Page 88 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

stack of papers at the front, obviously stressed. Greta watched
the clock, waiting for the class to begin so she would know
for sure.
Two minutes left. Her shoulders began to unclench.
One class safe? Then Angus —one of the guys from the cabin
party—paused in the doorway and checked the room over
like she had. Greta held her breath, watching for who would
follow him. No. Just him. He picked a desk not far from

hers—one of the only ones left—and tossed her a cold look
over his shoulder. Greta pretended not to notice.
The second Angus sat down, the smell of his cologne or
body spray hit her and, in the next beat, a wall of nausea.
That cheap woodsy scent…something about that night.
Sweat. Hands on her body, breath by her ear. Bile moved up
her throat, burning. Greta lurched from her desk, scooping ADVANCE READING COPY

her books in her arms as she fled. The teacher paused, and
heads swiveled in her direction. Greta burst into the empty
hall and stumbled to the bathroom, locking herself in a stall.
What’s wrong with me? She took deep breaths and swallowed,
her heart slowing now. She couldn’t assign the feeling to one
thing, but that cologne formed a part of the fog of that night
at the cabin, tied in with the blur of bodies, the nausea of the
purple drink, memories like gray forms—almost there. Pull
yourself together. She took a long drink from the water foun-

tain until her stomach stopped convulsing, but couldn’t bring
herself to go back inside the classroom.
Greta left for her French class early, creeping through
the silent hall, and sat outside the door until the bell rang.

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