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Kodiak: u ok?
Lavender: Everything ok, talk ltr
I stare at those four words, willing them to shift and change into the truth. Lavender doesn’t usually message until later in the evening, especially when I have practice.
Kodiak: don’t lie 2 me
The dots appear again. This time the message is more jumbled, as if she’s having trouble typing, which happens when she’s having an anxiety attack and her fingers won’t work the way they’re supposed to.
Lavender: ill b ok msg me aft prctace?
I want to call her, but I can’t with my dad right beside me. I don’t want another one of his lectures about how it’s not good for me and Lavender to rely on each other like this.
Kodiak: where are you
Lavender: drama clb at scool
Lavender helps paint the sets because it’s what she’s really good at. She can sing, but she doesn’t like it when there’s too much attention on her. Any attention really. Teachers know not to call on her in class—not because she doesn’t know the answers, but because she can’t stand all of those eyes on her, and she can’t respond when everyone is looking.
She loves the drama club, but lately she’s been having a hard time because there’s a girl who isn’t very nice to her.
Kodiak: Courtney messing w u?
Lavender: she wont leve me alone
Our school is close to the arena. I check the clock. We can stop, and I can fix whatever is wrong and still make it to practice on time.
I take a deep breath and fight the panic creeping down my spine over the little lie I’m about to tell. “Oh crap!”
My dad glances at me, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“I left my math binder at school, and we have a test on Friday I need to study for.”
“Don’t worry, kiddo. We’ll stop at the school and pick it up on the way home from practice.”
I let my knee bounce and run my hands up and down my thighs. “Can we stop on the way to practice? Sometimes they lock the doors to the hallway my locker is in before five, and then I can’t get to it. It’s an algebra test, and I got a few questions wrong on the last assignment. I don’t want to mess it up again.”
My dad looks at the clock and then down at my shaking legs. The little lies make my throat feel tight. We do have an algebra test, but I almost always have perfect scores on my math. But if my dad thinks it’s going to make me anxious during practice, he’s more likely to stop for me. He doesn’t understand my worry the way my mom does, and he doesn’t read my cues the same way either.
My mom would know I’m faking it, and she’d make me use my strategies to help calm down. My dad always goes right into solve-the-problem mode.
“You can’t be late for practice.” He grips the wheel, obviously considering it.
“I won’t be late. It’ll just take me a minute to grab it. Please? I really need to study tonight.” My voice cracks, because some of my anxiety is real. I need to get to Lavender, and if he doesn’t stop so I can, I’ll end up having a real panic attack. Practice will be a mess, and it’ll be a huge downward spiral that will take me hours to get out of.
I’ll feel guilty that I let down my team, and I’ll feel even worse that I couldn’t help Lavender. The sooner I can get to her, the better everything will be.
“Okay, but you run in and grab your textbook and that’s it.” He taps on the wheel, frowning.
I nod vigorously. “I’ll be super fast.”
He pulls up to the front doors of the school, and I jump out before the car even comes to a full stop. As soon as I’m inside, I text Lavender to tell her I’m here and on my way to the theater.
She doesn’t ask any questions, like how I managed to get here when I have practice.
Lavender: in the prop room
I burst through the door that leads directly to the stage. I know the drama room well, even though there’s no way I would ever be part of any kind of production.
I search for Courtney in the group of kids standing around, but I don’t see her.
I head for the hall leading to the prop room, and one of the boys calls out, “The gym is on the other side of the school.”
The drama teacher, Miss Garrett, calls my name, but I ignore her. My whole body breaks out in a cold sweat. I’m going to get in trouble for this—from Miss Garrett and definitely from my dad when I’m not back in two minutes—but I don’t care. Lavender needs me.
It’s dark behind the curtains, like a starless night sky, because the walls are painted black. As soon as I start down the hall, the noise of the students on the stage disappears, replaced by Courtney’s nasal voice.
