Steamin' at the Seams

"Lacey?"

I flinch as the sound of a male voice grates in my ears. I glance up, pulling out of the memory of that last kiss with Jacob.

Ouch. I feel like someone just punched me in the throat.

"Are you OK?" Connor asks.

We're at lunch. Connor is a boy I met here at school. Funny, cute, smart. That's what I've heard from the girls in the bathroom, anyway. I haven't really noticed.

I nod immediately, letting a big, convincing smile spread across my face. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Alright. You just looked a little down for a second," Connor says.

"Just worrying about a quiz next period," I fib. "Thanks for asking, but other than that, I'm great."

"OK," Connor says. A few moments later, though, he speaks again. "Hey, you know that dance coming up this Friday?"

"Yeah, why?" I ask warily.

This is actually the first I've heard of it – or had it actually register in my mind, anyway – but I probably shouldn't let other people know that.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go with me," He says. He sounds confident.

Suddenly, there is a war raging inside me. My heart is screaming No, but my mind is screaming Yes. Anything to forget. Before I even register the fact that I'm about to speak, my mouth opens.

"Sure."

His face lights up in victory. "Great!"

The bell rings before either of us can say anything else. I stand up, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and grabbing my bottle of water off the table. That was my lunch. I haven't been hungry for a while.

I can't believe I said yes. I don't want to go. I don't want to dance with Connor. I don't want to dance, period. I'll have to figure out an excuse to not go. I'll just bail, say I got sick. Yeah, that'll work. I won't go to school Friday, and I'll have Will spread that I puked all over the floor. That'll deter anyone from trying to get me to go to the dance.

Outside, the air is cooler. It's probably in the fifties today, and there's a misty rain falling. I walk slowly, not caring about being late for class. I sink down onto the curb as a wave of nausea hits me.

Before I can get a hold on myself, I lean over and throw up in the street. It's mostly just stomach acid, but a little bit of cereal comes up, too. I didn't eat any food at lunch, remember.

I unscrew the lid from my water bottle and use the drink to rinse out my mouth, spitting it into the street.

Once my mouth is clean, I turn away from the mess and curl up, shuddering. It was the thought of going anywhere with a boy who isn't Jacob that made me sick. I should stay away from that idea. For my health.

After a few minutes, or maybe it was longer, I stand up, clutching my water bottle tightly in both hands, and slowly make my way to the main office building.

Once inside, I tell the receptionist that I'm sick, and ask if I can use the phone to call Mom. She lets me, and I quickly tell Mom what happened. She says she'll be here to get me in ten minutes, and I sit, unmoving, in a chair next to the door.

I'm moving like I'm a zombie. I don't feel in control of anything I'm doing. It's all mechanical. If anybody notices a change in me now, at least I have an excuse. I'll say I'm sick. It's kind of true.

Eons after I made the phone call to mom, though the minute hand on the clock says it's only been seven minutes, the door swings open, allowing a cool breeze to come through the small room, ruffling papers on the counter.

It's Mom. She spots me immediately and kneels down in front of me, taking in my pained expression.

"Oh, honey, are you OK?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I just don't feel good. I threw up."
"I'll take you home, don't you worry."

She signs me out and leads me outside to the car. We ride home in relative silence, and once in the house, she asks me what I had for lunch. When I tell her that I didn't eat, she says that I should go to sleep, and then eat some soup when I wake up.

I agree, placating her, and change into my pajamas, crawling into bed. Mom makes sure I'm all settled in, that I'll be alright, then she goes back to work.

I pull the blanket up over my head, blocking out any light. I wish I could just stay here in bed forever. Never have to go out and face anything or anyone. Never have to do anything. Just lie here and wallow in my self pity. Let the pain eat me all up, until there's nothing left, but for a broken, hollow shell that used to be a girl.