Chapter 3 — The Suspicion

Molly started to notice that the feeling did not care where she was. At school, it came to visit her during group work when the teacher walked past and reminded everyone to stay on task even though they already were. Molly felt it then as a squeezing that made her want to sit straighter and finish faster. When the teacher moved on, the feeling stayed behind like it had nowhere else to go.

“Stop fiddling,” the teacher said once without looking at her.

Molly put her hands flat on the desk and waited for the lesson to end. She had never been spoken to that way by a teacher before and it made her feel a type of way she couldn’t explain.

At lunch, her friends all talked over each other like they were in a race to get their words out the fastest. The conversations changed a little bit now that she was older. They had started talking about who liked who and what they were allowed to watch on TV. Molly listened and laughed when she thought she was meant to. When someone asked her opinion, she gave it quickly so the conversation could move on. The feeling was there too. It made her feel like she was meant to keep up with the pace of something that never quite slowed down.

It irritated her that she couldn’t make out what that something was.

At home, it was still there but different. Her mum asked her to help while cooking and then asked her why she was standing around when she finished too early.

“You can dry up,” her mum said. “You don’t need to wait for instructions.”

Molly dried the plates and tried to work out what she should be doing next before being asked. With her dad, it came when he told her to toughen up after she cried about a test she thought she had done badly on.

“You’ll be alright,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”

Molly dried her tears because that seemed to end the conversation.

She wouldn’t notice the connection between all of these things for a long time. They were separate days with separate people, who were all saying different things. It was only later, when Molly was lying in bed or sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, that she realised the feeling underneath them was the same.

“Why are grown-ups always in such a hurry, do you think?”

“They’re busy,” he said.

“So are we,” Molly said.

“Yeah, but we don't count. We don't have to pay bills and stuff.”

That night, Molly lay awake and thought about how often the feeling turned up and how little control she seemed to have over it. She didn’t have words for what it was. She only knew it came back again and again, no matter where she was or who she was with, and that knowing made it harder to believe it belonged to her alone.