“Where are you going?” I ask him, pressing down on his shoulder in an attempt to keep him from standing up. That’s all I need today. For him to stand up too soon and pass out.
“I should go,” he says, swiping an arm across his face.
“No, you shouldn’t. You should stay here and make sure you’re good before you tear out of here. Drink some water.”
He accepts the purple plastic water bottle I pass him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he squirts it into his mouth.
“Thanks. But I should get going.”
“Not so fast. Has this happened before?” I suspect the answer is yes, given how quickly he darted out of there and away from prying eyes.
He sighs. “You’re not letting me out of here without talking about this, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. Yes, it’s happened before.”
“Okay. I get it. I started having panic attacks after my mother’s accident. The first time it happened, I thought I was dying.”
His shoulder shifts under my hand as he turns to look at me. “Your mother’s accident?”
“Yes, she was in a car accident when I was in my senior year of high school.”
There’s a look of deep sympathy on his face, and I struggle to find the right words to explain. He probably thinks I lost her, and I kind of did, but not in the permanent way he’s thinking. Saying she’s okay is not quite the truth, but I don’t know how much detail to go into. “She’s alive. Not the same, but she’s okay.”
His shoulders relax a little.
“Anyway, I started having them at the worst times. During games, in class. It sucked, but Dad found a therapist for my sister and me to talk to. She was nice. I still have monthly appointments because they’ve been helpful. But she helped me figure out techniques to deal with the anxiety and how to bring myself out of a panic attack. It’s helped me. Knowing I’m not alone.”
Heat creeps up my neck as I realize how focused he is on me. I wouldn’t quite call us friends yet, and I’m spilling all my secrets. But if it helps him, I guess it’s worth the embarrassment.
“I’ve always had anxiety, but this year it’s gotten worse.”
I nod. “You’re under a lot of pressure.”
“Yes. And mental health isn’t really something we talk about in my family. My father considers it a weakness if you can’t control your emotions.” His voice is rough around the edges.
“I’m sorry. So you don’t have anyone to talk to about it?”
“My sister. Sometimes. But she started dating Dev, and it’s been harder to talk to her since then.”
“Yeah, I get it. Well, you can talk to me. I’m here if you need me. But if you’re not seeing a therapist now, it might be something you want to look into.”
“Maybe.”
I shift my legs, skates clashing together, and I glance down. Right. I’m still in full gear. My skin feels tight and itchy with dried sweat, and my ponytail is hanging limp at my back.
“You should probably go get changed. Everyone will be wondering where you disappeared to.”
“Yes, I should. Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
My hand slips from his shoulder as he pushes to his feet. Any hint of vulnerability has been wiped from his face. He straightens to his usual ruler-straight posture, twisting his head back and forth to crack his neck.
“Can you not... tell anyone about this?” he asks.
“I would never.”
