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I’m too young to die, and I have so much left to do, to see, to learn. I’ve still not deciphered the mystery of Theodora. I can’t die without knowing all her secrets, without having the shape of her heart and soul imprinted within me, without holding her close even once.
I collapse to my side and my mouth opens noiselessly. I want to scream and call for help, but I can’t. I try to catch my breath—enough air for a scream, but I can’t even scream.
I don’t even notice Mr Ambrose’s door opening.
Then, Mr Ambrose and another teacher are crouching on either side of me. The teacher holds my shoulder gently, rubbing my arm. Mr Ambrose looks down at me, his hazel eyes grave.
“Zachary, you’re having a panic attack.” His voice is calm and very gentle. “What you’re feeling right now might feel incredibly scary, but it’s not dangerous. You’re alright. I need you to breathe with me, alright?”
He gives me a count and breathes with me, in through the nose, then out through his mouth. I imitate him as best I can, squeezing air into my too-tight chest. I try to tell him about my heart—about dying, but words don’t come out.
I want to tell him to go get Theodora.
I want to see her. I need to see her.
I want to tell Mr Ambrose how worried I am—that I’ll never be able to keep her, that she’s too good and too strong. I want to admit the truth to him, that I failed the sacred duty he gave me, that I never really helped her at all when she first arrived in Spearcrest, that I’ve never truly been able to help her.
Mr Ambrose and the teacher help me up gently.
“Alright, Zachary, you’re doing great. Now I’d like you to do something for me. Concentrate, alright? I want you to name three things you can see around you right now.”
I swallow and look around. A task—I can do that. I’m good at tasks.
“Daylight,” I croak. “Blue chair. Staghorn fern.”
Mr Ambrose raises an eyebrow. “You’re correct—well done, Zachary. As usual, you impress me. How do you know this is a staghorn fern?”
“My little sister,” I croak. “Loves plants. I recognised the leaves.”
Mr Ambrose nods. “Well done, Zachary. Alright. Now can you name three sounds you can hear?”
I nod. “Heartbeat. Clock. You.”
“Excellent. You’re doing great. Finally, can you name three parts of your body?”
I look down. My body feels strange, as though the relationship between myself and it has changed. I never expected it to betray me like this, to turn against me so suddenly and ruthlessly.
“Hands. Legs. Skull.”
Mr Ambrose taps my shoulder. “That’s great. How’s your breathing?”
It’s still laboured, but at least Iambreathing. I’m not going to die—I know this now. I’d be embarrassed about my earlier panic if my chest wasn’t still feeling like it’s caved in on itself.
“It’s alright, sir.”
Mr Ambrose stands and pulls me to my feet.
“Let’s reschedule our meeting for now, Zachary, alright? I want you to go to the infirmary and see the nurse, make sure you’re alright. I’d like you to go there now, can you do that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you like me to go with you?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you, sir, that won’t be necessary.”
He gives me a solemn smile and a short nod. Grabbing my bag from the side of the chair I fell from, I turn and walk away, too embarrassed to look back.
Thenurseasksmesome questions that are clearly designed to guide me towards some specific conclusion. She asks me about my sleep, my diet, my emotions, my health. She asks me if I’ve been having headaches, if I’m struggling with schoolwork, if I sometimes feel overwhelmed.
