In An Instant

Prologue

The presence behind my shoulder becomes increasingly more difficult to ignore as the clock ticks each second away and the screen glaring at me remains blank.

I tap my fingers lightly on the space bar as if to say, Come on, come on. Think, Leah. Use your brain.

But it's no use. None of it is any use. My mind has been wiped clean. All I can think about is the fast approaching deadline. I have two months to write myself a novel. Two months. Of course, it's my fault. I've wasted eight of them.

"Leah, have you written anything since the beginning of the year?"

I turn around finally, having accepted that I must face Ms. Roberts. Her forehead is creased in concern and I bite my lip in order to keep myself from spilling to her everything that is on my mind.

"Yes," I nod, smiling, but even I know that it can't be very convincing. "I have a large file back at home. It's just... I forgot the USB containing it and it's hard to write without it." I sigh. "I have no idea where to start."

My teacher nods slightly, but I'm not really sure whether or not she believes me. That's the thing with her; you can never know what is really going on in that clockwork brain of hers.

"Of course. It's just I've never seen you writing on any of the designated writing classes that we have for this project. Are you sure you don't need help? Is there something going on that is bothering you at home? You never raise your hand or participate in class." She pauses. "Sometimes I wonder about you. If you're okay. The school counsellor can help with these things. Free up the mind."

I shiver and pull my cardigan closer around my shoulders, pretending that I am cold to disguise my sudden shaking. "I'm fine," I say. "Like I said. Everything is on my USB."

Ever since the beginning of high school I've dreamed of taking the Advanced Writing class so I signed up for it in Grade 12. I didn't know how difficult it would be. Fiction, I can handle. Except what we need to write isn't fiction at all. Ms. Roberts believes that the greatest pieces of literature are the ones that come from our heart. "The truth," she said in the first week of classes, "is the key to freeing ones soul."

She wants us to write about an event — a choice, if you will — that changed our lives. "An epiphany" were her exact words. The only problem is I'm not sure I've had one. I'm only seventeen, I protest. I don't have the life experience.

Most of the people I know are making up a story: realistic enough that it is believable, but nothing with true substance. Ms. Roberts wants substance. The only problem is I have no idea how to give it to her.

"Leah, I think you're holding back."

Her voice cuts me out of my thoughts abruptly and I search frantically for words to explain. Another lie to give birth to. Anything.

Before I manage to start another half-hearted excuse, the bell signalling the end of classes breaks through the electrified air, providing oxygen to my lungs and movement in my limbs. I begin to pack up my things and glance at my phone, an urgent text from Sidney reminding me that I need to meet her back at Northland"pronto". It's amazing that after everything that happened, she still wants me to be present at her graduation ceremony.

Graduation. Northland is a strange school on that front. Since so many kids are gone before school ends, taking finals in advance, they host the graduation ceremony long before anyone is really able to hug their friends good bye and say "good riddance" to the people they've never liked. No one wonders whether or not they'll graduate. It's an expectation at Northland. Everyone passes.

That's just how it is.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and immediately tense up before walking out the door. "At least think about getting help?"

I turn around and stare into Ms. Roberts's penetrating gaze slicing through my own. I nod uncertainly, almost not at all. "Okay," I tell her. "I'll think about it."

My phone pings with another text from Sidney, as if I can get there in the two minutes since school ended. I consider waiting a bit more, but I can't stall any longer. I promised I'd be there. With one final glance at Ms. Roberts's curious face I turn and run out the door, dashing to my locker to throw my coat on and drive away.

Back to the classmates I almost fooled myself into thinking I could abandon forever.