I'm With Anxious Page 2

  I hate this play. I want this to be over. I tug his hands and try to pull him off the stage with me, but he doesn’t budge. He just stares at our entwined hands, and then very slowly, one by one, unwinds every one of his fingers away from mine.

  He gazes back up at me, eyes wide with hope. “I think I may love him,” he whispers.

  And those words plunge my mind into blackness.

  “What?” I croak. “You said you love me.” I feel everything inside me boiling up, snatching the oxygen from my lungs.

  “Lottie, I do love you.”

  I feel my lungs inflate again, until he adds.

  “But not as my girlfriend anymore.”

  And that doesn’t just make my heart stop. It crushes it. Into a million, shattered, un-fixable pieces.

  Snot floods my nose. Cramps gouge my stomach. My lungs shrivel in on themselves like deflated balloons as wretched sobs vomit from my body. I can’t stop them. I can’t control them. All I can do is thrash in agony as they burn their way up from my heart and spurt out.

  “NO!” I scream. I slap his perfect cheek. “You can’t do this to me!” I slam my fists into his chest. “I was going to be prom queen! Prom queen! How can I be prom queen if my king is a flaming queen?!”

  I’m spitting out the bitter words, hating the taste of them in my mouth, but I’m out of control. I can’t stop even if I wanted to.

  “Do you know what people are going to say? DO YOU?!” I stab him in the chest, hoping it will hurt him as much as he’s hurting me. “That I wasn’t good enough. That I made you this way.” My eyes narrow into slits and I feel the anger sear my throat as my voice turns raspy. “But it’s not me. It’s you. Something is wrong with YOU. You’re the weirdo. You’re the one that’s not good enough. You’re the freak.”

  I slam my hand over my mouth. What the crap? I sound like a feverish shrew who rips apart still-beating hearts with her bare hands. Oh my god. I need to apologize. I need to make this better!

  But as I watch his face crumple and the tears he shouldn’t be feeling roll down his cheeks, I know I screwed up. It’s too late. The disgusting words are out there. Hanging between us like a poisonous gas. And the worst part is that I allowed them to escape.

  Again.

  I scream inside my head. I squeeze my eyes shut and scream so loud that I see black and red swirls of anger. I feel like I’m in a horror movie and I can’t find my way out. I keep screaming and see flashes of white, all exploding inside my brain, killing any happiness I may have left. It’s all I can see. All I can feel. Pain. I take a deep, gurgling breath and can’t help thinking that it sounds like my last.

  Inhale, dammit!!

  Breathe!

  STOP SCREAMING!

  BREATHE!

  GET OUT OF HERE!

  OPEN YOUR EYES!

  I slam my eyes open.

  And see Dillon. Staring at me. His eyes wide with fear and horror.

  And I know he heard me.

  My heart plummets. I wasn’t just screaming in my head. Dillon heard me freak out! After eighteen months of hiding, he knows the lunatic I was before I came to high school. The monster who can’t control her emotions. Or what she feels. Or what she says.

  Or who she is.

  And I hate that girl. I hate her with all my heart and soul!

  I can’t stand this. I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me. I have to get out of here. I lunge toward the nearby stairs, and I only see a fraction of the fear in Dillon’s eyes when he realizes I’m coming towards him, and he tries to get out of the way of the freak express. I don’t even have time to tell him that I won’t hurt him before he stumbles too close to the edge, teeters for a second, and then tumbles backwards down the steps, landing with a crack on the tile floor ten feet below.

  Someone screams, and I realize it must be me.

  Because Dillon’s not moving.

  I stop screaming. I blink. I blink again.

  Dillon’s eyes are closed. His neck is crooked. His legs are sprawled awkwardly open, split at the seam. I walk slowly down the stairs and check his pulse. He’s alive. I should call for help. I should get help.

  But then they’ll know.

  I pull out my phone. I press*67 so no one will find me, and I call 911. I tell her I want to be anonymous. I tell her to send an ambulance to the high school auditorium. I tell her to hurry. The operator wants me to stay. To tell her who I am.

  But I can’t. Because I don’t even know anymore.

  And right then, something inside me slips.

  I hang up, and without looking back I run out the exit door and yank it closed with both hands. Only when I hear the lock click me out do I finally exhale, and I just stand there, outside the school, deep in a shadow the sunrise hasn’t found yet.

  CHAPTER 4

  And now I’m in deep

  I’m hoping for a miracle. Or an anomaly. Like the moon slipping out of orbit and causing tsunamis and blizzards that are so catastrophic no one knows I just killed my boyfriend and disappeared.

  I know I should go back and make sure Dillon’s okay, but I don’t want to face my mess. I don’t want to freak out again. I don’t want anyone to know what lurks inside of me.

  I try the door. I’m locked out. I can’t go back, even if I wanted.

  I guess I could knock, or pound on the door until someone hears me. Either would be better than going around to the front door and running straight into that moron vice-principal just so he can give me another detention.

  Or send me to jail. For murder.

  I hear sirens. Good. They’re coming for Dillon.

  I wipe my face on my not-so-favorite-anymore sweater, leaving smears of black mascara that look like ominous storm clouds against the blue. I burp up a giggle. I must look awful. Probably even worse than that time Dillon and I walked home in the rain.

  Dillon.

  CRAP.

  I can’t go back. My life will be over. Everyone will hate me. And if anyone sees me like this, they’ll never elect me prom queen.

  Especially after they find out what I did to the king.

  I shake my head. I need to get out of here.

  I unzip my boots and carefully stash them in my backpack. The grass looks dry, but it’s April in the mountains and I know better. Melted snow, or dew, or some kind of wet crap is lurking under last year’s dead grass. I babysat too many kids to buy these boots, and I don’t need anything else to ruin my day. Besides, I don’t mind wrecking my socks. I borrowed them from Dillon, and I’m fairly certain he won’t want them back now.

  I heave my backpack onto both shoulders, tighten the straps, and sprint across the football field. I half expect someone to see me and demand that I come back. Like my first-period, AP English teacher. And I really want someone to beg me to come back. Like Dillon.

  I zigzag through a small opening in the fence and decide not to look both ways as I dash across the street and into the safety of the neighborhood. The houses are spaced farther apart in this section of town. Acres of weedy meadows and towering pines separate neighbor from neighbor. There are no well-manicured lawns and elk-resistant fences like in my neighborhood, and I find it peaceful here.

  I veer off the street and snake through the trees until I find the trail leading to Conifer Lake. Deer and elk created this shortcut, and high school kids looking for a place to escape help maintain it.

  I run faster. My legs are on fire and my back aches from where my backpack is slam-dancing against it. But none of that matters. I’ll take anything over the awful pressure building again in my chest. It feels like a giant hand is squeezing my body so tight that soon my head will pop off. I can’t let that happen. I kind of like my head. So, I run even harder, focusing on physical pain, instead of the emotional one that’s shredding my heart apart.

  When I start gasping for air, I know I need to think of happy things.

  Daisies. Yes, they’re happy. And sunshine. And puppies!

  I inhale a deep breath and imagine a m
eadow, overflowing with perky daisies, their faces warmed by the bright sunshine.

  I exhale, and my pace slows a little.

  I inhale and picture wrinkly puppies, stumbling over each other as they cross the meadow, tumbling into my arms to smother me with gentle kisses.

  Kisses.

  Dillon is a great kisser. Was a great kisser. Or maybe is. Crap I don’t know! I’m desperately hoping I didn’t kill him. I’m not that barbaric.

  Either way, he was a great kisser, because it appears he loves someone else, and since I almost killed him, he likely won’t be to open to kissing me anymore.

  My legs screech to a stop. Oh great. I roll my own eyes. That did it. I’m glued to the ground as my brain sucks up all my energy and runs away with my imagination.

  Why was Dillon playing tongue hockey with that boy? Is he a better kisser than me? Are his lips softer? Does he exfoliate? Boys aren’t supposed to kiss boys. Boys are supposed to kiss beautiful girls like me, so it’s really not my fault I reacted the way I did.

  I sigh. That’s not true. It’s ALL my fault. It’s always my fault. Because of who I try not to be. I hang my head. This is bad. Way worse than the last time.

  I stand there alone in a meadow of crushed weeds, and I long to cry. I want to sob and scream and snot all over myself, but I don’t know if I remember how. I stand there for a really long time. I don’t know how long. Maybe too long. Maybe not. Time is tricky like that. Sometimes it won’t leave even when you ask nicely, and other times it doesn’t even give you a hug goodbye before it’s gone.

  I think I’m losing my mind.

  Soft, white kittens. Inhale. Gooey, chocolate-chip cookies. Inhale. Ice cream sundaes topped with lots of cherries…

  Which, of course, Dillon and his boy will feed each other while they nuzzle their sweet soft kitten.

  “STOP IT!” I hear someone scream, and I guess it’s me.

  My brain is disgusted with my imagination, and I’m disgusted with myself. My legs are wobbly, my feet bruised, and so far this skipping school day sucks. I’m sure I could think of at least one other thing I’d rather be doing than standing on top of a hill yelling at myself.

  Below me Conifer Lake glistens in the morning sun and the lake house shadows the shoreline. I love the lake house. I love the floor-to-ceiling windows. I love the view. I love that brides and grooms pledge their lives to each other while gazing out over the sparkling lake and soaring mountains. It’s silly since I’m only a sophomore, but I actually thought about what it would be like when Dillon and I were married there. I imagined it would be late summer. The setting sun would unfurl reddish-orange streaks across the sky and the warm air would ruffle Dillon’s hair.

  Oh my god! Are you serious? STOP IT!

  I inhale and focus on emptying my mind. When all thoughts of him are gone, I limp down the hill to the back of the lake house. The grass here is even more soaked, and water seeps through my socks like tears, almost as if every blade is crying for me.

  Which is fine by me. Tears are overrated and they’re crap on a good makeup job.

  I plop down on the deck. The aspen trees along the shoreline are still bare and chalky white. Over the next month, the branches will adorn themselves with bright green leaves to help soak up the longer days of sunshine, but right now they look like dead sticks on the outside, while life thrives on the inside. Like me.

  I pull out my vape, load it with oil, inhale a drag, and then very slowly blow it out. The smoke twirls and dances until it disappears. A beautiful wisp snuffed out too soon.

  Crap. This philosophical stuff has got to stop. I’m thinking way too much. I want to feel nothing.

  I empty my mind and take another drag. I’ve vaped for almost two years now. My eighth-grade counselor suggested it when she diagnosed me with Oh my GAD. She thought it may help. And I guess it did.

  Until today.

  CRAP!

  I inhale another drag, and without bothering to take off Dillon’s socks, I plunk my feet into the lake. Since my hometown is 8,000 feet above sea level, the lake is sometimes still frozen on April 3, but today it’s mostly melted and stupidly cold. As my feet grow numb, I order my emotions to follow.

  Your mind is a blank wall. A black wall. That’s good. Forget everything that happened. Just forget. It never happened.

  I think about the happy times I’ve had here at the lake. Playing Frisbee with Berg. Inhale. Running the trails with Mama. Inhale. Skipping rocks with Daddy. Inhale. Paddle boarding. Ice skating with Dillon when he first told me he loved me.

  “NO! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!” I scream, kicking the water over and over until I’m as soaked as Dillon’s socks.

  Great. Now the freak is crazy, cold, and wet.

  The lake is deserted this early in the morning so my freak out only disturbs a gaggle of geese. They all bolt out of the lake squawking and squealing their disapproval at my lovely scene. One goose that didn’t follow the gaggle swims a little closer to me. I imagine it’s curious, like people gawking at a car wreck, and I wonder what I look like through beady goose eyes. Probably like a typical, blond-haired, teenager who can’t wait to turn sixteen in two weeks and drive her besties around in her new yellow Jeep, laughing and having the time of her life. The perfect life.

  But that’s not really me.

  I’m not perfect. And I’m not exciting. I’m a nobody. Duller than dirt, really. In fact, I think they named dirt after my real hair color. I secretly get highlights every month and tell everyone I’m a natural blond. And I binge eat cheesy puffs. And my stomach is too fat. And I wear blue contacts to make my dirty brown eyes sparkle. I’m dull. And I’m nobody.

  And I hate it. I wish my inside would change to match my outside.

  I eye the duck. “You think I’m crazy.”

  It eyes me back. I’m pretty sure it nods.

  “Maybe I am.” I shrug. “I am talking to you.” I pull my frozen feet out of the water and wiggle my toes trying to regain some feeling. I sigh. “I didn’t mean to hurt Dillon. I really didn’t. It was an accident. He has to know that, right?”

  The goose doesn’t respond. Smart goose. Never interrupt a teenage girl when she’s overthinking.

  “But he looked so scared.” I stop. My eyes widen. “Oh my god! He was afraid of me! Of what I did.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Of who I am.” I close my eyes and hang my head. “Of course, he was. And he’ll tell everyone, and they’ll all know I have Oh my GAD.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  I snap up my head. “What did you say?”

  The goose just looks at me.

  I squint my eyes. “Are you talking to me? Like my fairy goose mother or something?”

  I hear laughter behind me. And it’s not goose laughter. Or at least I don’t think it is. I whip my head around and come face to face with my eighth-grade counselor. And I mean face to face. Her bright red lips are inches from my forehead, curled up in a big, crooked grin.

  “Hiya, Lottie,” she says.

  Someone’s found me. Crap.

  CHAPTER 5

  Ms. Foofaraw is crazier than me

  Ms. Foofaraw found me.

  Yep, my eighth-grade counselor’s name is Ms. Foofaraw, and it totally fits her. She has bright red ringlets of hair that stick out from her head like fireworks. She’s short, curvy, and always wears faded mom jeans and an outrageous t-shirt. Today she’s wearing a too-tight, lime-green-zebra-print that reads, “Dear Karma, I have a list of jerks you missed.”

  I should be worried she’s going to bust me for skipping school, but her shirt has me all discombobulated. She has to be over thirty. That seems way too old to be wearing such a tight shirt. Then again… what do I know? I almost killed my boyfriend today, and I’m sure that’s frowned upon in some circles.

  She motions to the deck. “This seat taken?”

  I shake my head.

  She slips off her lime green hiking boots (who makes them in that color? Ugh!), and plops her big bottom down
with a plunk.

  “So, are you going to offer me a toke, or what?”

  I cough. My middle-school counselor wants to vape with me? You’ve got to be kidding me. This has to be a trick. Or… maybe not. Maybe she just needs a smoke. She was the one who whispered to my parents that it may help me.

  I decide to take the safe route. She is an adult after all, and I’m probably already in enough deep doo-doo.

  “Um… well… as you know,” I stumble. “It’s just flavored oil. I’m not smoking weed or anything. And this is for medical purposes so I’m not supposed to share.” Which is a total lie because I do share. But not with adults.

  Ms. Foofaraw bounces up and down on her knees and laughs and laughs. “Hoo wee! I love that answer. Medical purposes.” She snatches my vape out of my hand, holds it over the water, and grins. “Are you sure you need it?”

  I raise one eyebrow.

  She raises one of hers.

  “Um,” I stumble. “You were actually the one who recommended I start vaping.”

  She looks thoughtfully at the vape. “I did?” She shrugs. “Then I should be the one to tell you to quit.” And before I can stop her, she turns her palm over and drops my vape into the lake.

  “No!” I plunge my hand into the water, but it’s too late. I can’t reach it. I watch my vape disappear into the murky water.

  I turn and glare at her. “Why did you do that?”

  She grins. “Because you no longer need it.”

  I shake my head “Um, yeah I do! You have no idea what happened today.”

  “Ah, but I do,” she says quietly.

  She knows? But how? Is Dillon awake? Did he tell everyone what I did? Does the entire town know?

  My eyes widen. “You know?”

  She shakes her ringlets, and I lean away to avoid a whipping.

  “What is done is done,” she says. “And you no longer need the vape.”

  “But Ms. Foofaraw! You don’t understand how much it helps me.” I know I sound super whiny but I couldn’t care less. This whack job just tossed the one thing I could count on into the lake.