Chapter 2
Elisha
It was the second dayof Homecoming Week and I was already cringing at the thought of today’s activities. Being forced to dress in green for Color Day, my options had been limited. I didn’t think the short halter neck dress with a drop back would be suitable, unless I was looking to make a grand entrance.
And believe me, I wasn’t.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
Huffing as I bypassed the emerald green dress, I looked in despair at the meager array of clothes. The bulk of the rail was taken up with the school uniform that was now imposed on me—a hideous striped maroon and gold blazer, a stiff skirt and a white blouse with an unfashionable collar. I should have been pleased that Homecoming Week gave me respite from wearing it, but I could find no joy in selecting any of the green items.
Pushing at the coat hangers, I paused at the pale green Fendi jacket. It was classic, more suited to a ski field or a hike in the mountains—of which there were none in River Valley—which made me wonder if my mother had researched the location of Covington Prep. I put it on over my white linen shirt and skinny blue jeans and zipped it up.
Homecoming week was not something I was looking forward to, all the ra-ra school spirit that I deemed lame. But there was no way to avoid it, and I wasn’t sure if I’d stopped at the balloon arch because it seemed like one of the easiest activities on offer, or because I recognized some of the kids from my photography class.
Phoenix Carter had arrived at school several weeks after me, but he wasn’t a new student. I didn’t ask questions as to why he walked with a frame like a geriatric. If I asked questions, then people might ask me questions. And as curious as I was about his situation, I could not act on it. I wasn’t at this school to make friends.
I was here simply to see out my senior year in relative obscurity.
Phoenix had glanced up from the balloon he was threading and smiled. It wasn’t a big, wide, welcoming smile, just a small upturn of his mouth, but it made me think that my presence was wanted.
“Hi,” he’d said, his eyebrows raising in acknowledgment, his brown eyes bright, but guarded.
“Hi,” I replied in a low murmur for the sole purpose of showing that I was neither deaf nor rude. I hadn’t intended on having any interaction with him, or anyone else for that matter, just existing in the same space, gathering balloons and tying them together.
But for some unknown reason, my heart raced differently. It sped up, and a surge of heat crept up my neck. Keeping my eyes down, I concentrated on the task as if it demanded my full attention.
I wasn’t sure why a loud bang caused me to jump and shriek. Sounding like a gunshot, my eyes darted in all directions while my body froze and my breathing jerked and faltered, coming in hyperventilating bursts. No one else seemed alarmed or shaken by the noise. If anything, there was a curious squeal, followed by laughter and kids jumping around.
“I’m gonna get you, Tenn!” The tall sporty girl held up a shriveled balloon, the source of the unexpected noise. She shouted at the tall sporty boy who was hiding behind a shorter girl. Both of the girls were from my photography class.
“Don’t hurt Millie, don’t hurt Millie,” the boy called Tenn was repeating, using her as a barrier between them.
As they playfully jeered one another, my respiratory rate continued to rise. I cupped my hands over my mouth to help calm my breathing, but it was having no effect.
In a flurry of panic, I turned to leave, but not before glimpsing the faint furrow on Phoenix’s forehead and the slight parting of his lips as if he was about to say something.
I had no idea where I was headed, just away. Away from the noise that had sounded like a firing gun, away from the crowd of kids who were too familiar with one another, away to a place where I could breathe in peace.
A teacher gave me an inquisitive look as I raced past her. “Restroom,” I mumbled hastily, feeling like a six year old being chastized for needing a mid class bathroom break.
I splashed cold water on my face in the hope of gaining composure. I wasn’t hot, I wasn’t sweaty, but I felt like my life was spiraling out of control.
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