If I Fell

The Office

The hallway is quiet except for the wet squelch of my footsteps and the thoughts buzzing in my head.

Could being around these people really be causing me to have panic attacks? I need to know if I'm overreacting or if I really do have some sort of panic disorder. But even if I do, how does that account for the crater that forms in my gut whenever I see one of those...

What is their last name?

Collins? Coolens?

I don't remember. All I know is they don't look or feel like everyone else. They're completely blank. No color, not even the soft electric blue that most people give off when I first meet them. It's enough to make me think my condition is malfunctioning - if that is even possible - except everyone else is still fucking blue. The Webers, whom I've spent the most time around so far, are still blue. Even in their case, it's way too early for them to start changing.

I stop and shake my head, trying to clear my mind.

"If you're gonna drive yourself crazy, at least wait until Devyn is around to convince you that you're not," I scold. I definitely need to call her tonight.

I reach the other side of the building and step out, wishing even harder that I had not turned down the pixie girls umbrella. The next building is not far away, but even running I'm still soaked by the time I reach its overhang.

I pass occupied classrooms and peek into each one, hoping to spot Angela. She never gave me a room number, so I'm left dripping small puddles across several hallways before I find her. She's knelt next to a table that holds a what looks like a huge copy machine. A man in jeans and a plaid button down is leaning on a dust mop behind her. I take a moment to look around the "office". It looks more like a spacious computer room. There are six desks with old Dell monitors facing towards the front of the room. The whiteboard up front holds more doodles than notes, and there are a few paper clippings stuck to it with magnets. It's been kept pretty neat. The only real mess in the room is the mass of papers spilling off the desk next to Angela. I move in closer to see what's going on. The man turns around, unsurprised to see me there.

He gives me a quick but brilliant smile, then turns back around. I notice a few swirls of black inking the terra-cotta toned nape of his neck before his hair falls over it. My fingers itch to move the curly brown ponytail aside and peel the shirt down to see the rest of the tattoo, but I fight the urge. My obsession with tattoos is no reason to assault someone I don't know. But I mean, maybe I could at least work it into the conversation later...

"Angela, someone is here to see you," he says before leaning up off the dust mop and moving to another part of the room.

She stands and nods me over.

"Hey, sorry I'm taking so long. The printer decided to try and die on us again, and our next issue is supposed to be released tomorrow." She says, staring disappointedly at the machine.

"I keep telling you to petition the school for a new one," the man says, now sweeping over by the board.

"I do, but the school won't pay for another one unless it dies on us for real. The clubs budget can't afford to get a new one either," Angela laments.

"So then why don't you let it die in peace? You're the only one who knows how to revive it. Plus, it's probably so ancient that the company doesn't service its model anymore."

Angela looks at him with an expression of mock horror before moving to place her arms around the printer. They barely wrap around half of its yellowed exterior.