“So…do you want to walk with me then?” Audrey is looking at me a little funny. Ah, God.
I run my hand through my hair. Feels like I’m breathing like a locomotive. Are my eyes rolling as wildly as I feel like they are? I feel like the Hulk right before he splits through his clothes. The pressure is that bad. And it’s a twenty-minute walk home. There’s no way I’ll make it without having a breakdown or a full-blown panic attack.
This is so stupid. Any normal guy would die to walk home with the girl he’s been crushing on for five months.
I’ve got to do something.
I look Audrey straight in the eye. “Yes. Yes, Audrey, I would love to walk home with you. Can you hang on a couple minutes?”
She blinks. “Uh, sure?”
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll be right back.” I turn and bolt for the bathroom down the hall. I’m sure she’s wondering what my problem is, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Maybe it’s better if she thinks I have diarrhea. At least that’s only a temporary condition.
In the bathroom, I slam myself into a cubicle and lock the door. My hands shake as I unzip the top pocket of my backpack. I yank out the little red book I keep with me. My book of lists. For emergencies only.
Crazy, right?
I flip the pages as fast as my fingers will go, accidentally tearing one in half in my panic. I find a blank page, whip the pen out of the center coil and wipe my sweaty hand on my jeans. I know I’m breathing hard—I can hear myself. Anyone who comes into the bathroom now is going to think I’m either wickedly constipated or having too much one-handed fun during school hours.
I start with the title. Crazy Stuff From Today.
With each item I scribble onto the page, my tension ratchets down a notch. It’s a physical relief. Like taking a long pee after having to wait in line for an hour.
I almost laugh at the idea that here I am, in the actual place where people go to pee, but my relief doesn’t come from a porcelain bowl. My relief is supplied courtesy of Staples.
I’m still shaking as I finish number ten, but I’m feeling way calmer. I pack my book away and step out of the stall. The empty bathroom echoes around me as I wash my hands and dry them. I glance at myself in the mirror.
It’s funny that I can look so normal. No one can see the screwed-up problem inside me.
I pull the door open, arranging my face into a sly grin. I’ve got a funny one-liner cued up to make Audrey laugh. But when I get out into the hallway, I don’t see her anywhere. I look up and down the corridor, but there’s no sign of her. Maybe she went to the girls’ bathroom.
I wait near a big pot that holds a skinny, leaning fig tree, my hope fading with each passing minute. Does she think I’m a freak for bolting like that?
Oh no. What if she somehow heard me through the door? Slamming cubicle doors and unzipping things and… grunting and…panting?
Oh. My. God. What if she heard me? My anxiety creeps back up until it’s squarely in the orange zone. Again. But, still, I wait.
After ten minutes, I get it.
She’s gone.