chapter eight

Turns out, we really do eat lunch by the ocean. Lemon loops her arm through mine as we go out the back door of the library and follow a sand-covered wooden path toward the beach.

“I don’t have any food with me,” I say.

“I packed you a sandwich this morning,” Lemon says. “Just in case.”

“Of course you did,” Jules and Kiko say together.

Lemon laughs and hugs my arm tighter. I let her, if only because my stomach is growling. Breakfast seems like ages ago. With my free hand, I take my phone from my back pocket and text Mama.

How’s it going?

She doesn’t answer right away, so I type another question.

Did you remember to put sunscreen on Peach?

Other questions fill me up—Did she actually swim? You went with her, right? Watch out for the rocks. Jellyfish. Shallow-swimming sharks—but before I can tap any of them into my phone, her response buzzes.

We’re fine. Just go have fun.

And that’s all she says.

I’m about to ask for more details, when the sea oats rising up on either side of us break, revealing the sprawling shore. The sun glimmers into the sunlight zone, turning the water a rare-for-Maine aquamarine color. Tiny evergreen-covered islands rise up in the distance, and rocks lie across parts of the shallows like beached sea lions.

It’s beautiful. So beautiful, tears sting my nose. Something pulls at my chest, some kind of longing or memory or I don’t even know what. The rocks send a spike of fear through my heart, which tangles up with everything else so tightly I almost can’t breathe.

“You okay?” Jules asks from next to me.

I nod. Can’t speak. I just follow the group down to a wider patch of dry sand. Lemon releases my arm and sits in the sand, unpacking her lunch—and mine, I guess—onto her lap. Kiko does the same. Only Jules stays standing with me. I can feel them watching me, wondering about me, but I can’t seem to sit, to settle, to look away from the water.

That’s when I see it.

A cut of bright yellow to my left, leaning against one of the larger groups of rocks.

A double kayak.

Two paddles.

Two red helmets and two bright orange life jackets.

The waves crash on the shore, smacking against the rocks over and over and over…

Suddenly, it’s too hot out here. Sweat beads on my upper lip, on the back of my neck, under my arms. I feel a flash of cold, then heat again, like I’ve got a fever. My heart grows three sizes, just like the Grinch’s, but not in a good way. In a my-body-is-one-giant-heartbeat kind of way.

“Hazel?” Jules asks. They turn to face me, a frown pushing their thick eyebrows together. I try to smile, shake my head, nod, shrug, anything, but I can’t do much except focus on breathing in and out. If I stop concentrating, my lungs will shut down, I’m sure of it.

“Hey, you okay?” they ask.

“What’s wrong?” Lemon calls. Her voice sounds far away.

“I don’t know,” Jules says. “She just looks… weird.”

I’m fine, I try to say, but I can’t get it out. Not enough air. Not enough anything.

Lemon’s face swims into view. Too close. Eyes looking for mine. My bones feel like rubber, as flexible as raw clay.

“Are you having a panic attack?” Lemon asks. “You are, aren’t you?”

I shake my head, but she’s right. I am. I know all the signs, and these are the signs.

“For real?” I hear Kiko say.

I had these attacks a lot, right after Mum’s and my accident. I’d wake up sweating in the middle of the night. Or my lungs would feel like they were shrinking every time I caught Mama lying on the couch by herself when she thought Peach and I were asleep, sobbing into the Sister Quilt. I went to a counselor for about a month, right after. But then we left California, and the attacks stopped. Or at least, I learned how to control them. Like when Peach got sick or cut herself or hurt her ankle, the panic was always right there, like water just about to boil over. I figured out how to stop it, though.

My Safety Pack.

Staying alert, being prepared for anything.

Taking care of my sister.

Just Mama and Peach and me.

No heartache.

No risks.

I’ve done everything right, but still, here I am, crumpling into the sand in the middle of Ocean Club lunch. Other kids start to notice now. Over Jules’s shoulder I see Amira walking this way. I try to tell them all that it’s okay, but all I hear is this horrible gasping sound and then I realize it’s me. I’m the horrible gasper.

“Is she all right?” Amira asks.

“I don’t know,” Lemon says. “I think she’s having a panic attack.”

“Are you sure?” Amira says, taking out her phone. “Does she have any medical conditions?”

I shake my head, the world tips on its axis. I sink down onto the sand.

“Just give her a second,” Lemon says, then turns back to me. “Okay, breathe.”

I want to scream at her that I’m trying, that if it was just that easy, I wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. I shake my head, try to glare at her.

Everyone’s looking now. They’re looking at me. My scars.

My fault, my fault, my fault.

I squeeze my eyes closed as tight as they’ll go, so tight my head starts to hurt.

“Breathe,” Lemon says again. When I open my eyes again, she’s right there, squatting down so we’re eye level, her hands gently resting on my knees. “Focus on my face. See those five freckles on my left cheek that are bigger than all the others? Focus on them. Connect the dots. They form that constellation Cassiopeia. Like a weird-looking W. Do you see it?”

I wrinkle my nose, wishing I had enough air in my lungs to yell at her to stop babbling, but then… I see it. The freckles on her face, soft brown dots, five of them that stand out. I trace them with my eyes and they really do make a wonky kind of W. Cassiopeia’s throne. I remember, in fourth grade, we did a unit on Greek mythology and we talked about Cassiopeia, the vain queen in the northern sky.

“Good,” Lemon says, squeezing my knees. “Good, keep breathing. Feel your feet on the sand, the sun on your back. Check out my awesome constellation face.”

Jules is kneeling next to Lemon, concern all over their face. Kiko paces behind them. Amira stares at me, phone poised, no doubt to call an ambulance.

But then… my lungs slow down. Open up. I’m sort of light-headed, but I’m not horrible-gasping anymore. I’m still breathing kind of loud, but it’s a good loud. I trace Lemon’s face constellation a few more times, and soon, I can get one whole lungful of air. Soon after that, I get three.

“Lemon, is she okay?” Amira says, her voice tight.

“Yeah, I think so,” Lemon says. I give a small nod without looking up. Oxygen flows pretty easily now, but it won’t if everyone keeps hovering nearby like they’re sea gulls and I’m a piece of bread.

“You’re sure?” Amira says, then looks at me. “I don’t need to call anyone? Hazel?”

“No,” I manage to croak out. “I’m okay.” I start to stand, my legs still wobbly, and Lemon and Jules each grab one of my arms and pull me up the rest of the way.

“She just needs some food,” Lemon says, patting my arm. “Low blood sugar, right?”

I blink at her. At everyone hovering around, watching me like I’m about to drop dead.

“I need to go,” I say, but it’s low, quiet, and Lemon starts pulling me over to where she’s set up our lunch on the ground.

“I need to go,” I say again, louder.

“What?” Lemon asks.

I work my way out of her grip, my fingertips still tingling. “I just need to go home.”

“I don’t think you should go anywhere on your own,” Jules says.

“I’m not sick,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“Let her go,” Kiko says, earning a glare from Lemon.

“Still,” Jules says, “maybe you should—”

“I’m fine!”

I yell it. Jules snaps their mouth shut. Kiko chews on her thumbnail, an I told you so look on her face. Amira starts heading toward me again, that adult, take-control-of-the-situation gleam in her eyes.

I back up, turn around, and start running, ignoring Lemon’s voice as she calls after me.