"Nathaniel! Get off of your desk!"
I look down at Mr. York and grin at him. "Why, is the weather better down there?"
He sighs. "Of course the one time you get to class early, I find you standing on a desk. I think I actually prefer marking you tardy. What in heaven's name are you doing?"
"Don't bother with him, Mr. York," a girl calls from the front of the classroom. "Nathan's just looking for attention again."
I laugh. "Am I? I didn't know that. Thanks, Elle."
Mr. York massages his temples, as if that'll actually do anything. We all know that I'm the real headache. "Please, I know you're excited for your football game tonight, but that's no excuse to act up."
"Who said I was excited?" I grumble, but I get down and slide into my seat.
Elle rolls her eyes and turns back around.
"I should have resigned as soon as I saw Nathaniel Mills on my roster for the second year in a row," Mr. York says to himself as he makes his way to the front of the room. He uncaps a dry erase marker and starts writing on the whiteboard.
Normally, I'd stop paying attention at this point, but right now, I can't focus on not focusing. I've got a cliche-sounding feeling that something's wrong. It's like there's a... sinking emptiness inside me. Alright, calm down. You might be in poetry class right now, but don't start with the poetic inner monologue shit.
Mr. York starts talking, and I try to take in what he's saying. The feeling is distracting me, and I can't push it away. I just want to drop to the floor, lie down, and sleep until it goes away.
This definitely isn't the first time that I've suddenly felt weird for no reason. It's been happening for a few years now, and I still haven't figured out what causes it. Sometimes it lasts for a few seconds, and sometimes it goes on for days. I could go for weeks without it, and it'll hit me out of the blue. Like just now. Shit shit shit how do I make this stop.
I'm so fucking uncomfortable. I can feel sweat stains forming under my armpits, but the room is freezing. I tug on my shirt collar. It feels way too tight.
Am I having a panic attack? I don't think so. I've never had one before, and I don't have anxiety problems that I know of. Plus, I'm not really worried about anything right now, other than how to feel okay again.
Then, I see the calm in the storm. From a few yards away, the most random thing catches my eye. Elle is wearing this pretty pink nail polish.
It's sparkly, and every time she moves her hand, it reflects light differently. I'm so confused.
When Mr. York finishes teaching his lesson and lets us start our assignment, I'm still staring at Elle's nails. I can't look away. Needless to say, I don't finish the assignment. Or start it.
The bell rings, and everyone packs up their stuff and starts heading out. Without no control over my limbs, I get up and march over to Elle's desk.
"What do you want?" she asks when she sees me. She sounds really annoyed. I don't know if she's being rude because she hates me, but I probably deserve it.
"I, uh..." This is one of the few times in my life when my big, filterless mouth won't say something stupid.
"Can you move, please? I don't wanna be late to my next class. Not that you'd care."
I suck in a breath. "I just wanted to say that I... um..."
Elle narrows her eyes at me. "You what?"
YOU ARE READING
NATALIE
HumorHow much can lives change over the course of a high school football season? Just to clarify, we're talking about American football (the sport, not the band), aka gridiron football (or "retarded football", as my friend from another country would say)...