Over the course of the next few days, it was me who avoided Henry. I was so ashamed I couldn't even look him in the eyes anymore. I tried to avoid my parents as well. What the hell was I supposed to say to them anyway?

Instead I spent my entire spare time closed off in my room or sitting on my secret bench, staring into nothingness.

In school, however, I started to socialise. My old fears of what the others might think about me, of the others looking at me and laughing at my figure somehow vanished in a 'Who gives a shit?'-kind of way. Most of the other students still didn't notice that I existed. They had formed a mental picture of Mrs See-Through a long time ago, and they weren't about to revise it.

Some kids were different, though. All of a sudden, I had contacts in my smart phone beyond my mother, father and sister – and Henry, whose messages I had completely been ignoring so far. It was a crazy feeling. I liked having 'friends', but putting on a "I'm fine! Everything is great!"-face was so exhausting that I just couldn't make myself accept any after-school meet-up invitations. Simply checking my phone messages became a sometimes overwhelming task, and, more often than not, I ignored my newfound friends, always apologising at school the next day with some tale of how busy I had been, doing exciting things with my vast circle of "you don't know them, but you would really like them"-friends.

One day after school, Henry cornered me on the way home. He had made sure nobody else was about before he approached me. He came straight to the point.

"Have I done anything wrong, Cat?" He didn't even look angry. I went bright red. Of course, he hadn't done anything wrong. First my parents had. Then I had. Out of shame. But that wasn't really an excuse. Was I even better than my parents? My eyes watered, the dam threatening to break. I swallowed hard.

"Just tell me, Cat. I'm sorry if I hurt you somehow."

"You haven't done a single thing wrong, Henry. It's just... Have you ever made a mistake and then, the more time passes, the harder it becomes to make things right?"

Henry nodded but said, "I still don't understand."

"I am so, so ashamed, Henry. I just didn't know how to face you. So, I did what I do best and hid. And now I'm even more ashamed."

"Ashamed of what?" Henry enquired gently.

"My...my... I can't even say it out loud." To my utter horror, my eyes started leaking for real now.

"Okay, don't get yourself all worked up, Cat. Just forget about it. Let's go somewhere where no one will see us. We'll have a nice chat. I missed you, Cat."

"We can't go to my place!" I blurted out involuntarily. "Definitely not my place!"

"No problem, honey. We can go to my place. It's nothing like yours, though." Henry pulled a face.

"That makes no difference to me, Henry. But what about your...?" I paused.

"Stepfather?" Henry finished the question for me. He was beginning to turn into a mind reader or something. I nodded.

"He's working. He won't be home until late in the evening. But even if he was home, there would be no need to worry. He's actually a nice guy and pretty charming to everyone except when he is drunk. That's why my mother loves him, you know."

Henry grabbed my hand and started to drag me down the street towards his house. I followed reluctantly. I wasn't really great with strangers. Strangers always look at you, and the first thing they notice are your height and your weight – both not my strong points. After their scrutiny they would always turn around and say, "You have got beautiful hair, Katherine." This translates as: "Why is beautiful hair always wasted on ugly people?" Self-consciously I started to pull my top down over my bum and my thighs as far as I could stretch it with my free hand.

"What are you doing, Cat? Jesus, do you want to rip your top?"

I blushed.

"Well, you could actually do with something a little thinner. More weather-appropriate, you know. You must be sweating like a pig in this."

Oh my God, how embarrassing.

I pulled my hand out of his and stopped walking. "I don't think this is a good idea, Henry. I think I'll go home."

"Oh no, no, you will come with me this time! Payback for dragging me to your house last time." He smiled and took my hand again. "My mum is a genuinely lovely person. She might not have much in material possessions, but she has love in spades. Believe me. She will..."

"Do not say that she will love me, please." I interrupted as quickly as I could while my thoughts turned to my own parents and how that was what I had thought about them and Henry.

Eventually we arrived at a modest little building in a rather run-down area. But Henry's little house was well maintained and looked inviting in a humble and unpretentious way. Henry rang the bell. A few seconds later, his mum opened the door. She gave Henry a massive bear hug, then turned to me.

"You must be Cat. Henry has told me a lot about you."

"Hi, Mrs Thornton," I choked out, while her arms went round my waist before she squeezed me affectionately. My heart started racing, my palms felt clammy and I turned slightly sideways, while I tried to control my breathing. After what felt like three hours she let go.

"Come in, come in," she said with a sparkle in her eyes. If she found it odd that I just stood there like a statue and hadn't hugged her back, that I sounded like I had just run a marathon, she never let on. At least she hadn't scrutinised my outward appearance. Thank God for small mercies.

"Henry told me that you are really smart. Straight As in nearly every subject. That's impressive."

"Eh... thank you... Henry is pretty smart himself, though, too." Well, at least it was a whole sentence. Even more than just a subject and a verb. Maybe there was hope for me yet.

"That he is!" Henry's mother beamed at her son. I felt a pang of jealousy. In my entire life nobody had ever looked at me with such open admiration and – first and foremost – such open affection.

"Well, just go into the kitchen and grab a seat. I made some dinner. I hope you like chicken, Cat."

"I... I... That's okay, Mrs Thornton! I'm not really hungry, and you didn't even know I was coming and I...I...I haven't even let my mother know where I am."

Henry grabbed my hand again.

"Calm down, Cat! Just send your mother a quick text and let her know where you are. Then let's have some dinner. My mum always cooks enough to feed the five thousand."

I really, really, really didn't want to eat anything. I never ate in front of other people. I didn't know what to do. I felt a full-blown panic attack bubbling up inside of me.

"Mum, I'll show Cat my room first. She might want to phone her mother, too. Give us a few minutes, ok?"

"Of course. Take your time. Our food isn't going to run away. I want you to feel comfortable here. If you don't like chicken, Cat, that's okay. You don't have to eat anything if you don't want to. But there is enough there, and you are more than welcome to join us."

I nodded. Jesus, how impolite was that? But I just couldn't get my mouth to work, let alone my brain engage in any coherent thought.

Henry more or less pushed me up the narrow staircase into his humble abode. I collapsed straight onto his bed. Henry took both my arms into his hands and looked me straight in the eyes.

"Breathe, Cat! Breathe! In and out. In and out. In and out. Just keeping breathing."

I desperately sucked in air until Henry folded my hands into a little ball and made me breathe into it, all the while coaching me how to breathe slowly and in a regular pattern. Soon my breathing slowed.

"You okay?" Henry finally asked.

I looked at Henry's carpet as if it was the most interesting thing that I had seen in the last five years of my life. Then I nodded.

"How often do you have that?" Henry's voice was really calm and soothing.

"Have what?"

"A panic attack. I know what a panic attack is, Cat, and this was definitely one."

Still not looking up, I said, "Not very often. That was quite frightening, actually. Sorry about that."

"There is nothing to be sorry about. Do you know what triggered it?"

I sighed.

"Yes, I probably do. But I don't want to talk about it."

"Have you ever had any treatment for it, counselling or something?"

"What? Treatment for heavy breathing?" I laughed.

"Panic attacks are serious, Cat. They impact all aspects of your life. You should have some counselling at the very least."

"I hardly ever have them, I promise you."

Henry sat down next to me on his bed. He put his right palm underneath my chin and lifted my head gently. Then he turned it slightly so that I was looking directly at him.

"You never leave your comfort zone, Cat. You are already limiting your life to prevent such attacks from happening. That might be a conscious or even an unconscious reaction of your body, but there is a direct correlation."

"Are you a shrink or something?"

"No, not a shrink. An ex-patient with a massive interest in mental health."

I sat up straighter.

"An ex-patient?"

"A couple of years ago, I struggled a little with the situation at home, my own body issues and stuff. My mum realised something was going on with me and took me to see a shrink. I refused to go in at first out of shame, but my mother was right. It was what I needed at the time to stay sane and ultimately safe."

"That's where you learned this neat little trick with breathing into your hands."

Henry nodded.

"Yeah, a plastic bag works even better, but normally your own hands will do just fine."

"I am so exhausted all the time, Henry. And I'm tired of being tired. If that even makes any sense." The words simply escaped my mouth before I managed to hold them back.

"Oh Cat, this is much more serious than I thought. I think you really need some professional help – sooner rather than later. Have you talked to your parents?"

I snorted, then started laughing. I must admit even to my ears it sounded just a little hysterical. But then again Henry's question was hysterical.

"Talk to my mum about my heavy breathing issues?" I could feel hysterical tears rising up. I saw myself standing in front of my mother saying, "You know, mother, I'm a heavy breather. I think I need some treatment."

"Not your heavy breathing issues! Your mental health issues! This is serious, Cat. Being exhausted all the time. What you just said... it sounds like you are suffering from anxiety, or depression or something similar."

Suddenly I felt an immeasurable amount of anger exploding inside of me.

"I DO NOT have mental health issues. I AM NOT depressed, Henry!" I shouted. "Stop psychoanalysing me just because you went through depression or some shit like that. I am not depressed. I live in a shitty situation," I raged.  "My mother is about as warm and fuzzy as a dead fish, my father has as much inner strength as an undercooked French fry, my sister is the family prodigy and I am the fat fugly friendless Cinderella who brought home a black kid as a boyfriend." I slapped my hands over my eyes in a desperate but futile attempt to hold back the tears – and the words. But the dam had broken and there was nothing I could do to prevent a face flood of biblical proportions.

Henry just sat next to me during the deluge. He didn't say anything, he didn't do anything, he didn't even touch me – beyond a very gentle touch of his little finger against my hand. This small touch became my anchor in the stormy sea that was my soul.

As the storm subsided, my brain started to engage again - unfortunately. Because it reminded me of the things I had just said out loud, in front of an audience. It might have only been one person, but not only had I given voice to issues that I had somehow never really verbalised in front of myself, I had also inadvertently insulted the best friend I had ever had.

Furiously, I wiped my eyes. "Sorry, Henry. I am really sorry. I think I'd better leave now."

"Oh no, you won't, honey. There is no need to run away. It's good to let shit like that out. And you can dump on me anytime – and anything. Honestly."

"I don't know what to say." I smiled sheepishly through red-rimmed eyes.

"Well," Henry smiled back. "Maybe you could explain to me what you meant by 'black boyfriend'. And maybe you can fire off a quick text to your mum before she sends out the search parties and finds you in the black man's cave."

I winced, but Henry's smile grew even wider.

"My parents just assumed you were my boyfriend. And, well, they somehow didn't take kindly to the idea. To my utter horror. Their reaction really threw me. I just didn't know how to admit to you that my parents are both closet racists. I just feel so ashamed – especially after I promised you..."

All of a sudden, Henry exploded with laughter.

"It's not funny," I protested.

"It is a little bit," Henry managed to choke out between bursts of laughter. "This is wrong on so many levels... It just tickles my sense of humour in all its irony."

"Sense of humour?" I couldn't believe my ears.

"You have no idea, Cat. Your parents are a riot. Honest to God."

"'Jesus, Katherine, just look at the guy. Do I really need to spell it out to you? The guy is black.'" I raised my voice in an effort to imitate my mother's hysterical pitch. "How the hell is that funny? And what about my dad? He just sat there staring at his shoes in embarrassment and recommended that I follow my mother's instructions." I started to feel angry. Didn't Henry understand how serious this was? My parents' racism was directed at him after all.

"Is that what she said? Took her a while then before she choked out the nasty b-word. Jeez, Cat, there is some tragedy in all this, but there is also a lot of funny. The liberal white Shelley family turns out to be KKK, the successful lawyer patriarch without a patriarchy and jumping to conclusions and the tough cosmopolitan woman unable to say the word 'black'." Henry wiped his teary eyes. "Sorry, Cat, that was uncalled for."

"No, it was very much called for. I wish my mum was like your mum," I said, while I fired of a quick lie to my mother. Something along the lines of: Met a nice white female friend whose parents are pillars of the community and whose acquaintance will further my future college career – whatever this will look like. It actually read: At Patricia's. Be home later.

Just then I realised something. A rather uncomfortable truth. I looked at Henry.

"I officially apologise, Henry."

"You don't need to apologise for your parents' hypocrisy, Cat. Don't be silly."

"I'm not. I'm apologising for my own shortcomings. I just realised that by avoiding you I did exactly what my parents wanted me to do."

"But your reasons were different. You were ashamed – unnecessarily, but understandably. Don't tear yourself up over it."

"But the outcome was the same. I can't believe myself. Why are you still so nice to me? If I was you, I'd kick your arse, then I'd kick you out of the house and out of my life. And I'd feel good about it. Moral high-ground and all that."

"Well, you're lucky then that I'm a pacifist. I'll just make a green tea for us and burn some sage."

I had to laugh – despite myself.

"I think I can learn a lot from you, Henry."

And just like that, for what seemed the first time in my life history, I relaxed somewhere outside my immediate comfort zone.