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AVA

"How are you today, Ava?" Paula asked me. She's the school counceler I've been talking with since my panic attacks got worse. 

"I'm fine." I said. It was my favorite thing to say. 'I'm fine'. But today, right this moment, I actually felt fine. 

"That's good to hear. How are your classes?" Paula always asked the same questions. I didn't mind, though. I like things I can predict before it happens. I can't worry about it, then. 

"They are also fine." I answered. 

"How's your dad?" 

Even though she always asks, I always feel uncomfortable talking about my dad. 

"He's pretty much back on track." I say. "He's actually looking for a job now. So I'm proud of him." 

Ever since my mom died, my dad collapsed. He stopped going to work. He stopped taking care of himself. He stopped taking care of us. He stopped getting out of bed in the morning. 

He wasn't really looking for a job. But I couldn't tell Paula he was still in bed, and that he couldn't take care of me and my one and a half year old brother. 

What if she reports it to child support? What if they took us away from my dad? He would kill himself.

And it would be me to blame.

"That's great, Ava!" Paula says. "What job is he applying for?" 

"Just.. An office job." I lie. 

"That's really a good thing, Ava. Are you still keeping track of your notebook?" 

"Yes." Another lie. 'The notebook' was just this boring, plain notebook she gave me to write in all my positive thoughts. I didn't have any positive thoughts lately, though, so there was just the first page with "I started therapy" and that's right about it. 

"I'm proud of you!" She sounds like a mother. I give her a smile. 

"And how are your panic attacks?" 

I've had one this morning. I woke up with my mind full of negative thoughts. Another day dropping my little brother off at daycare, payed by the money I earn at the club I work at. Another day of walking passed my dad's bedroom, to see him lying there on the bed, the sleeping pills on his bedside table. I couldn't keep up with my breath. My heart clinched together. It felt like I was dying. My lungs were on fire, sweat was running down my back. 

But I didn't want to talk about it. Talking about it brings me back to that moment. What if I had one again?

"Just one, this week." I decided to answer. 

 "That's also an improvement!" 

And that's what I like about Paula. She doesn't catch my lies.

--

"Hey there little bud!" I say when I see my little brother. The moment he sees me, he runs up to me with his little legs. 

I bend over and lift him off the ground. "Did he behave?" I asked Anna, the daycare taker. 

She smiles at my brother. "He sure did." Then she looks at me. "Can I talk to you, though?" 

My heart chlunches. I feel a panic attack coming up. No. I tell myself. Not now, please.

"Your father still has to pay for this month. Can you tell him?" 

My vision started to blur. Breathing was getting harder.

It's fine. I tell myself. It's nothing bad. You're not dying. Chris is not dying. Your dad is not dying.

I nodd, not able to speak. 

Thankfully, Anna doesn't seem to notice. "Great," She says, and tosses through Chris' hair. "Then I see this little kid tomorrow!" 

--

"Can I pick up an extra shift this week?" I ask my boss on the phone. 

"Are you free from school?" He asks. 

"I'm not. But it's fine, there's nothing important going on." 

"I don't know, Ava. We have all shifts covered for this week. You are planned friday, saturday and sunday night." 

"I know," I try not to sound too desperate. "I just need a little more." 

Henry, my boss, sighs. "You can come in wednesday and thursday night. Good?" 

I sigh with relief. "You're the best, Henry."