, guiding her towards me.

Rose and I do our strange dance for another thirty seconds, bringing her within a foot of my face. She looks at me with a nervous expression. I smile at her warmly.

A few seconds pass.

She opens her mouth.

“H-hey,” she whimpers.