Reason to Breathe (2 page)

There were some greetings thrown my way as
well, to which I would respond with a quick glance and a nod of my
head. I knew the only reason they even acknowledged me was because
of Sara. I actually wished I wasn’t noticed at all as I slunk
through the halls in Sara’s shadow.

“I think Jason’s finally coming around to
realizing I exist,” Sara declared while we gathered what we needed
for our first class from our adjacent lockers. By some miracle, we
were in the same homeroom together, making us practically
inseparable. Well, that was until our first class when I headed to
Advanced Placement English and she was off to Algebra II.

“Everyone knows
you
exist, Sara,” I
responded with a wry smile. Some too well, I thought, holding my
smile.

“Well, it’s different with him. He barely
looks at me, even when I sit right next to him. It’s so
frustrating.” She collapsed back against her locker. “You realize
guys notice you too,” she added picking up on my emphasis, “but you
can’t look up from your books long enough to notice
them
.”

My face turned red and I looked at her with a
questioning scowl. “What are you talking about? They only notice me
because I’m with you.”

Sara laughed, her perfect white teeth
gleaming. “You have no idea,” she scoffed, still smiling in
amusement.

“Enough. It doesn’t matter anyway,” I replied
dismissively, my face still hot. “What are you going to do about
Jason?”

Sara sighed, holding her books to her chest
while running her blue eyes along the ceiling as she looked
distant, lost in thought.

“I’m not sure yet,” she said from that far
off place that kept the corners of her mouth curled up. It was
evident she was picturing him and his swept back blond hair,
intense blue eyes, and drop-dead smile. Jason was the captain and
quarterback of the football team. Could it get any more cliché?

“What do you mean? You always have a
plan.”

“This one’s different. He doesn’t even look
at me. I have to be more careful.”

“I thought you said he finally noticed you?”
I asked, confused.

Sara turned her head to look at me, her eyes
still sparkling from that place she was slowly returning from, but
the smile was lost.

“I don’t get it really. I made sure to sit
next to him in business class yesterday, and he said ‘hi’, but that
was it. So he knows I exist. Period.” I could hear the exasperation
in her voice.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. Or maybe
he’s gay.” I smirked.

“Emma!” Sara exclaimed with wide eyes,
punching my right arm. I forced a smile while gritting my teeth,
hoping she hadn’t noticed my shoulders tense with the impact of her
harmless blow. “Don’t say that. That would be devastating - for me
at least.”

“Not for Kevin Bartlett.” I laughed, causing
her to scowl.

To see Sara so distracted by this guy was
amusing and disarming at the same time. She had a way with people -
the results almost always ended in her favor, especially with guys.
It didn’t matter who she was trying to persuade, she would put an
endearing spin on what she wanted so that the person was actually
eager to accommodate her.

Sara was obviously flustered by Jason Stark.
It was a side of her I almost never saw. I knew this was new
territory for her, and I was interested to see what she was going
to do next.

The only other people who have given her a
greater challenge have been my aunt and uncle. I kept assuring her
that it had nothing to do with her, but it only made her more
determined to win them over. In doing so, she hoped to make my
personal hell a little more livable. Who was I to stand in her way?
Even though I knew it was a lost cause.

We parted after homeroom. I entered A.P.
English and sat in the back of the room as usual. Ms. Abbott
greeted us and began the class by handing back our most recent
papers.

She approached my desk and greeted me with a
warm smile. “Very insightful, Emma,” she praised as she handed me
my paper.

My eyes met hers with a quick, yet awkward,
smile. “Thank you.”

The paper was marked in red pen with an “A”
at the top. There were additional positive comments written in the
margins throughout the paper. It was what I anticipated and what my
peers expected of me. Most of the other students were leaning over
to see what the person sitting next to them received in comparison
to their own marks. No one looked at my paper. I tucked it into the
back of my binder.

I wasn’t embarrassed by my grades or what
other students thought of my high marks. I knew I earned them. And
I also knew that they were going to save me someday. What no one
understood, besides Sara, was that all I really cared about were
the days I counted down until I moved out of my aunt and uncle’s
house to go to college. So if I had to put up with the whispers
behind my back as I received the highest marks in the class, then
so be it. They weren’t going to be there to save me if I did
anything but succeed, so I didn’t need to get involved in the
gossip and typical teenage tripe.

Sara was the closest I was going to get to
any semblance of the high school experience, and she definitely
kept it entertaining. She was admired by most, envied by many, and
could discretely seduce a guy with a grin. What mattered most to me
was that I trusted her with my life - which was saying a lot,
considering the unpredictability that awaited me at home each
night.

“How’s it going?” Sara asked when we met at
our lockers before lunch.

“Nothing new and exciting here. Any progress
in Business class with Jason?” This was Sara’s class right before
lunch, so it usually gave her enough to talk about until we reached
Journalism after.

“I wish!” she exclaimed in annoyance.
“Nothing – it’s so frustrating! I’m not being overly aggressive,
but I am definitely putting the obvious signals out there that I’m
interested.”

“You don’t have what it takes to make him
interested,” I teased with a grin.

“Shut up, Em!” Sara looked at me with stern
eyes. “I think I’m going to have to be more direct. The worst he
can say is -”

“I’m gay,” I interrupted and laughed.

“Laugh all you want, but I am going to get
Jason Stark to go out with me.”

“I know you will,” I assured her, still
smiling.

I purchased lunch with my weekly stipend from
the money I earned during the summer – money that was strictly
regulated without allowing me direct access. Just another
irrational rule I had to live with for the next six hundred and
seventy-three days.

We decided to have lunch outside at the
picnic tables to take advantage of the Indian summer day. Fall in
New England was very unpredictable. It could be frosty and cold one
day, and the next would be warm enough to pull out the tank tops.
But once winter hit, it stuck around for longer than it was
welcome.

As most of the other students were shedding
clothes to take advantage of the warmth, I could only push up the
sleeves of my shirt. In contrast, my wardrobe revolved around the
colors of the healing bruises on my arms, and had nothing to do
with the temperature.

“What did you do to your hair today? It looks
good. It looks straighter. Very chic.”

I looked at Sara sideways as we headed
outside, knowing the only reason my hair was in the ponytail was
because I ran out of my allowed five minutes in the shower this
morning, and didn’t get to rinse the conditioner out of my hair
before the water was turned off. “What are you talking about?” I
asked incredulously.

“Forget it. You can never take a compliment.”
Changing the subject, she asked, “So will you be able to go to the
football game tomorrow night?”

I just looked over at her with my eyebrows
raised, taking a bite out of an apple.

Realizing I wasn’t going to answer the
obvious, Sara picked up her soda, stopping with the can raised to
her lips.

“Why is he torturing me?!” Sara whispered,
slowly lowering the can with her eyes fixated on something behind
me.

I turned to see what had captured her
attention. Jason Stark and another well-built senior had their
shirts off, tucked into the backs of their pants, and were throwing
a football back and forth. The attention he captured was
painstakingly obvious. I watched him for a minute as Sara moaned
behind me. Oddly, he seemed oblivious to all of the girls drooling
over him – interesting.

“Sara, maybe he doesn’t realize he’s as
wanted as he is,” I observed objectively. “Have you ever thought of
that?”

“How could he not know?” she questioned in
disbelief.

“He’s a guy,” I said with a resigned sigh.
“Have you ever seen him out with anyone other than the two years he
was dating Holly Martin? Just because we think he’s a god, it
doesn’t mean he puts himself on the same pedestal.”

We looked over at the tall figure with the
defined muscles and playful smile. Even I couldn’t help but get
lost in the details of his tanned body. Just because I was focused
on school, it didn’t mean I was dead. I still noticed - well,
sometimes.

“Maybe,” she considered with a devious
smirk.

“You guys would make an amazingly beautiful
couple,” I sighed.

“Em, you have to go to the game with me
tomorrow!” she pleaded with an edge of desperation.

I shrugged. It wasn’t like it was my choice.
I had no control over my social life; hence, I had no social life.
I was holding out for college. It’s not like I wasn’t participating
in the high school experience. I just had my own version - three
varsity sports, editor of the school paper, along with
participating in the yearbook, art and French clubs. It was enough
to keep me after school every day, and sometimes into the evenings
when I had games or deadlines with the paper. I needed to create
the ideal transcript for a scholarship admission. It was the
only
thing I felt like I had control over, and it was
honestly more of a survival plan than an escape plan.

2.
First Impression

While Sara and I walked to Journalism class,
I could tell the lunch performance was still lingering. She looked
enchanted, and it was a little eerie. I paced alongside her in
silence, hoping she’d snap out of it.

Upon entering class, I went straight to the
computer with the oversized screen and pulled up the latest draft
of this week’s
Weslyn High Times
. Focused on the screen, I
zoned out the scraping of chairs and murmuring voices as everyone
found their seats. I had to get this edition to the printer before
the end of class so it could be distributed in the morning.

Faintly, I heard Ms. Holt gather everyone’s
attention to review the progress of the assignments for next week’s
paper. I blocked out the conversations. I continued scrutinizing
the formatting, moving ads to accommodate article space and
inserting the photographs to compliment the featured articles.

“Is it too late to consider another article
for next week’s paper?”

The voice distracted me. I didn’t know this
voice. The guy spoke without hesitation, with a sense of purpose
and confidence. I stared at the computer screen without seeing what
was in front of me, waiting. The room was silent with anticipation.
Ms. Holt encouraged him to continue.

“I wanted to write an article about
teenagers’ self-image and if they’re able to accept their flaws.
I’d like to interview students and hand out surveys to find out
what part of the body they’re most self-conscious about.” I turned
my chair around, interested in who would think of such a
controversial topic. “The article could reveal that despite a
perceived social status, everyone's insecure about something.” He
glanced over at me during his explanation, realizing I was paying
attention. Some of the other students also noticed I was no longer
working on the computer and were watching me, trying to decipher my
pensive expression.

The voice belonged to a guy I’d never seen
before. As I listened to him finish, I was irked by his request.
How could someone, obviously without flaws, think it would be okay
to interview emotionally vulnerable students to reveal something
they didn’t like about themselves? Probably confiding an insecurity
they had a hard time admitting to themselves. Who’d want to openly
discuss their embarrassing whiteheads, or admit that they wore an A
cup, or that they had the muscle structure of a ten year old? It
sounded cruel. The more I thought about it, the more irritated I
became. Honestly, who was this guy?

He sat in the back of the class wearing an
untucked sky blue collared shirt and a pair of perfectly fitted
jeans. His sleeves were rolled up and the buttons undone enough to
reveal his smooth skin and a hint of a lean muscular frame.

The shirt complimented his steel blue eyes
that moved across the room, connecting with his audience. He
appeared relaxed, even though everyone in the class was staring at
him. He probably expected people to take notice of him.

There was something else about him that I
couldn’t quite put my finger on – he seemed older. He definitely
looked like he was either a junior or senior. He had a youthful
face with a strong jaw that extended to the angles of his
cheekbones, complimenting his brow line and straight nose that
pointed to his perfectly defined lips. An artist couldn’t have
chiseled a better bone structure.

When he spoke, he easily captured everyone’s
attention. He obviously got me to stop and take notice. The
projections in his tone made me think that he was used to talking
to a more mature audience. I couldn’t decide if he seemed
distinguished or just arrogant – he was so confident. I leaned
towards arrogance.

“Interesting idea…” Ms. Holt began.