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Either way, I can’t let myself waste brainpower trying to interpret Hunter Landry’s moods and emotions. Whoever or whatever he’s glowering at, let him glower.
I’m starting to tell Brendan about what I liked about living in Maine: the cold and snowy winters particularly. I’ve always been a winter girl, and it doesn’t snow in Pennsylvania nearly as much as I wish it did.
Then, I hear something that makes me freeze mid-sentence. My whole body tenses instantly. A cold, slimy feeling of dread crawls up my spine and my thoughts scatter.
The sound of glass crashing and shattering reverberates through the air, and suddenly, I’m not at this party anymore.
I’m in the passenger seat of a car in Maine, and the window next to me just smashed into a million pieces.
At the same moment, a car turns onto the street outside, and its headlights blaze through the big front window of the Ice Box and into my eyes, reminding me of the sudden, blindingly bright light that came out of nowhere, a split second before the impact, before the shattering of the glass, before the traumatic chaos of the collision and the screams that filled the interior of the car as airbags deployed.
“Phoebe? Phoebe? You okay?”
I blink away cobwebs, remembering where I am.
Brendan’s looking at me with concern. I try to move my mouth to tell him I’m fine, but my tongue and my lips can’t coordinate to form a sentence. At least I’m able to nod that I’m okay, though he doesn’t look convinced.
I look towards the kitchen and see a guy on the floor with a dustpan, cleaning up shards of glass.
I take a deep breath, trying to fill my tight lungs with air. When I let the breath out, my chest only feels more constrained.
Suddenly, that familiar feeling of the walls closing in is back. I open my mouth wide to take a deep breath, but it feels like the air is thin; no matter how much I inhale, my lungs don’t feel full.
It takes me a minute to feel like I can speak. “Lets, uh … go outside,” I say to Brendan. “I think I need some fresh air.”
I’m eager to be out of this crowded house.
Part of me wants to just go home and lay down in my bed, but I don’t want to throw in the towel. I was doing well tonight; and, after all, something just like this is what made me leave the last party I went to this summer. I need to grow my resilience.
If I just spend some time outside where the air is fresher and the space more open—and where, hopefully, no glass objects will be shattering on the ground anytime soon—I’ll be able to collect myself and go back inside and be okay.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, concerned as we weave through the crowd towards the backyard.
“Yeah,” I answer, the word huffing out breathlessly like I just ran a mile. “Just need some space.”
I’m able to breathe easier outside. There’s still plenty of people in the backyard, but it doesn’t feel like I’m in a sardine can; the ambient chatter in the air is still lively, but it’s not a roaring din like it was in the house.
Brendan still looks concerned, so I ask him to tell me more about his major.
He’s studying Mechanical Engineering. The idea of loading up my class schedule with all those science and math courses makes my blood run cold, but asking him to tell me what his classes are like this semester gives me something to listen to and focus on while I coax my mind and body into relaxing.
Just as I feel myself mellowing out, my blood curdles as the loud sound of tires screeching shrieks through the air.
My heart jumps into my throat and for just a second, I forgot how to even inhale.
My anxiety spikes like crazy. I close my eyes to get my bearings, but when I do, I don’t see the blackness of my inner eyelids—I see the scene of the party earlier this year in Maine. In my mind, I’m in that house, with those friends, and I’m about to get into the car that’s going to be smashed by a drunk driver and take away the thing I love.
Brendan’s warm palm on my shoulder brings me back to the present.
I open my eyes and see lines of worry furrowed deeply on his forehead. “Phoebe, what’s wrong?”
I take a deep, shaky breath. “I’m not feeling well. I think I need to go home.”
Brendan’s saying something in response, but I don’t hear him. I walk past him back inside. I’d love to just walk around the side of the house and avoid going back in, but I should tell Casey I’m leaving first.
When I enter through the back door, it’s like stepping into a sauna.
The air is thick. With every step I take through the crowded throng of partiers, it feels like I’m sinking deeper and deeper into a quicksand of anxiety.
