Between The Lines

Chapter 4

 I wake up at my desk the next morning, my hands still resting on my laptop's keyboard. Shit. Did I finish my draft last night? My fingers fly over the keys as I type in my password, searching for the draft. The air leaves my lungs when I realize it's gone. I have no one to blame but myself. I fell asleep last night and didn't even have time to save it. I no longer have anything to discuss with Ethan. He'll think I didn't do anything at all and that I'm waiting for him to do most of the work. No. That can't happen. I won't let it. I have one hour and thirty minutes before I need to leave for school. My body moves on autopilot as I navigate my room, my mind racing with a plan to redo the draft. If I get ready in forty-five minutes, I should have enough time to redo most of it, and then I'll add the final details during a free period or homeroom. Yes. I'll do that. But I need to act fast; time is running out.

I hear my mother calling for me to leave for school but I don't move from my desk. My eyes are glued to the screen and my fingers glide over the letters, typing word after word, paragraph after paragraph. Millions of notifications are coming through on my phone but I just put it on silent and continue. It doesn't take me long to finish typing everything. I carefully place everything in my bag and check my phone.

9:45.

Shit. I'm late. Fifteen minutes late. How did I take so long? I'm normally more efficient, right? Right? My heart beats in the throat as I race down the stairs and out the door. I'm sweaty and out of breath by the time I make it to school. The first period has already started, if I run I can make it in time before the teacher labels me as late. I try to take a step forward but my legs feel like bricks. My arms are heavy and I can't feel my fingers. My head feels like it's pulsing and there's a ringing in my ears. Do I have my pills? No. I don't need them. I have to do this. I trudge over to my locker and lean against it, catching my breath. I lean my forehead against the cool metal of the lockers, just for a second. Just to catch my breath. The air feels too thick, like no matter how hard I breathe I can't get enough of it. My chest feels too tight, every muscle in my body aches, and for the first time, I wonder if I pushed too hard last night. I stayed up late, perfecting the draft, convincing myself that I just needed to work a little harder, just a little longer. But now, my hands are shaking and I don't know if I'll even make it through the day.

The bell rings a sharp sound that cuts through the fog in my brain. Is it the second period already? I have to keep going. There's no other option. I grab my books and head to class, trying to pretend like everything is normal. I greet Mr Lancaster when I enter the classroom. I notice Ethan is sitting next to my usual seat. He looks annoyingly composed. He glances at me, his eyes lingering a little too long as if he noticed something is off. I quickly look away, determined to keep up the façade.

Mr Lancaster steps up in front of the class, clipboard in hand. The entire class straightens.

"For the two students who I picked for the contest I want you to share your work and critique each other. You're not just writing in isolation. Good writing is about responding to the world around you. As for the rest of"

The rest of his words are blurred by the ringing in my ears. This isn't what I need. Not right now. Not today.

This time, Ethan and I are seated at the back of the classroom, our notebooks open in front of us, the tension thick. He slides his draft over to me and I do the same. I feel his eyes scanning my writing, and my stomach twists into a knot. What if it's not good enough? What if my exhaustion bled into the words, made them weaker than they should be? But I can't let him see that. I can't let him think I'm struggling. I start reading his draft, expecting the worst. Something flashy, something shallow. But as my eyes move down the page, I feel a flicker of surprise. It's different. There's depth here, an emotion I wasn't expecting. Maybe he's better than I thought. But I won't tell him that. Not yet.