Breathe

Chapter One: Binti

Breathe. Just breathe. Don't freak out. Its just school. Just. School. Just normal teenage kids. Ready to eat you. To tear you apart, to feast on your naïve, homeschooled flesh.

Breathe. Breathe, Cady. It will all be ok.

Fear tingles through my veins, flooding my nervous system. Why, God, why did I have to do this? It was bad enough that I had to leave my home, the people and places I had always known and loved. I had to leave the sun-dried grasses of Kenya, the ground where I took my first steps, said my first words, found my love for nature and animal care. And now, I live here. Chicago. With my mom and dad, my only allies. Its gonna be a rough year.

"Cady? Honey, you have to get out of the car." My mothers voice snaps me back to reality. As do the car horns of the several angry mothers behind us. I swat down the passenger mirror to take one quick glance at myself, kiss my mom goodbye, and hop out of the car. "Hey, I love you, Binti. Good Luck." I smile warmly and give her hand a quick squeeze, pulling away to enter into the place that terrifies me most. I hear the sound of my mom's junky old Toyota four runner squeaking away down the road, and I realize I am now, truly, all alone.

The hallways of Northshore high are filled with every type of teenager there could be. Dancers, academics, jocks, jv jocks, girls who look like they eat their feelings and girls who look like they don't eat. They remind me of the animals back home, all different, all vulnerable, drinking from the watering hole, anticipating attack.

The school is bigger than I remember from orientation. The rooms seem larger, wider, the ceiling seems taller. It seems like every square inch of this place is covered with students. The walls are white, almost like an insane asylum. They should paint them pink, like the Swedish prisons do. It would make everyone more calm. I've never seen this many people in one place in my life. It's a tad terrifying.

Against the wall right by the girl's bathroom sits a blond girl. She's pretty, almost too pretty. She resembles a Barbie doll I once had in Kenya, except unlike my doll, she is not wearing safari gear, and is instead decked in full head to toe pink. She's talking to an equally pretty brunette girl wearing a lighter shade of pink. She's several inches shorter than the blonde girl, and her face exudes anxiety. She's frantically talking to the blonde girl and twirling her silky-looking hair around her fingers. My heart twinges, and I feel a pang of empathy for this girl. We've never spoken, yet I feel that we might be going through the same things. I make a mental note to reach out to her once I become more acclimated.

The rush of students pushes me from class to class. I swear, there were moments my feet didn't touch the ground. My pulse rushes, my hands become clammy, and I'm sure I'm sporting some serious pit stains. Great Cady. That's great. Have an anxiety attack your first day here. That will bring you friends. I swat the negative thoughts out of my head. I don't need them. Not here. Not today.

My anxiety isn't something I am ashamed of. I was diagnosed with mild anxiety when I was 8, after a sever anxiety attack for absolutely no reason at all. I was just 8 years old, walking with my dad to get water, my little feet kicking up dust and soaking up the Kenyan sun, when I started gasping for air. My eyes welled up with tears, my hands grew clammy, my mind started racing and my heart beating, and I couldn't focus. I couldn't breathe. It's something I live with and deal with, but I do NOT let it control me. I decided that when mom and dad told me we would be returning to America. Its my senior year, my name is Cady Heron, I am normal, and I will be ok. This mantra got me through the plane ride, and it will get me through this year. It has to. It will. I'm sure it will.

Somehow, by the grace of God, I make it to 4th period. Not without bumps, though. I was 4 minutes late, seeing as the bathroom line was 8 years long thanks to some girl puking her guts out in the only working stall. I creak the door open, hoping to slip in without notice. This, of course, is not the case.

"Ah. Miss Heron! Nice of you to grace us with your presence. Tell me, does Kenya have no punishment for tardiness?", My teacher mocks. The class laughs mildly, probably reveling in my embarrassment.

"No Maam, I mean Yes Maam, I mean-", I give up trying to retain dignity. "I'm sorry, the bathroom line was long."

Mrs. Whatever her name is snorts rudely, then motions for me to find a seat. I slip into the nearest one I can see, ready to end my public execution. Why, why do these things happen to me?

"I wouldn't sit there if I were you, Dawn Schweitzer saves it for her boyfriend. Hes not even here today, but she's an irrational bitch." A voice warns me from behind. Its soft and smooth, yet deep and a tad bit raspy, sending shivers down my spine. I ache to see who it belongs to, but decide against it, seeing as I don't want to further piss of the teacher whose name I still haven't learned. Dawn Schweitzer can deal with it for today.

"Ill find a new seat tomorrow, but I'm staying here today", I whisper back to the phantom voice behind me. I hear a faint laugh and am very aware that the owner of the voice is right behind me. I still don't turn around, pretending to care about the physics lesson. "Damn, she's a tough one. Good going." The voice commends. I smile shyly.

The rest of the class goes by quickly. Its mostly just a review of the previous year, and even though I didn't learn it at this school, I know basically all of the information. The bell rings before I even have time to pack up. I shove all of my pencils and books back into my beat-up Jan sport backpack I've had for 8 years. Then I remember the voice. I whip around to meet its owner, only to be greeted by an empty desk. Its bare, except for a very tiny "J.S." carved into the top right corner. I take note of it, gather the rest of my things, and head out.

Lunch comes next, thank God. I head towards the cafeteria, dodging jocks throwing footballs and girls sharing lip-gloss. The cafeteria is a sight to see. Hundreds of little circle tables surround giant buffet tables of mass-produced food. Jocks and Cheerleaders, nerds and "ethnic" kids all sit near each other, yet could not be more separated. Its nice, interesting, and slightly unsettling. It reminds me of Kenya.

Kenya. I miss it so much. I miss the sun, the water, the views. I miss the little beaten path I made when I was six, kicking dust and setting stones along it, guiding my family to the little stream near our camp. I miss the animals, the birds you heard at night and in the morning. I miss the smell of the grass right after rain, the feeling of mud and ground, real ground, not cement. I miss my home. My forever home. I miss it so much, I don't even realize that I've been standing in the same spot in the entrance to the cafeteria, eyes closed, smiling like a freak, for about two minutes. Crap.

I swing my eyes open, hoping nobody noticed. I see nobody, nobody seems to see me. I look from table to table, but I don't seem to see anyone who I could sit with. The bathroom seems to call my name. I make my first move in minutes, practically sprinting to the girl's bathroom stall. I throw the door open, looking in the mirror to see a girl I don't even like. She has light red hair, like me. Freckles, like me. She's wearing a flannel, dressed exactly like me. Its Cady. Anxious Cady. I recognize this girl. I haven't seen her in so long. Your quitting! Quitter! I feel a voice in my head yell. My hands get damp and sweat drops from my forehead. I force deep breaths out of my lungs. "No." I say, out loud. I'm not letting this get the best of me. I'm not quitting. I'm regrouping.

"Weirdo." I hear another voice, a real voice. I look up to see another girl, staring at me like in insane. I decide now is a good time to retreat. I choose the one farthest from the door, plop my bag down, and sit down, unwrapping the pb&j sandwich my mom made for me. Its gonna be a rough year.