Panic Prone (ON HOLD)

One

As promised, here is Panic Prone! My Crown The Empire fan fiction (:

It's based on the book The Program by Suzanna Young, one of my all time favorite reads.

EVERYTHING WILL BE THE SAME EXCEPT OF COURSE THE CHARACTERS AND A FEW CHANGES THAT I WILL MAKE, NO COPYRIGHT IS INTENDED AT ALL.

So enjoy, and please if you do, comment and vote.

. . .

The air in the room tastes sterile. The lingering scent of bleach is mixing with the fresh white paint on the walls, and I wish my teacher would open the window to let in a breeze. But we're on the third floor so the pane is sealed shut- just in case anyone gets the urge to jump.

I'm still staring at the paper on my desk when Cassie Miller turns in her seat, looking me over with her purple contacts. "You're not done yet?"

I glance past her to make sure Mrs. Portman is distracted at the front of the room, and then I smile. "It's far too early in the morning to properly psychoanalyze myself," I whisper. "I'd almost rather learn about science."

"Maybe a coffe spiked with QuikDeath would help you focus on the pain."

My expression falters; just the mention of the poison is enough to send my heart racing. I hold Cassie's empty stare- a deadness behind it that even purple contacts can't disguise. Her eyes are ringed with heavy circles from lack of sleep, and her face has thinned sharply. She's exactly the kind of person who can get me in trouble, and yet I can't look away.

I've known Cassie for years, but we're not really friends, especially now. Not when she's been acting depressed for close to a month. I try to avoid her, but today there's something desperate about her that I can't ignore. Something about the way her body seems to tremble even though she's sitting still.

"God, don't look so serious," she says, lifting one bony shoulder. "I'm just kidding, Harley. Oh, and hey," she adds as if just remembering the real reason she turned to me in the first place. "Guess who I saw at the Wellness Center? Caity Babcock."

She leans forward as she tells me, but I'm struck silent. I had no idea that Caity was back.

Just then the door opens with a loud click. I glance toward the front of the classroom and freeze, my breath catching in my throat. The day has just become significantly worse.

Two handlers with crisp white jackets and comb-smoothed hair stand in the doorway, their expressionless faces traveling over us as they seek someone out. When they start forward I begin to wilt.

Cassie spins around in her seat, her back rigid anf straight.

"Not me," She murmurs, her hands clasped tightly in front of her like she's praying. "Please not me."

From her podium, Mrs. Portman begins her lesson as if there's no interruption. As if people in white coats should be waltzing in during her speech on the kinetic theory of matter. It's the second time the handlers have interruped class this week.

The men seperate to opposite sides of the classroom, their shoes tapping on the linoleum floor as they come closer. I look away, opting to watch the leaves fall from the trees outside the window instead. It's October, but the summer has bled into fall, bathing us all in unexpected Oregon sunshine. I wish I could be anywhere else right now.

The footsteps stop, but I don't acknowlege them. I can smell the handlers near me- antiseptic, like rubbing alcohol and bandaids. I don't dare move.

"Cassie Miller," a voice says gently, "Can you please come with us?"

I hold back the sound that's trying to escape from behind my lips, a combination of relief and sympathy. I refuse to look at Cassie, terrified that the handlers will notice me. Please don't notice me.