Walking into the large, loud room was like having an out-of-body experience. My brain was screaming at me to find a quieter, easier—safer—place to go, but I forced myself forward, one foot in front of the other.
Nerves had twisted my stomach into knots as I made it through the lunch line. All I grabbed was a banana and a bottle of water. There were so many people around me and so much noise—laughter, shouting and a constant low hum of conversation. I was completely out of my element. Everyone was at the long square tables, huddled in groups. No one was really sitting alone from what I could see, and I knew no one. I would be the only person sitting by myself.
Horrified by the realization, I felt my fingers spasm around the banana I clenched. The smell of disinfectant and burnt food overwhelmed me. Pressure clamped down on my chest, tightening my throat. I sucked in air, but it didn’t seem to inflate my lungs. A series of shivers danced along the base of my skull.
I couldn’t do this.
There was too much noise and too many people in what now felt like a small, confined area. It was never this loud at home. Never. My gaze darted all over, not really seeing any detail. My hand shook so badly I was afraid I’d drop the banana. Instinct kicked in, and my feet started moving.
I hurried out into the somewhat quieter hall and kept going, passing a few kids lingering against the lockers and the faint scent of cigarettes that surrounded them. I dragged in deep, calming breaths that really didn’t calm me. Getting farther away from the cafeteria was what calmed me, not the stupid breaths. I rounded the corner and jerked to a stop, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a boy not much taller than me.
He stumbled to the side, bloodshot eyes widening in surprise. A scent clung to him that at first I thought was smoke, but when I inhaled, it was something richer, earthy and thick.
“Sorry, chula,” he murmured, and his eyes did a slow glide from the tips of my toes right back up to mine. He started to grin.
At the end of the hall, a taller boy picked up his pace. “Jayden, where in the fuck you running off to, bro? We need to talk.”
The guy I assumed was Jayden turned, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped dark hair as he muttered, “Mierda, hombre.”
A door opened and a teacher stepped out, frowning as his gaze bounced between the two. “Already, Mr. Luna? Is this how we’re going to start this year off?”
I figured it was time to get out of the hallway, because nothing about the taller boy’s face said he was happy or friendly, and the deep scowl settling over the teacher’s face when Jayden kept walking made him look like he wanted to cut someone. I hurried around Jayden and kept my chin down, not making eye contact with anyone.
I ended up in the library, playing Candy Crush on my cell phone until the bell rang, and I spent my next class—history—furious with myself, because I hadn’t even tried. That was the truth. Instead I’d hidden in the library like a dork, playing a stupid game that only the devil could’ve created, because I seriously sucked at it.
Doubt settled over me like a too-heavy, coarse blanket. I’d come so far in the last four years. I was nothing like the girl I used to be. Yeah, I still had some hang-ups, but I was stronger than the shell of a person I’d once been, wasn’t I?
Rosa would be so disappointed.
My skin grew itchy by the time I headed to my final class, my heart rate probably somewhere near stroke territory, because my last period was the worst period ever in the history of ever.
Speech class.
Otherwise known as Communications. When I’d registered for school last spring, I’d been feeling all kinds of brave while Carl and Rosa stared at me like I was half-crazy. They said they could get me out of the class, even though it was a requirement at Lands High, but I’d had something to prove.
I didn’t want them stepping in. I wanted—no, I needed to do this.
Ugh.
Now I wished I had employed some common sense and let them do whatever it was that would’ve gotten me excused, because this was a nightmare waiting to happen. When I saw the open door to the class on the third floor, it gaped at me, the room ultra-bright inside.
My steps faltered. A girl stepped around me, lips pursing when she checked me out. I wanted to spin and flee. Get in the Honda. Go home. Be safe.
Stay the same.
No.
Tightening my fingers around the strap of my bag, I forced myself forward, and it was like walking through knee-deep mud. Each step felt sluggish. Each breath I took wheezed in my lungs. Overhead lights buzzed and my ears were hypersensitive to the conversation around me, but I did it.
My feet made it to the back row and my fingers were numb, knuckles white, as I dropped my bag on the floor beside my desk and slid into my seat. Busying myself with pulling out my notebook, I then gripped the edge of my desk.
I was in speech class. I was here.
I’d done it.