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Punk 57 Page 15
Author: Penelope Douglas

Strolling up to my locker, I drop my bag to the ground, pulling in a long breath. The sudden weight on my chest makes it a struggle to inhale as I twist the dial on the lock, keying in the combination.

My head falls forward, but I snap it back up.

Shit.

Opening the door, shielding myself for all the eyes around me, I reach under my skirt, under the tight elastic of my spandex shorts, and grab my inhaler.

“Hey, can I borrow your suede skirt today?”

I jump, releasing my inhaler, and pulling my hand out.

Lyla stands to my left while Katelyn and Mel hover at my right.

Picking up my backpack, I dig out my books from last night and load them into my locker. “You mean the expensive one that I sold half my closet to a consignment shop to pay for?” I ask, shoving my books onto the shelf. “Not a chance.”

“I’ll tell your mom about all the clothes you hide in your locker.”

“And I’ll tell your mom about all the times you weren’t actually sleeping at my house for the night,” I retort, smiling as I place my bag on the hook in my locker and look to Katelyn and Mel.

The other girls laugh, and I turn back to my locker, retrieving my Art notebook and English text for my first two classes.

“Please?” she begs. “My legs look so good in it.”

I pull in a breath with everything I have, the struggle to fill my lungs growing like there’s a thousand pounds sitting on my chest.

Fine. Whatever. Anything to get her out of here. I reach into my locker and pull out the skirt hanging on a plastic hook I’d stuck in the back.

I toss the smooth, tan fabric at her. “Don’t have sex in it.”

She smiles gleefully, fanning out the skirt to have another look at it. “Thank you.”

I grab my small bag, filled with drawing pencils, and my phone.

“What do you have right now?” Lyla asks, folding the skirt over her arm. “Art?”

I nod.

“I don’t understand how you can’t get out of that. I know you hate it.”

I close my locker, hearing the bell ring and seeing everyone around us start to hustle. “It’s almost the end of the year. I’ll live.”

“Mmm,” she replies absently, probably having not heard me. “Alright, let’s go.” She jerks her chin to Mel and Katelyn and then looks to me as she backs away. “See you at lunch, okay? And thank you.”

All three of them disappear down the hallway, lost in the throng of bodies as they head for Spanish, their first class of the day. Everyone flits about, rushing upstairs, slamming lockers, and diving into classrooms…and I feel the ache in my chest start to spread. My stomach burns from the strain of trying to breathe, and I make my way down the hallway, my shoulder brushing the lockers for support.

I shoot a quick smile to Brandon Hewitt, one of Trey’s friends, as I pass, and soon, all the doors start to close and the footsteps and chatter fade away. A tiny whistle drifts up from my lungs as my breath shakes from the inside as if little strings are flapping in my throat.

I blink hard, the world starting to spin behind my lids.

I draw in as much air as I can, knowing they don’t see my white knuckles, me clenching my books, or the needles swishing around in my throat like a swizzle stick as I struggle not to cough.

I’m good at pretending.

The last door closes, and I quickly reach under my skirt and pull out the inhaler I usually keep hidden there. Holding it to my mouth, I press down and draw in a hard breath as the spray releases, giving me my medicine. The bitter chemical, which always reminds me of the Lysol I caught in my mouth when I was a kid when my mom sprayed it around the house, hits the back of my throat and drifts down my esophagus. Leaning against the wall, I press down once more, drawing in more spray, and I close my eyes, already feeling the weight lifting from my chest.

Breathing in and out, I hear my pulse throb in my ears and feel my lungs expand wider and wider, the invisible hands that were squeezing them, slowly releasing.

This one came quick.

Usually it happens while I’m outside or exerting myself. Whenever the air gets thick, I excuse myself to the restroom and do what I need to do. I hate when it happens all of sudden like this. Too many people around, even in the bathrooms. Now I’m late for class.

Slipping the inhaler up under the hem of my spandex shorts again, I take in a welcome deep breath and release it, readjusting the books in my arm.

Spinning back around, I turn right and take the next hallway, climbing the stairs up to Art. It’s the only class I have every day that I enjoy, but I let my friends think I hate it. Art, band, theater…they’re all targets for ridicule, and I don’t want to hear it from them.

Gingerly opening the classroom door, I step in and look around for Ms. Till, but I don’t see her. She must be in the supply closet.

And I don’t need another tardy, so...

I walk briskly across the room and head up the aisle, raising my eyes and pausing when I see Trey. He lounges at my table, in the seat next to mine.

Annoyance pricks at me. Awesome.

He must be skipping Chemistry—which he’s already failed and has to pass in order to graduate. This is my happy hour, and he’ll ruin it.

I let out a small sigh and force a half-smile. “Hey.”

He pulls out my chair with one hand, relaxing back in his seat and gazing at me as I sit down. Ms. Till probably won’t even notice he’s not one of her students.

“So I was thinking…” Trey broaches as everyone chatters around us. “Are you doing anything May seventh?”

“Hmmm…” I play cavalier as I lean back in my chair, fold my arms over my chest, and cross my legs. “I seem to remember something going on that night, but I forget.”

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Penelope Douglas's Novels
» Punk 57
» Corrupt
» Falling Away (Fall Away #3)
» Aflame (Fall Away #4)
» Until You (Fall Away #1.5)
» Bully (Fall Away #1)