“Yeah,” she exhales softly, her thumb stroking the elephant's soft pink fur. “That’s different. That’s how I feel.”
“Like you don’t belong on the team?” I press gently.
“Sometimes,” she shrugs, looking down at the elephant's black beaded eyes instead of at mine. “You can’t think that I do.”
“I can’t imagine playing on a team without you anymore, Mols. I mean that.”
The thought of her not being there, of her not being a part of this... it’s unbearable. She’s become so integral to the team, to me, that I can’t even remember what it was like before she came along.
She smiles, but it’s sad and wistful, and she looks away. I watch her for a moment, studying the way she bites her lip—that little nervous habit I knew I would get obsessed with since the first time I saw her do it—and how she absentmindedly is playing with her hair, twirling a stray lock around her finger.
She’s so beautiful, it takes my breath away. And she’s so sad, it breaks my heart.
She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” I shrug, squeezing the frog. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“How much I like you,” I admit, grinning when she rolls her eyes. It’s the truth, more than the truth. And I think it’s time I’ve told her all I’ve been thinking about—the big L word I’d dropped on the lads the other day.
Now or never.
I get up from her desk, trying to shove the frog on the top shelf and go over and tease her, soften the mood and lead up to my confession. But I’m clumsy, and I knock down a shoebox from the shelf. It hits the floor and items scatter everywhere.
Shit, nice going.
“What was that?” I hear Ms. Lockhart call from somewhere downstairs, her voice faint but clear.
“It’s okay!” Molly calls back, hopping up and hurrying to help me gather things from the floor—polaroid pictures, ticket stubs, ribbons. It’s a treasure trove of memories, a collection of moments from a life I know so little about.
My fingers brush against a glossy photo of a younger, probably preteen Molly. She’s grinning wide in a black and blue jersey, her face alight with joy. She’s holding a trophy, a small silver cup, alongside a man with dark hair and stubble who must be a coach.
He’s got her in a hug, kneeling down and smiling with her into the lens. She looks so happy in the picture that it paints a smile on my face.
“Aww,” I murmur, turning it toward her. “Hey, this is cute—”
The moment the photo enters her line of sight, Molly’s eyes widen and she snatches it from me and shoves it into the box with a ferocity that takes me by surprise. Her breathing picks up, her chest rising and falling too fast, and her hands start shaking, the colour draining from her face.
That panic that I saw in her eyes the night on my couch has returned, tenfold. It’s that wild look of a cornered animal and it scares me.
“Molly?” I whisper, my heart pounding in my chest. “Molly, what’s wrong?”
She doesn’t answer. She just stares at the box like it’s a live grenade, her breath coming in short gasps. I reach outfor her but she pulls away, standing up from the floor and all but stumbling back to her bed, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.
“Molly?” I say again, voice even softer, full of concern I don’t even try to hide. “Talk to me. Please.”
She shakes her head, pressing her palms into her eyes. Her breaths are coming in ragged bursts now, each one a struggle, a fight for air she seems to be losing. I can see the panic taking hold, a tangible force that’s consuming her from the inside out.
I kneel in front of her, keeping my hands hovering near hers but not touching, not wanting to scare her more than she already is. “Breathe. Just breathe. You’re okay, you’re safe.”
She tries, and I watch as her fingers curl into fists against her face and then release. I can tell she can’t seem to get enough air in even with all the effort.
I slowly reach for her hands, gently pulling them away from her face. Her skin is clammy, her fingers cold. “Look at me, Mols. Look at me.”
Her eyes flick open, wide and terrified, the pupils blown so wide they almost completely obscure the air blue of her irises. She’s looking at me, but she’s not really seeing her, her gaze unfocused and her mind a million miles away.
“Match my breathing,” I murmur, exaggerating my inhale. “In... and out.”
