“Yeah, maybe.” I don’t really hear what I’m responding to. My thoughts have left the gymnasium and are back on the conversation I had with Mom last night. It all makes sense now … the surveillance, the expedited therapist appointment. She’s worried I’m engaging in “risky behavior.” If only she knew. I am the last person to experiment with drugs or anything even close. I can’t even talk to a guy I like without wimping out most of the time. Or maybe she thinks I have a mood disorder. She must have caught me pulling my hair, and now she thinks I need professional help. I twist my hair back, wary of the row of students sitting behind us with a perfect view of my scalp.
At the very least, Mom and Dad being worried about me has made them get along better. Nothing like bonding through a crisis. Last evening, they actually appeared to be tolerating each other. I think they even slept in the same room. There must have been fewer bills this week. Here’s a crazy thought: Maybe I should always appear in crisis to maintain their version of marital bliss. I can’t help but laugh at the irony of it.
Ashley jabs me in the side with her elbow. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, sorry, I … uh … Something was caught in my throat.” Lying doesn’t come easily to me, and Ashley sees straight through it.
“Uh-huh. Sure it was.”
The doctor has taken over the podium, for how long now, I couldn’t say.
Jade presses a finger to her lips. “Shh, guys. Show respect.”
We focus on Dr. Kowalski as he finishes his crash course on Suicide Prevention. “Not every young person will show the same warning signs. Some may appear more confident than usual to their friends but might be sharing plans for ending their life through social media. You may be the only person they have disclosed something to, and it could be your action that helps direct them to the appropriate resources and supports that could save their life.”
The idea that more than one person in our high school could be contemplating death doesn’t surprise me, but the fact I could have a role in their prevention is a little unnerving. What if I missed some early warning sign with Malin? What if I could have helped save her life?
A shudder rushes through me and then, out of nowhere, I am thrust back into the bright fog from two days ago. The blinding light overtakes my senses faster this time, as does the rushing noise. I grip the bag in my lap, shut out the white, and try to breathe. Although my breath enters in shivering pulses, with each exhale I feel more in control. This is just a panic attack. My muscles begin to relax like a hot shower rinsing away tension. A whisper echoes ever so quietly within the rush of sound. I am with you. The noise begins to fade. I readjust to a clarity in the gymnasium that is awe-inspiring. I search for where the whisper came from, but it didn’t sound like a regular voice. More light has filled the room, as though spotlights are shining down on groups of students. Or maybe shining up from them?
My gaze darts around the gym. I’m not concerned about what those around me might think. An unquenchable desire to understand the sudden illuminations overtakes my rational thoughts. An ache fills my chest again, just like it did with Evan. The need to rise urges my legs to engage.
“What are you doing?” Jade stares at me, her forehead wrinkled.
“Is it brighter in here?” I peer up at the ceiling, then back to the groups of students.
She tugs me down by my jeans pocket. “Um, not that I’m aware of, but you did just have your eyes closed.”
“What’s going on?” Ashley whispers.
I pan across the hundreds of students, trying to draw their attention to … something that is no longer there. I slump on the bench. “Nothing, I just thought … It’s nothing.”
Mrs. Henderson returns to the podium and clears her throat. “When the bell rings in a moment, all students will travel to their period four class, unless they would like to speak with one of the members of our support staff. We will be canceling extracurricular activities for the remainder of this week to allow teachers to be available after school for additional support.”
“Booh,” Ashley says under her breath, clearly faking disappointment. “I memorized my lines for scene two for nothing.”
Jade crosses her arms. “You’re still going to need to have them memorized at some point, Ash. The festival is less than two months away, right?” She turns to me, waiting for confirmation.
“Yeah, right,” I say, trusting Jade speaks the truth.
Am I psyching myself out, or did I have another experience like Monday? And there was a voice again, or at least a thought in my mind that felt so clear and important. I couldn’t have imagined it.
The bell sounds, and students begin to slowly move out of the gymnasium. Ashley stands and brushes off the back of her jeans. “If I had known practice would be canceled, I could’ve studied more for French.” She begins to daintily step down through the bleachers.
Easily skipping steps, Jade follows. “I don’t think it would have helped you. I studied most of last night and still bombed it.”
I stay seated and try to replay the previous few minutes. I heard something or thought something. Why can’t I remember it? I cover my ears with my palms to drown out the hum of conversation around me, but nothing. And the lights. Were they coming from students? My chest still thumps to a beat that I can only associate with moments of deep grief.
“Thea?” Ashley’s muffled voice filters through my fingers. “What are you doing?” She looks at me, hands on her hip and head slightly tilted.
“I, uh, I thought I heard something.”
Jade comes back up a couple of stairs, and her dark, narrowed eyes search mine for meaning. “And?”
“And I can’t remember what it was.”
“It was probably your stomach saying feed me,” Ashley says while swiping at her phone. She’s probably more interested in Ethan’s status update than what I may have heard.
“Never mind.” They wouldn’t believe me anyway. “Forget it ever happened.”
But maybe Jade would listen. She comes closer and lowers her voice. “Are you sure? You looked pretty freaked out a minute ago.”
“Nah, I’m okay.” I muster up the most reassuring grin I can. I pick up my bag and, grasping Jade’s outstretched hand, rise from the bleachers. “I think my stomach said cookies,” I say in a Cookie-Monster voice, hoping to convince Jade I really am okay.
And to convince myself at the same time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
An incandescent floor lamp casts a warm veil over the otherwise white walls. With the pairing of a comfortable micro-suede couch and a mauve rug that matches the trim on the lampshade, the attempt to provide a peaceful atmosphere is almost achieved. If not for my other senses. The smell of burnt coffee and sanitizer overpowers Mom’s body spray. And the muffled Code Blue that seems to be on repeat every two minutes takes away any chance for zen. I am in a hospital, with my very own plastic bracelet, waiting for my very own personal shrink to appear.
Across from me, Mom sits, wringing her hands. “Sweetie, he really is a wonderful and patient physician. Try not to look so distressed.”
Helpful advice, Mom.
“I know. I get why you want me to come, but I just wish I wasn’t here.” I lean my head toward the door to hear the intercom announce its latest code. “It’s awkward enough showing up for therapy, but it’s ten times worse when it’s your mom’s boss.”