How to Make a Human

"Mae Beth!" I sang, tugging lightly on her hair and skipping happily around her as we began our walk home from school.

"Stop it," she snapped, swatting my hand away.

"Fine," I huffed, crossing my arms, "Did you have a rough first day at school or something?"

"No. It was excellent," she replied shortly.

"Are you lying?" I asked skeptically.

"No."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. How was your first day?"

I faltered for a moment. How was my day? Oh let's see. My first period teacher told me suicide stories, my desk mate hates me, I got asked out by a pudgy ginger, I got yelled at by a pudgy ginger, I sat out half of my fourth period in the teachers lounge, I managed to get mashed potatoes in my hair while eating alone at an empty lunch table, I broke a pencil sharpener, I tripped on my desk and got lectured in front of the class for inattentiveness, my credits for physical education didn't transfer so I have to retake it, questioning looks and whispers surrounded me all day, no one greeted me out of pity, and I sneezed and hit my head on my math book.

"My day was great!" I beamed. Mae raised an eyebrow at me questioningly, but I smiled so brightly my jaw cramped just to force away her skepticism.

"I'm sure," she drawled.

"So… did you have a rough time making any new friends?" I asked after a couple minutes of silence.

"No. Everyone was pretty welcome. I think I'm going to hang out with Anna this week. Why? Did you have trouble making friends?"

"What? Me? No, not at all!" I snorted. "Everyone was really nice. I'll probably play with some of my friends this weekend too."

"Play?"

"I meant hang out. I'll probably hang out with some friends this weekend," I clarified. I had never actually had to say "hang out." I haven't had a social interaction outside of school since it was still called playing. I wish everything remained that easy. You smile, you laugh, you share Lincoln logs, and just like that you have a lifelong friend and a series of forced play dates. Unfortunately, I just can't ask my mom to plan me a play date with the neighbors anymore.

When we arrived home, Oma was waiting with a plate of miniature PB&J sandwiches, ready to hear all about our first day of school. Retired people did things like that. Living with a working parent had given me quick, three minute conversations in the car before the phone rang. Living with retired people gave me a whole boatload full of extra food I didn't need and the one-on-one attention that Oprah promoted.

Mae Beth chatted idly with my Oma for twenty minutes, filling her in on every glorious detail. There wasn't a moment of her story that wasn't animated by extravagant hand gestures. I silently nibbled on my sandwich, hoping Oma would forget about me and shoo me upstairs to continue homework. How could my story compare to Mae's? She met a kid nicknamed Beethoven, for God's sake!

"Bobbie? How was your day?" Oma asked, turning to me and tearing apart a triangular mini sandwich into smaller bits. Mae Beth had her eyebrows raised expectantly. She knew I was socially retarded. Of course she knew.

"It was good," I said shrugging, my voice jumping to a higher octave.

"Anything fun happen?" Oma prodded. Mae rolled her eyes at me and grabbed a sandwich.

"Uh, yeah. Loads of stuff."

"Oh?" Oma asked, peering at me over her glasses, trying to push me into sharing the details.

"Yep. Loads of fun stuff," I answered vaguely, shrugging again.

"Well, did you meet anyone new?"

I rolled my eyes, "No. I was surprised to find that all of my old classmates had followed us here. Now I don't have to worry about making new friends."

"You know what I mean!" she laughed, hitting my arm lightly.

"Yeah, I know. I met a bunch of new people," I lied shrugging. Shrug, shrug, shrug. I was doing that so much I expected my arms to pop off.

"Oh. Like who? Anyone in particular?" she asked, folding her hands and waiting patiently. I browsed through my brain. Who could I call a friend?

"Uh, Shane was pretty cool. Really friendly. Listen, I saw a grocery store on the way home, so I'm going to go check it out," I fibbed, looking for any excuse to not have to talk about my friends… or lack there of.

"Very well then," Oma nodded, withdrawing slightly, "Bobbie, if you want to talk, your Opa and I are always available."

I smiled brightly and shook my head, "Oma, everything is going great."

She tossed me a skeptical look. God, what is with my family?

"Seriously," I pressed, patting her on the back and standing up. So what if my first day was rough? I had a whole semester before a lonely depression would kick in, right? Right?

"Well, I guess I'm going to go check out the grocery store now," I stated, swinging my arms around and stretching a little.

"Don't you have any homework?" Oma asked, standing up and covering the tray of mini-sandwiches with recycled foil.

"Pfft. On my first day? No way. None of the teachers are going to assign me homework until, like, my second week or something," I explained. It was a complete and utter lie. I actually had extra homework. Apparently my old public school was a bit behind the glory that is a private school.

"Alright, well be home by six. It is a school night," she said, putting the sandwiches in our barren refrigerator, save for a jar of mayo and some pickles.

"Do you want me to get anything?" I asked, grabbing my messenger bag and throwing it over my shoulder.

"No, we'll be fine," she replied absently, gazing into our empty fridge.

"Right then. See you in a bit!" I called, flying out the door and searching for my bike. I hate my bike. It was an old ten-speed that belonged to my Opa in the early eighties. I was amazed the damn wheels even turned.

I stood on the pedals as I rode my bike, halfway regretting not changing into a pair of pants. The required school skirt was not meant for a comfortable biking experience. I rolled up to the grocery store and parked my bike on designated rack, praying that no one would steal it.

The clouds were grey and heavy, hanging in the air with a sense of foreboding. I knew it was rainy in Rhode Island, I just didn't expect it to bring such a gloomy feeling. I shuffled into the store and glanced around. Bored employees with blue button-up shirts stacked cans, bagged groceries, and scanned items. The fluorescent lights gave everyone a pasty complexion and the white tiles squeaked loudly when I walked, drowning out the oldies radio station playing softly in the background.

I found myself at the frozen food aisle, staring longingly at the bag of frozen pizza rolls. I grabbed the bag from the freezer when I saw a box of bagel bites. I sighed dreamily and felt Goosebumps on my arms. I can only hope that the Goosebumps appeared because I was holding my arm in the freezer, not because of the bagel bites. I feel like if I got Goosebumps because of bagel bites I would have to admit to being weird and lonely right then, right there.

I closed the freezer and crossed my arms. Now the real battle begins.

Did I want bagel bites or the pizza rolls? Both are fantastic. The bagel bites are cheaper. I stared blankly at my bagel bite options. Did I want a pack of nine or a pack of eighteen? Or, dear god, a pack of thirty-six? An old man perched himself in front of the frozen meal department and was openly staring at me, mouth slightly ajar and fuzzy eyebrow raised.

"Uh, it's for my friend," I lied, stuffing the box of eighteen under my arm and grabbing a package of pizza rolls. Best of both worlds right? The old man continued to stare at me, his expression reading "poor, sad, fat, lonely girl."

"I'm serious. They're for a friend," I repeated firmly. He stared sadly, shaking his head and turning back to the frozen meal section. I stared at him for a couple of minutes, hoping to give him a taste of his own medicine, but I was ignored by him, and a woman was beginning to give me an odd look. I hustled off, eager to get out of the fluorescent lights and into the warmth of my house. Eager to eat my body weight in pizza rolls and bagel bites. Alone.