Freedom of Sketch

¡Ay, no!

I decide to skip Gym and sneak into Lizzie's AP Economics class so I can tell her all about the locker search and my headshrinking session with Linda. The teacher doesn't notice my intrusion; he's too busy spitting on the front row and holding up a large book as though he's giving a sermon.

Lizzie is slumped by the back window. I slip into a nearby seat and lean toward her. For some reason, her Spanish book is splayed upon her desk. "Lizzie," I whisper, "are you okay?" I tap one of the pages of her textbook. "Don't you know you're in Econ right now?"

"I'm just - I'm a little sick, is all." Her voice trembles and her words are slurred.

My heart quivers. "Lizzie - look at me."

She slowly turns her head. I gently brush her fragile blonde hair from her eyes, which fail to focus on anything. Her pinpoint pupils are glassy. She's frighteningly pale, with a blue tinge to her lips.

Me: "Oh, God...."

I glance down at her quivering hands, her nails painted a frosty white. I grab her wrist in alarm; her skin is as cold as marble. Tiny droplets of sweat glitter upon her ashen face like rhinestones. She breathes heavily, the contour of her rib cage rising visibly beneath her pink sweater with each labored inhalation.

"Lizard, what's going on?"

"My ears... they're ringing... everything is purple...."

I squeeze her icy fingertips. "Did you eat anything today?"

"I...f-forgot...." Her head dips forward.

"LIZZIE!" I shout.

Her eyes roll back and her slight body slackens. A beefy football stud lunges forward and catches her right before she hits the floor. Frightened gasps hover over our heads. Curious kids pop up from clusters of desks, phones out and prepared to catch the drama. I kneel down at my friend's side, grasping her tiny arm, urging her to wake up.

Mr. Simmons pages the school nurse, then wades through the mess of desks, chairs, and nosy adolescents to reach us. I refuse to leave Lizzie's side, despite the teacher barking at me to do so. Just as the nurse, Principal Matheson, and the school's resource officer enter the room, Lizzie's eyelids flutter open. Her fingers twitch, searching for an anchor in the surrounding chaos. She squints up at the ring of anxious individuals. The nurse pushes me aside and wraps a blood pressure cuff around Lizzie's arm. "I'm okay," Lizzie exhales. "R-really."

"Don't move," says the nurse, pumping up the cuff.

The seconds lumber by. Everyone is silent. I want to scream.

The nurse sighs. "Seventy-four over forty-eight. That's really low." She leans into Lizzie's face. "Have you had anything to drink today?"

Lizzie's peeling lips offer no words. She shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

The nurse turns to Principal Matheson, her mouth pressed into a hard line of annoyance. "Call an ambulance," she says, ignoring Lizzie's feeble objections. "This girl needs to go to the hospital - NOW."