My best friend Rose and I clambered down the fire escape on the side of my building. I was wearing Risk, my obnoxiously loud and careless side, which meant I could swing around the side of the escape and jump onto the stairs below without fear.

Rose and I had snuck out of our rooms so we could skate on the roof, where we had built ramps from random pieces of wood that Rose’s dad had a hobby of collecting but never using. We eventually reached my floor. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jesse! Remember, we have to shred the halls up before Mr. Canero arrives,” Rose said.

Around Rose, I always put on Risk since I knew neither of my other sides would agree to do what she said.

“Rad. I’ll see ya!” I threw my body lazily through my window and landed with a cushioned thud. I turned again to Rose and waved goodbye.

Now that Rose was gone, I needed to change out of Risk, and quickly. I put on my innocent, sweet side, Logic. This was the side my parents liked most, since Risk would talk back or get the hall rug muddy. Logic was prim and obedient, stood with his hands held behind his back, and walked with controlled, little steps. I used to wear him all the time, but he wasn’t too popular with my classmates. My father had heard the earlier thud, and I heard his steps coming up the hall to check up on me. I quickly closed the window and sat at my desk with a book. My father knocked lightly, but before I could say, “Come in!,” the door was already swung open. My father was a tall man, with skin the color of spruce wood, oval-shaped glasses, and no hair except for his graying mustache. I shared some of his features, but the most noticeable thing we shared was my tight coils of hair, grouped in clumps. Nowadays, my dad regularly shaves his head, but in old photos, he looks almost identical to me.

“Jesse, are you ok?” my father asked.

“Yes, a stack of books fell. From up there.” It was hard to lie to him, since Logic keeps his room very clean and the floor was noticeably spotless.

“I already cleaned it.” My father wrinkled his nose but did not suspect my behavior beyond that. He bid me goodnight and left the room.

I sighed in the dark of my room, sat in my bed, and attempted to sleep, but my third and final side, Reason, subconsciously took over. Reason likes to ruin my sleep schedule by filling my brain with ideas and theories at such an inopportune time of night. He tended to come out at the worst moments. I must have slept a little, because I woke up at the crack of dawn and filled my backpack neatly with folders for each subject. Stepping down the hallway, I strained to hear the quiet chatter in the kitchen. When my mother, who was stirring the eggs, saw me, she sped to the doorway and hugged me. “Good morning, Rainbow.” I never understood why she called me Rainbow, but she always said it was because I was her “special boy.” I breathed in the vanilla scent that came from her silky black hair. She sat me down at the table and gave me a plate with spiced eggs on it.

---

Arriving at the concrete steps of my high school, I tied my skateboard to my bag and sprinted to class. On the way, I took off Risk and replaced him with Reason, who was liked by my teachers. See, Reason is very artistic, while also being more conversational than Logic and Risk. He does tend to daydream, but Logic and Risk couldn’t sit through a class like he does. My last two classes before lunch were shared with Rose. This is the problem with having three sides: there are often situations where I have to act in two at once. Luckily, Rose and I don’t share a table, but I need to make sure I have the proper reaction when she throws a paper airplane at my face. Lunch is a similar story: Risk can carry me through social situations with other teens, Logic is polite but oblivious, and Reason tends to talk too much.

I sauntered out the door of my biology class and ran through the hall with Rose at my side. When we exited the building, we neared a small crowd that had gathered outside. I was too far away to see, but Rose urged me forward.

As I neared the human circle, I heard a sickening fuzz in my ear, followed by electric guitar notes. I followed the sound in a trance, fumbling through my backpack for my phone. I weaved through the crowd and finally laid eyes on who was making the sound.

He stood on a bench and held a black guitar across his body. This young man had tight copper curls dangling over his eyes and neck. His ears peeked out of his bed of hair and held up his square glasses. He wore his school uniform loose and hung multiple necklaces around his neck, and bracelets jingled on his wrists. I had seen this boy in my art class before, but I hadn’t paid attention to him besides looking at his work. I could feel Risk being shoved over by Reason as I was lulled by the song. Reason pulled me to the front of the gathering as my other sides fought for control. When the song ended, my sides were scrambled and Logic took over to report back to Rose. Rose had strayed from where she was standing before and took her place for lunch. I joined her under the tree where she was sitting and filled her in.

“The redhead from art class. He brought approximately 100 pounds of gear to school.” Rose thought for a moment. “Approximately?” Rose said, “Do you mean Elliot? Curls, earrings, won’t shut up about art culture?”

That seemed to fit the description.

Risk took control again and said, “Yeah, I guess it was him.”

We chatted during our lunch break, then parted ways. The rest of the day was chaotic; Reason kept trying to take over when I didn’t need him, and he was flustered and distracted when I did need him, and Logic had to take control for the rest of school. During my newspaper club meeting, I showed my clubmates the photos I had taken of Elliot during his performance, and they joked that it was for attention.

---

Two Mondays later, my sides were fighting for control as I stumbled out of school. I headed to a bench where I could hopefully sort out my brain while sitting, but tripped on a diggidy-darn crack in the sidewalk and hit the ground with a sickening crack. Elliot, who was sitting under a tree nearby, noticed the sound and saw me on the cement. He ran over to me and helped me up.

“Oh my gosh! Are you ok?” he said.

I was numb from the shock, and my brain was finally quiet, until Reason saw who it was. “Yea-yeah I’m totally fine. I don’t think my water bottle is.”

I pointed to the shattered glass in the side pocket of my backpack. I continued to ramble while Elliot helped me sit down, then he picked the glass carefully out of my backpack. I felt around my knees and arms for scrapes and found that my elbow was bleeding. I used a sweater to blot away the blood.

“This is not fixable, I’m afraid,” Elliot said.

I couldn’t tell if Elliot was joking or not. He turned to me and picked a tiny piece of bark out of my fluff of hair. He looked at the bark in his hand while I looked at him.

“Heh. This is Paperbark. Oh, what’s your name?” asked Elliot.

“ Jesse.”

“Ok then, Jesse!!”

Elliot hopped up from his seat and held out his hand for me to take.

“So how are you getting home? I’ll walk you!” he said.

I flushed. I took his hand and staggered to my feet.

“I was going to skate home, but thank you,” I said.

Elliot’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Not on my watch,” he said, “there will be no more broken bones today. Here, I’ll hold your bag.”

He ran back to the tree where he was previously sitting and retrieved his things, then he handed me his water and started to walk by my side. During the slow walk to my apartment, Elliot told me about his lunchtime display.

“I realized that I’ll be graduating high school this year,” he said. “I’ll be done with school. I’ve made major milestones for sure, figuring out who I am, who I want to be, and what I’ll do. I felt a moral obligation to change this school somehow, after being in it for so long.”

I felt it hard to pay attention while he was talking, since Risk was practically choking Reason to death. Elliot turned to me and looked into my eyes for a moment.

“Do you feel the same?” he said.

Silence.

“I guess I never thought about it,” I said.

I stopped in front of my building.

“This is me.”

---

Over the next few days, my sides sorted themselves out and calmed down. I avoided Elliot at school because I was embarrassed. He kept to his group as well. I felt bad, but decided it was for the best, since I should probably steer clear of people that make my sides act out. For someone who avoided Elliot a lot, I sure thought about him plenty. My sides conflicted when it came to him: Risk was embarrassed that Elliot witnessed me eat dirt and break all my bones, Reason was hopeless and thought Elliot was the best thing since I discovered painting, and Logic was confused as to why it mattered.

I realized I couldn’t avoid Elliot forever when we ran into each other at the park the following month. Reason was directing a pencil across a sketchbook in an isolated part of the park, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to Elliot’s face, only about an inch away from mine.

“Why hello, stranger,” he said.

I jolted away and looked around, shocked that he found me. Reason was delighted to see him.

“Stranger? I hardly think that’s accurate . . . ” I stammered. “Maybe classmates, or mutual friends! Wait, that doesn’t make – ”

Elliot interrupted me, saying, “I haven’t heard from you in a while. I asked your friends where you were but they didn’t know. Are you ok?”

I thought he would have been mad or uninterested, but it seemed he was genuinely concerned. Truth is, I don’t think I was. I looked sadly into his eyes, then back into my book. Elliot took a seat next to me on the grass.

“I’m not sure,” I said.

I contemplated telling him the truth, but that was too big a burden to put on someone who I’d only spoken to once.

“Tell you what, if I share my chips with you, will you tell me?” said Elliot.

“I-I’m not even sure if I can put it into words,” I said.

“Can you try? I want to help,” he said.

I paused for a moment, thinking of what to say.

“I’m just . . . always at war with myself,” I said. “Three different people occupy my headspace and everything I do. They conflict without my permission. It’s worse . . . when I’m with you.”

Elliot wore a surprised look on his face, but didn’t back away.

“I’m so sorry. Why is that?” he asked.

Risk yelled out in frustration.

“Because one of them won’t shut up about you! Uh . . . sorry. That was rude.”

Elliot smiled slyly and laid back on the grass. I was mortified and was quick to remark:

“Not like that! Maybe like that . . . just stop it. Point is, when you’re around, they fight. And it sounds crazy, I know, but that’s just life for me and – ”

Elliot put his index finger to my mouth and handed me the chips.

“I was just joking,” he said. “ I can’t say I understand what you’re going through, but that doesn’t make you crazy or weird. Go on.”

I smiled at the chips.

“The problem is, I don’t know which is really me,” I said. “I identify with all of them, but they are so different that they couldn't possibly all be the same person.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Because I feel them tearing me apart for control,” I said. “Sometimes it gets really bad, so I get dizzy or act weird. That happened when I tripped on the sidewalk last month. It takes a lot of recharge time to finally calm down. That’s why I haven’t seen you in a while. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

He grinned as I awkwardly crunched on a handful of chips.

“You didn’t hurt my feelings at all. I was more worried about how you were feeling,” he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t let you walk home alone, while you were going through that. Do you want me to leave?”

“No! You don’t have to leave,” I said. “I just need to sort out my head.”

We sat there in the park for the rest of the day. It was the longest time that my sides were calm.