Chapter 7
Bernice's POV
Honestly, I don't even know when it happened, but Gerald and I completely forgot about the whole Fante and Ewe lesson plan.
Instead, we just became close friends.
Like, really close.
He was like that annoying big brother I never asked for.
Always teasing me about my height every single blessed day.
"Short girl, short problems," Gerald would say, leaning on the wall like a cool kid.
"Say it one more time and I'll bite your ankle," I threatened one day, waving my pen at him.
He just laughed and pulled out his phone.
Before I could blink, snap, he took a picture of me.
"Gerald! Delete it!" I shouted, chasing him around the classroom like a mad woman.
"Nope! This is my wallpaper now!" he teased, holding the phone high above his head where my short legs couldn't reach.
Ugh. God, why didn't you add at least four more inches when you were making me?
Meanwhile, David was... different.
He wasn't loud or playful like Gerald.
He was calm, cool, and always listening whenever I talked.
Sometimes I'd catch him staring at me, then quickly looking away like I was the sun or something.
But he was so shy.
Like, painfully shy.
He didn't even know how to properly start a conversation with me.
And honestly?
It was kind of cute.
Everything was going fine. I was having a good day, laughing with Grace and Gerald, and pretending not to notice David sneaking glances at me.
Then it happened.
During class, Bryan, one of those loud boys who thinks he's funny but is actually just annoying, came up to me with his wide, toothy smile.
"Bernice, handshake!" he said, holding out his hand like we were business partners.
Normally, I would have declined politely like I always did.
I mean, I hated showing my hand.
It wasn't like everyone else's, and I hated the feeling of people staring, whispering, judging.
But that day, I thought, What could go wrong?
Maybe I should just stop hiding.
So I smiled weakly and shook Bryan's hand.
And the moment his fingers touched my hand, his whole face changed like he had seen a ghost.
He looked shocked. Disgusted. Confused.
And then the worst thing happened.
Bryan screamed.
Loudly.
In front of everyone.
"Eiiiii! Bernice's hand!!"
The whole class turned to look at me.
My heart broke into a million tiny pieces.
I dropped his hand like it was fire and bolted out of the class, running faster than I ever thought I could.
Tears streamed down my face, blinding me as I ran to a quiet corner behind the school library.
I sat down, hugging my knees, crying my heart out.
Why?
Why did he have to scream?
Why did he have to make it such a big deal?
Why did he make me feel like a freak again?
Memories from middle school came flooding back.
That one stupid boy who called me "an uncompleted human being."
Who called me a "weirdo."
Who made me cry for days, hiding from everyone.
That was when I started covering my hand.
That was when I started hiding.
And now, just one handshake...
One tiny moment...
And all that pain was back.
After a while, Grace, Clara, and Gerald found me.
Grace's eyes were burning with anger.
"Where's that idiot Bryan?! I'll beat him myself!" she shouted, fists clenched.
Clara and Gerald were equally furious, swearing they would report him to the teachers or "accidentally" trip him down the stairs.
I laughed weakly through my tears.
God, I loved my friends.
They stayed with me for a while, comforting me, until they decided to go buy me something to eat — probably to cheer me up.
I was sitting alone, wiping my face when suddenly...
I felt a warm presence beside me.
It was David.
He didn't say anything.
He just opened his arms and gave me a tight, warm hug.
I froze.
Nobody had ever hugged me like that after seeing my hand.
At first, I wanted to push him away, scared he might suddenly flinch or act weird.
But he didn't.
He just held me like I was normal. Like nothing was wrong with me.
"You're amazing, Bernice," he whispered quietly.
"You don't have to cry."
And just like that...
I stopped crying.
I pulled away gently, wiping my face with the sleeve of my sweater.
I didn't want to get too close.
I didn't want him to end up like the others — looking at me differently, treating me like I was broken.
Because even if my hand wasn't perfect...
I was still me.
And anyone who wanted to be in my life had to accept that.