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Our physics teacher doesn’t like West. He’s a smart-ass. Which means she’s not a big fan of me and Ethan by default. “I don’t remember Rachel being included in your original group. ”
I press my face into my hand and tilt it so that I’m looking out the window and not at the class watching the power trip.
“She’s our sister. Of course she’s included in our group. ”
Paper crinkles, and I peek to see her examining everyone’s sheets. “It’s the same answer, but half done. ”
West relaxes in his seat, totally unaffected by her accusation of copying. “We’re a group. I think that’s expected. ”
“Then explain it,” she says. “Explain how you solved half the answer. ”
West’s mouth pops open, then he shuts it. “Rachel was in the process of explaining it to us. See, we were a little lost, and we didn’t want to hold her back so she went ahead with the work and stopped halfway so she could teach us. ”
Our physics teacher’s eyes settle on me. So do West’s and Ethan’s. So do the eyes of their friends and of everyone else who has made fun of me since middle school.
“Well then, Rachel. ” In an overdramatic swooping motion, our teacher gestures me toward the front of the room. “Since you’re so generous, why don’t you go to the board and teach the rest of the class how to complete the first half of the equation?”
Blood and heat rush to my face. Besides the fact this is one of my worst nightmares, I’m not even sure if I have the equation right. What if I’m wrong? What if I fall apart? At least with the speeches I can prepare for the impending meltdown.
This. . . this is out of nowhere. Begging for a way out, I frantically glance at West and Ethan. West locks his eyes on the floor while his fingers drum against his desk in an angry rhythm. “That is not necessary. ”
“I think it is,” says Mrs. Patterson. “Unless you want to explain the work, but keep in mind, what goes on that board is your group’s grade. ”
West jerks in his seat. Ethan leans over and whispers, “He’s going to blow. ”
West is one detention away from suspension, a fact Ethan and I have helped hide from Mom, and Ethan’s grades have dropped this semester. He can’t risk a bad score. “I’ll do it. ”
West’s head shakes back and forth, heat from his anger creating small red circles on his cheeks. Ethan kicks at our brother from underneath the desks. The two share a look, and both immediately focus on the floor.
When I reach the board, my body trembles as I grab the dry erase marker. I clear my throat twice and perspiration forms along my hairline. A couple of girls in the corner giggle.
My voice breaks as I incoherently explain how I solved half the equation. Due to my quaking hand, the numbers barely resemble squiggles. I clear my throat again, this time tasting bile. I inhale, only for the air to stop before reaching my lungs. My palms sweat, and the marker slips from my grasp. It taps the floor twice before rolling under the teacher’s desk. The world becomes a tunnel. Around me, laughter erupts.
“Rachel. ” Mrs. Patterson sounds distant, almost like an echo. “I was wrong. As the teacher, I should be showing the class. ”
My breathing is short, shallow, and my head has that floating feeling like when I’m sick with a fever. A buzzing noise fills my ears. Everyone stands and gathers their things. I try to suck in air, but my lungs won’t expand. If I can’t breathe, I’ll die.
Ethan appears in my line of vision. “She’s fine, Mrs. Patterson. Aren’t you, Rachel?”
I nod. No, I’m not fine. Ethan wraps an arm around me and ushers me into the hall. Cold metal supports my back. A hanging lock digs into my kidney.
West appears in the tunnel. “What the hell, Ethan? I thought she was over this shit. ”
“Break into her locker and get her stuff,” he says. “We need to get her to a bathroom. ”
* * *
Lunch is me, West, Ethan and a bottle of Sprite. Because West plays every sport imaginable, he was able to sneak us into the guy’s changing room. Sitting on an old jersey that had been stuffed into the abyss of West’s locker, I glance at the toilet bowl containing the remnants of breakfast.
Confident I’m going to survive, I flush the toilet and peek at my two brothers, who have hovered over me since the end of third period. “See,” I say with a raspy voice. “No blood. ”
But my throat is raw and sore. If I continue to vomit with the attacks, it won’t be long until the blood vessels in my throat crack.
Holding on to the stall door, West’s knuckles turn white. “How long?”
I drink slowly, buying myself not nearly enough time. West’s fingers tap a death march. He isn’t going to let this go. ?
??It never stopped,” I answer.
