That wasn’t real. It was an anxiety movie.
But it felt real. My heart is still pounding, tears welling behind my eyes. I don’t deserve to be here. Forrest is ten times more prepared. I never should have been president in the first place. When it’s time for the revote, everyone will pick Forrest, and ask me to leave.
Oh my god. I’m going to cry, here in front of everyone.
I squeeze my right arm, the one between me and Forrest, and dig my nails into my skin, pinching one, two, three times.
That’s not real. It’s not happening.
That’s not real. It’s not happening.
That’s not real. It’s not happening.
Dean and Forrest are smiling and nodding, and I nod along with them.
“So,” Forrest says, “I think we just have a few more questions and then we’ll open it up.” He looks over at me, at the paper in my hands, crumpled inward on the left side where I’m clutching it. “Sidney, you wanna ask the next one?”
“Sure!” I say, scanning the text. I have no idea where we are in our list, so I pick the second to last one, just to be safe. “Dean, what was your favorite part of going to Jefferson, and what was the most challenging?”
“What a great question,” Dean says, clapping his hands together. As he starts to talk, I take a deep breath, quietly, slowly, then exhale, and glance across the crowd to the clock above Mx. Prager’s desk.
Fifteen minutes. Then we’ll be done. I just have to hold on until then.
Ten minutes left.
Forrest calls on someone. I can feel him looking at me afterward, but all I can hear is the buzzing in my ears.
The paper crumples in my hands.
Everyone is clapping and smiling and there’s something ringing in my ears, ringing in the room, the bell is ringing.
Forrest is standing. I can stand. I stand, grab my backpack, Forrest and Dean, all smiles, turning away to greet Mr. Harrison, I’m turning away and Anna’s in front of me and then she’s not and I’m at the front of the library and I’m in the hall in a bathroom, single stall, door locked.
I was going to fix everything fix myself so my thoughts couldn’t ruin my life but it’s all happening again and there’s nothing I can do to stop it and I’m going to kill myself and I don’t want to my face is hot and wet and my head is pounding and my nose is so clogged I can’t breathe through it. I gulp air through my mouth in shuddering gasps, scootingacross the floor to the toilet paper roll in its holder. Tearing off a strip, I blow my nose until it’s clear. The devastation is a forest fire, completely out of control.
It’s ten minutes into sixth period. I don’t want to walk in looking like this. But if I skip, the school will call Mom.
I leave the bathroom.
When sixth period ends, I take my time heading to my locker, hoping the halls will be clear and Forrest will be gone by the time I get there. I stop in front of the library and pretend to look at the exhibit while students stream around me, arm in arm with their friends. Everyone seems so happy and normal.
Finally, it starts to get quiet, and I make my way to the junior hall.
And there he is.
Leaning against my locker, waiting for me.
Walking to him is like trying to run in a dream, when you feel like you’re going fast but your limbs move like they’re pulling through thick molasses. As I approach, he straightens upright, clasping his hands one over the other in front of him.
“Are you all right?” he asks, his eyes soft and worried.
“I’m fine,” I say quietly, stopping a few feet away.
He frowns. “You didn’t seem that way during the panel.”
I look down.
“Sidney.” He steps forward, his hand coming into my line of vision and folding gently around mine. “What happened? We were supposed to co-moderate, but it was like you were on another planet.”
