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voice. “No one is dying. She’s having a panic attack.”
    My face tingles as I try to suck air past the tourniquet around my trachea. I look up into Mom’s face for reassurance.
    She stokes my hair. “You’re okay, Julia. You’re okay, deep breaths.” Her words are soothing, as if she’s talking to a small child.
    My eyes burn with tears as I hiccup tiny breaths into my lungs.
    “
Thatta girl. You can do this.”
    After several minutes, my heart slows and the tightening of my chest loosens. I lay my forehead down on the table, closing my eyes.
    I find it ironic, when the nightmare of my attacks eases, that someone so ambivalent about living fights so hard to survive.

Chapter Four

    This morning I wake with a dull ache in my head and for several seconds consider begging my way out of school, but I’m only delaying the inevitable. Whether today or next week, Sarah Chapman still has to be dealt with.
    Dressing in my usual jeans and long sleeve t-shirt, it occurs to me that last year I would have gone toe-to-toe with Sarah. Monica would be pissed to see me do otherwise.
    Stopping mid-stroke with my hairbrush, I study my face, unsure who this person is staring back in the mirror. It’s me but not. This new girl who’s taken my place is stoic and hard around the eyes. Her face is thinner, more angular than before.
    It seems fitting that the lines of my face match the hardness of my heart.
    But the fortress has begun to crack and I’m unsure whether to be relieved or dismayed. Instead, I choose to ignore it.
    I head to the kitchen to grab a Pop Tart, worried about running into my dad. After my panic attack, I spent the rest of the evening in my room, especially after hearing he and mom argue throughout the night. In a matter of seconds, I destroyed what little progress we had made in fixing our relationship.
    But he’s not there and his car is missing from the driveway. Mom stands in front of the stove and the smell of bacon fills the room.
    I open the cabinet and pull out the Pop Tart box, stuffing a foil package into the pocket of my backpack.
    She pivots her upper body with her hand on her hip. “Julia, I’m making pancakes and bacon. Your favorite.”
    My mouth waters at the thought and I cast a glance toward the clock, inwardly groaning at the time. “Can’t Mom. I’ll miss the bus.”
    “
You don’t have to ride the bus. The bacon’s almost ready. You can eat and then you can drive to school in the Honda. You’ll get there in plenty of time.”
    My head grows fuzzy at the thought of driving. “No, the bus is fine. Really. I like riding the bus.”
    “
You have to drive sometime. You can’t put it off forever.”
    Her words follow me out into the cold morning.

    The morning passes without incident. It’s as though the last two days never happened. I’m back to being invisible to the entire student body at James Monroe High School.
    Everyone but Evan.
    He stands outside the door to English Lit with the faintest hint of a smile, watching me approach. Sarah drapes on his arm like she’s his latest fall accessory. Leaning her head to his ear, her eyes find mine, and her mouth lifts into a satisfied smirk. The message is loud and clear. Evan is mine .
    Why she sees me as a threat is a mystery.
    I skirt past them and take my usual seat in the back, the muscles of my shoulders cramping with anxiety. Fight or flight, my body is prepared either way.
    But it’s a false alarm. Sarah sits next to Lindsey, both facing the front. After the bell rings, Mrs. Jacobs fidgets in her seat as she takes role, her eyes darting around the room. I understand why after she announces the topic for today. Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Masque of the Red Death.”
    The grip on my pen tightens as my hand doodles. I slouch over my desk to avoid eye contact with anyone, but a few heads turn my way, gauging my reaction.
    It’s a stupid short story about deaths caused by a plague, which has nothing to do with me. Yet in their eyes,