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My breathing started to escalate. My skin went itchy and hot, then extremely cold. And my vision clicked off before popping back on again.
But Dad hadn’t lied about the other boy, at least. With bright, blond hair, he was about the same height as me but way less hefty.
Head bowed in misery, he held the hand of the woman walking with him. When he glanced up briefly and met my gaze, he looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment.
For some reason, that made me feel better. Neither of us wanted to be here. Neither of us was okay.
I exhaled deeply and began to calm down again, glad I wasn’t the only one.
Except I couldn’t let my dad know he’d been right—that seeing the other kid had helped—so I muttered a quiet and sarcastic, “Whoopee,” for his benefit.
“Damien,” he said with a tired sigh. “You promised. You said you’d try it.”
“Iam,” I bit out.
I was here, wasn’t I? I was voluntarily walking toward the front door with my own two feet, not wailing or resisting at all. What more did he want from me? Cartwheels?
At the entrance, he opened the door and then waited for me to enter first. I sent him a dark glance as I stepped inside, only to plow to a petrified stop.
Because holy… Nope. Just…no.
The enormous reception area was crammed with parents and kids forming half-organized lines that led up to five different foldout tables where people were checking them into the main event. It was loud and chaotic and scary as shit.
I didn’t do crowds and people and busy spaces. This was not my happy place. I wanted to go home, where I could sneak into my sister’s room and listen to the Macklemore CD sitting on her dresser.
That “Thrift Shop” song was my favorite.
So I tried to backpedal my way out the exit, but Dad ushered me forward toward the far right side of the lobby, where he murmured a refreshed, “Ah… This line seems to be moving along nicely, don’t you think?”
What? I couldn’t focus on words right now. Panic was creeping up my throat, gripping its claws into my windpipe and making the edges of my vision dim.
I glanced around desperately for the blond boy, needing something—anything—to quell my fear, but he and his mom, or whoever she was, were halfway through another line already.
As Dad paused us at the back ofourline, I heard a girl in the front shriek at her own parents, “You never said you were going to leave me here!”
Wait.Leaveher?
My face drained of all warmth and it seemed to plop heavily into the pit of my stomach where it burned fiercely.
But the parents were leaving us here to do this byourselves? This was news to me, too.
I glanced up at my father, feeling betrayed and already shaking my head no. I was barely holding it together with him by my side. No way was I doing this alone.
Reading my expression, he set a hand on my back. “It’s going to be okay,” he assured in a steady, soothing voice. “I’ll be back again to pick you up in just three hours.”
Threehours?
Hell no. I couldn’t. Iwouldn’t. This was stupid.
I mean, I was fine. I could handle waking up in a cold sweat and screaming every other night. And who cared if my appetite had plummeted? I could stand to lose a few pounds, anyway.
What Ididn’tneed was to be here.
I wasfine!
But we’d already reached the front of the line, and Dad had started filling out forms and answering questions from the two women seated on the other side of the table.
From there, time morphed into overdrive, and doom approached at hyper-speed, sucking me into a void of terrorizing fear as I stood there frozen and helpless to stop the inevitable.
