Reason to Breathe Page 5

Page 5

 

  “That sounds great,” I said, forcing a smile, falling in line with all the others unable to disappoint Sara.

  “Really? We don’t have to go to the party. I could figure something else out. You looked pale when I mentioned it. ”

  “No, I want to go,” I lied.

  “Perfect!” Sara exclaimed, hugging me again. She was very affectionate today; it was throwing me off. I think she realized it too because she pulled back. “Sorry, I’m just so excited that you’re going with me. I don’t think I could go through with it if you weren’t there. Besides, we hardly ever get out of school time together, so this is going to be the best. ”

  I smiled awkwardly, my stomach still twisting with thoughts of the party. It was for Sara. I could get through it. What was the worst that could happen? Well… people might actually try to talk to me. My stomach turned again just thinking about it. This was going to be terrible. I swallowed hard.

  More than ever, I needed to retreat to Art class to recover from panicked thoughts of the party. Art was the rotating class that moved through my schedule. Today it took the place of English, as my first class - thankfully. I was desperate to escape in my work.

  I walked into the open space of the Art room, inhaling the calming scents of paints, glue and cleaning chemicals with a gentle smile. It was inviting and warm with its tall yellow walls covered with art projects and the oversized windows that glowed with natural light. I breathed easier in this room. No matter how my day was going or what I left behind at home, I gained control over it in here.

  Ms. Mier greeted us as we sat at our stools at the tall black work tables. Ms. Mier was the sweetest, kindest person I’d ever met. Compassion exuded from her, which made her an amazing artist and an inspirational teacher.

  She invited us to continue working on our assignments from last class, replicating a picture with movement we tore from a magazine. There was some murmuring, but it was fairly quiet as the attention was primarily focused on the art. The quiet was another reason I loved this class so much.

  My heart skipped a beat – amongst the murmurs, one stood out. I didn’t want to look but was drawn to the smooth voice. There he was, standing at the front of the class, talking to Ms. Mier while holding a camera. She flipped through a book of what appeared to be photographs, making comments. He glanced up and grinned when he saw me. I shot my eyes back to my canvas. I wished I really were invisible.

  “So I guess you are pretty good,” Evan said from beside me. I looked up from my canvas. My heart was behaving insanely, beating at a pace that didn’t coincide with sitting still. Calm down – what was wrong with me? He continued when I could only stare up at him blankly. “Soccer. That was quite the game yesterday. ”

  “Oh, thanks. Are you in this class too?” I felt the heat rise in my cheeks.

  “Sort of,” he responded. “I asked to switch to this class if I could work on photography projects instead. Ms. Mier agreed, so here I am. ”

  “Oh,” was all I could mutter. He grinned, which sent more color to my face. My body was betraying me – between my hyperactive heart and my fiery face, I had no control. It was not like me, and it was driving me crazy.

  To my relief, Ms. Mier interrupted us before the possession could completely humiliate me. “So you know Emma Thomas? That’s wonderful. ”

  “We met yesterday,” Evan replied, glancing at me with a smile.

  “I’m happy to see that you’ve made some connections. Emma, would you mind showing Evan the photo lab supplies and the dark room?” My heart went from being on speed, to a dead stop, but my face kept beaming red. It must have been radiating heat by now.

  “Sure,” I said quickly.

  “Thank you. ” Ms. Mier smiled in appreciation. Why was she, of all people, torturing me?

  Without looking at Evan, I stood and walked to the back corner of the room. I slid open one of the cabinets that hung above the counter.

  “This is the cabinet with all of the photo supplies. There’s paper, developer, whatever you need. ” I slid the door shut, with my back to him.

  On the counter below I pointed to the paper cutter and sizing equipment. We crossed the room to the dark room, where I explained the developing light and the switch on the inside wall to turn it on.

  “Do you mind if we look inside?” he asked.

  I stopped breathing for a few seconds. “Sure,” I replied, glancing at him for the first time.

  We walked into the small rectangular room. In the center was a long metal table lined with trays for developing pictures. There was a sink in the back right corner. Cabinets lined the long wall on the right and to the left were two rows of wires with black clips for drying the developed pictures. Even though the developing light wasn’t on, the space seemed unnaturally dark – not a place I wanted to be alone with Evan Mathews.

  “Here it is,” I declared, holding my palms up to present the room.

  Evan walked past me toward the cabinets and started opening them, examining their contents. “Why don’t you talk to anyone besides Sara?” I heard him ask from behind the cabinet door. He closed the door, anticipating my answer.

  I remained frozen. “What do you mean?” I shot back, sounding defensive again.

  “You don’t talk to anyone,” he stated. “Why not?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to answer.

  “Okay,” he recognized my stalling. “Why don’t you talk to me?”

  “That was direct,” I accused. He smiled, causing my heart to attempt another escape from my chest.

  “Well…” he pushed.

  “Because I’m not sure I like you,” I blurted without thought. He looked at me with that devious, amused grin. What kind of reaction was that?! I couldn’t stay in the confined space with him any longer. I turned abruptly and walked out of the room.

  Concentration evaded me for the remainder of class, leaving my art piece unfinished. Evan left to take pictures of whatever he took pictures of, but his presence lingered. This class was supposed to be my sanctuary, and leave it to Evan to turn it upside down.

  Sara noticed my agitation when we were switching books at our lockers.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Evan Mathews is in my Art class,” I fumed.

  “And…” Sara looked confused, waiting for me to continue.

  I shook my head, unable to find the words to explain how disruptive he was to my predictable day. As much as Sara understood me, I wasn’t ready to talk about it. My blood was still surging; I was having difficulty collecting my thoughts.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” I said in a rush and walked away. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening to me. I survived by keeping my emotions in check – by maintaining my composure and tucking it all away. I managed to stay under the radar, skating through school without anyone truly remembering I was here. My teachers acknowledged my academic successes and my coaches depended upon my athletic abilities, but I wasn’t important enough to make a recognizable social contribution. I was easily forgettable. That’s what I counted on.

  There were times when people tried to befriend me by talking to me or inviting me to a party, but that didn’t last long. Once it was obvious I wouldn’t accept the invitations, or provide more than one or two word answers, I wasn’t interesting enough to acknowledge any longer - making my life easier.

  Sara was the only one who stuck by me when I first moved here four years ago. After six months of Sara persistently inviting me over, Carol finally said yes. She wanted to go shopping with a friend and didn’t want to bring me along, so the invitation was convenient for her. That serendipitous moment sealed our friendship. I’ve been permitted to go to Sara’s on occasion, and I got to sleep over on rare occasions when it suited Carols’ social schedule. It helped that Sara’s father was a local judge, so Carol relished the prestige through affiliation.

  Last summer I was even allowed to go to Maine
with Sara and her family for a week. It coincided with a camping trip George and Carol had planned with the kids. When Sara’s parents invited me, they made it sound like they were inviting the entire soccer team and were obligated to include me, which made it easier for Carol to agree. I ended up paying for it when I returned home – I guess I wasn’t grateful enough.

  But the bruises couldn’t take away the best week of my life. It was during that week I met Jeff Mercer. Jeff was a lifeguard at the beach that was walking distance from the lodge. His family owned a summer house on the lake, so he stayed for the season and worked as a lifeguard.

  For two days, we went to the beach and drooled over him. After his shift on the second day, he invited Sara and me to a bon fire party at a private beach.

  When Jeff introduced us to his friends, I lied and said I was Sara’s cousin from Minnesota. That lie developed into a more elaborate story that Sara and I pre-fabricated before the party. My false life revealed itself comfortably, allowing me to be anyone I wanted and no one knew the difference. I didn’t have to be invisible, because I really didn’t exist.

  Swept up in my story, I allowed Jeff to get close to me. I was able to talk and laugh with ease. Jeff and I ended up having a lot in common - he played soccer and we listened to a lot of the same music. He was an easy person to like.

  At the end of the night, while everyone was sitting around the fire either coupled off, or involved in conversations, Jeff sat next to me on the sand, leaning against a large log, intended to be a bench. In the midst of the calming mood, with the sounds of a few guys playing guitar in the background, he put his arm around me, and I leaned against him. Being against him was oddly comfortable considering this was the closest I’d ever been to a guy.

  We talked and listened to the music. He shifted his body to face me and casually leaned down to kiss me. I remember not breathing for a minute, paralyzed with fear that it was obvious I hadn’t kissed anyone before. He was gentle as his soft, thin lips touched mine.

  It wasn’t easy saying good-bye, with false promises of emailing; but it wasn’t hard either. Not for Emma Thomas from Weslyn, Connecticut – the overachieving, self-contained shadow who roamed the halls of Weslyn High. It wasn’t hard because that girl didn’t truly exist to Jeff.

  That’s what was bothering so much about Evan Mathews. He knew I existed. He was determined to pull me out from the shadows, and I couldn’t get away from him. He wasn’t deterred by my one word answers or abrupt responses. He wasn’t supposed to be paying attention to me, and I was trying, without success, to ignore him. But he was getting to me, and I think he knew it – and it seemed to amuse him.

  I took a deep breath before entering my A. P. European History class, prepared to see him as I walked in the room. He wasn’t there. I looked around in surprise and felt my heart sink. That was another problem. My heart was beating, stopping and sinking like it had a mind of its own, not to mention the absurd flushing that was overtaking my face. I was beyond annoyed!

  Evan wasn’t in my Chemistry class either. Maybe he wouldn’t be everywhere as I feared. Distracted with retrieving my homework assignment during Trig, I tensed at the sound of his voice, inciting the rapid beating in my chest.