Almond Boy

Almond Boy - 7

Elliot sits down on the bench and begins eating almonds. 

He doesn't do his homework much anymore, just sketches. He's not failing his classes, though, a few of the teachers taking pity on him enough to say that they 'lost' his work, and a few of the other teachers who don't grade homework as an everyday grade. Besides, he does well enough on the tests. 

Emma sits down next to him and pulls out a massive bag of trail-mix. 

"Why are you starting to eat during gym?" Elliot asks as he munches on almonds and stares at his sketches, trying to figure out what's wrong - the picture isn't quite right to him.  

"I found that since I'm no longer doing stuff I got really hungry. And besides, it's supposed to be better for me if I do." 

"It's not fair that you know my problem and I don't know yours."

"I don't know your problem. I know where the problem is, but I don't know your problem. And I've told you, I'm sick."

It's more than that, you liar, Elliot thinks. 

"God, I never thought you'd be such a skipper, Emma," some girl says as she runs by Emma, laughing as she does so. 

"Yeah, how long can you expect to fake an illness?"

Emma's eyes go wide as she watches the girls laugh at her and run by. She clenches her fists and stares down at the ground, before pushing herself up. 

"I'm not a skipper," she mutters to herself, and Elliot watches her with quirked eyebrows.

"Emma, you get that a lot. If they're not saying it aloud, they're thinking it, there's nothing you can do. C'mon, sit down."

She shakes her head and stays standing.

"I'm not a skipper, and I want them to know that."

She brings her hand to her head and it dips a little like another pebble went on a scale and it needed to readjust the new weight. She shakes her head and widens her stance, trying to make herself bigger. 

Elliot watches Emma carefully as she raises up her arms. She begins to yell out, 

"Hey you!"

The girls turn around and look at her, their eyebrows all furrowed. Emma takes a step forward and glares them down.

"Us?"

"Yes, you guys!" she yells like they're all idiots - Elliot's pretty sure they are. 

"What do you want?"

Elliot can't help but hate the way the girls talk, like no one else is worth their time. It's funny, I don't think the group of girls realize that most people don't think they're worth their time either. They certainly aren't worth his. 

Emma lets out a little cough, and continues to go at them. He wishes he could just pull her back down and tell her to deal with it, but then again, he was like this too when he was first on the bench.

"Let me explain something to you. You think I'm skipping? Well, for starte-" 

Emma begins coughing, completely losing her fire. The girls turn back around and keep running, laughing at Emma's attempt of standing up for herself, but also running quite fast, realizing that they "might have" been wrong.

Elliot shifts to move, realizing that Emma's coughing has become a fit of coughs. Her body completely shrinks as she crouches over her knees. She walks backwards, trying to get back to her seat, but her feet are tripping over themselves and she falls on the bench. The coughs begin to tear at her chest, and she's thrown into the most horrific wracks Elliot's ever seen.

Elliot scoots closer and puts his hand on her back, his eyebrows furrowing as he watches her try to pull through the coughing. 

Then suddenly she's not coughing at all.

She begins hitting her chest, and Elliot's eyes go wide as he realizes she isn't breathing. He begins slapping her back, trying to knock whatever she's choking on out of her throat, but it isn't like hitting a restart button. 

"Ms. Shipman!" Elliot screams, his voice sounding like a terrorized child.

Ms. Shipman's head turns back lazily, as if she's skeptical about turning around. Then she sees Emma and Elliot and immediately runs towards her, a cellphone already pressed between her shoulder and her ear.

Suddenly Emma, with her free hand, grabs Elliots free hand and squeezes it as hard as she can as she keeps trying to get herself breathing again. Her hand is shaking with how tight she's grasping Elliot's hand, and admittedly, it hurts and he can feel the pulse beating against his fingertips, but he doesn't dare remove it - even if he could. 

What's going on? What happened, why aren't you breathing? Elliot thinks, his mind speeding through thoughts like a runaway train. I don't know much longer I can keep doing this, I'm hitting you as hard as I can, as hard as I want to. I don't want to hurt you.  

Elliot hits her back one more time just a little bit harder and Emma lets out this single, sickening cough, like she's about to vomit. 

She starts breathing these quick, shuddering breaths, and she's becoming more concave by the minute as she slumps and slumps further, her head touching her knees, her hair draping to her calves. Her eyes are scrunched shut and her entire body is shaking, and her grip on Elliot's hand has only tightened. 

Ms. Shipman has a hold of her sides, right where her rib cage is, trying to feel for her breaths, but since they are so shallow it's obvious she can't feel any and she's getting frustrated. She's yelling over the phone, and it's obvious she's taking orders, but Elliot can't quite hear the moderator's voice over the sound of Ms. Shipman's voice. 

Emma, these breaths are worthless, you're not getting any oxygen like this, Elliot thinks. He's been with enough doctors, he's had enough "sessions" that he knows the basics of breathing. 

"Emma, take a deeper breath," Elliot tells her, resting the hand he had been hitting her back with on her shoulder.  

Her biggest breath out of the tiny ones sounds like a hiccup, and she suddenly slumps down, no longer holding her body up at all. The grasp on Elliot's hand goes limp, and now Elliot's grabbing onto her hand with all his might. 

"Emma, Emma, get up, Emma," Elliot repeats her name over and over and keeps rubbing her back. Ms. Shipman hasn't said a word to him or Emma but is talking at the speed of light to the people on the phone.

She's got her hand on Emma's collar bones and is holding up her head, but Elliot isn't sure what she's doing.

"Emma!?" Elliot hears Claire yell as she's sprinting over to them.  

It's not fair that you can yell and you can run and you can breathe all at once, while Emma can't even talk a little louder, can't even defend herself, without doubling over like this. 

What is wrong with you Emma? What is happening? 

"Ms. Shipman, what's going on?" Elliot asks desperately, but Ms. Shipman ignores him. 

Everyone's staring now, all looking at the strawberry blonde who has collapsed on a wood bench. 

Elliot sees the girl who called her a skipper, and wants to punch her in the throat. 

Maybe you should see what it's like to not be able to breathe. Dumb bitch. 

 The girl is staring at Emma with wide eyes, her hands clasped over her mouth. Her friends are assuring her that it's not her fault, but Elliot can't help but hope that she feels like it's her fault for the rest of her life. 

Elliot will surely blame her, that's for sure.

The paramedics come and take Emma, carrying her like she's a rag doll, her head tipped over the man's arm limply, like she's dead. The man places her on the stretcher, and one of the school's counselors - Ms. Hiptche - follows them with a cell phone pressed to her ear and a rather panicked look on her face.

Well, Emma, you managed to top the record again of most memorable day, because I'm sure not to forget this one. 

He can't get the image of her lifeless body out of his mind.