Just Breathe // Jerome Jarre

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

 I was about five breaths short of a panic attack. Professor Ames knew this as he regarded me behind circular spectacles. His wide brown eyes swam behind those fingerprint smudged lenses and I took another shaky breath. My bag suddenly felt ten times heavier, sliding down my shoulder. Pushing a strand of dark brown hair behind my ear, I looked down at my French paper. There it was, written in bold. F; I had received an F.

 “I don’t understand, Professor Ames,” I began, a slight tremor rocking my voice. “I thought this paper represented the history of France appropriately.”

            Professor Ames folded his hands together and dodged my statement like a bullet. “Ms. Cross, if you wish to remain enrolled in my class, you are going to have to bring up your grade.”

            “How do you expect me to do that with my army of D’s and F’s?” A thick layer of sarcasm dominated my voice and Professor Ames didn’t appreciate that. His eyebrows sloped downward, knitting together to express his discomfort.

            “Lead your army, Ms. Cross. If you cannot do that, I’m afraid I’ll have to remove you from you my roster, malheureusement.” Lowering his gaze, he sifted through the pile of ungraded papers on his desktop and winced a little.

            “Bien,” I mumbled, tucking the disappointing paper into the front pocket of my bag. Just then my phone beeped and I knew it would be Lacey, my best and only friend. She was probably wondering what was taking me so long—we had plans to meet at our favorite café for a drink after class. After absorbing Professor Ames’ mini-speech, I was suddenly too worried about my boatload of homework to think about meeting Lacey.

            It beeped again and I sighed, figuring a dose of caffeine couldn’t hurt.

            “Au revoir, Ms. Cross,” Professor Ames said, derailing my train of thought. He twiddled his red pen back and forth between two long fingers.

            I suppressed a long sigh. “Merci.” Trudging out of his room, I took my phone out of its respective pocket and opened Lacey’s text.

            Come on, hurry up now. X

            Lacey Godfrey came from England when she was fourteen. She was undoubtedly the best, best friend ever. I grinned down at her text and shook my head. If I had to choose any word from the English language to best describe her, impatient would be it. Dwelling on Lacey’s antics, I almost missed the flash of neon yellow out of the corner of my eye. Turning back, I examined the bulletin board hanging just outside Professor Ames’ room. Tacked to it was a stack of bright yellow flyers—a tutoring team advertising their services. It read: Struggling in one or more of your classes? Get help—today! Contact Eleanor in the library for more information.

            Throwing a glance at Professor Ames through his open door, I untacked one of the flyers and creased it right down the middle. Elbow deep in papers, he was completely oblivious to what I was about to do.