chapter three: flashbacks

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Something in my chest is hurting

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Something in my chest is hurting. A beat. Two beats. Onetwothree. It hits hard and fast. Blood rushing through my ears is the only thing I hear as it pushes and pushes and pushes with the strength of water breaking a dam. My fingertips are frozen- chilled, at the least. The mini cold-pack I'm only supposed to use for emergencies is crushing beneath fingers that belong to me. Sitting down shouldn't be difficult. I shouldn't be shaking this hard.

The room is empty; it's full. My senses, torn clean off the edges and split down the middle, left nothing but ripped paper and the subconscious feeling of people surrounding me. I feel their presence, one to my left, one in front of me. I know they're there.

I can't see them. I can't hear them. It's so claustrophobic.

I squint. The Physics classroom I'm in is dark. The door is open. Am I waiting for someone? The thing in my chest won't shut up. It gets louder and louder and louder and something is telling me to keep breathing keep blinking keep doing. What am I doing? My hand is moving up and down. Am I writing?

This isn't real.

Is it?

"Maddux," I whisper, and a small gasp leaves my mouth as the memory crumbles like sandcastles. "Clemens...Glavine." The names engrave themselves into my head until my eyes stop blinking so hard and they're sore.

The classroom is full.

Students sitting in their chairs look up at the woman speaking- her lips are moving but I don't hear her. A circuit board sits in front of me and a sharp ringing begins in my ear until Ms. Reyes' voice breaks it.

"We're having a seat change," she says in a pointed tone. "Since you kids think it's funny to electrocute each other."

The heel of my Converse taps the floor in a silent bounce. I smooth out the cold-pack in my hand, brushing eraser bits off my desk. My lungs fill with air and deflate. My chest wants to cave into my stomach but I refuse. This will pass, I tell myself. This will pass.

For now, though, I stick to robotic movements and thoughts.

"Lillian, switch with Fatima. Ryder, you will-" The teacher pauses, but I don't spend much time wondering why. "He'll stay there."

I stand. Pick up my things and move towards the seat Fatima stands up from. When the end of her beige hijab catches the back of her chair, the fatigue coating my insides and skin disperses.

"Are you okay?" Fatima nods at my question and slows her movement, carefully rewrapping the head cover.

"Yes," she gives me a small smile. "But I dropped my phone." Ms. Reyes moves on with the seating arrangement. A flash of teal catches my eye so I walk around the desk, next to the body slouched over the table. The iPhone case laid prisoner between his feet; I crouch to get it.

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