Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap. Marissa Fletcher tapped her pencil on the back of my chair, and Lainey Trombley smacked her gum loudly in front of me. Smack. Smack. Smack. I shook my head and blocked them out, attempting to keep their sounds from invading my thoughts, sending me into a downward spiral. I stared down at my paper. Algebra. I stared blankly at the page for a while, willing my brain to make sense of the numbers and letters on my page, to somehow logic them into something, anything that made sense to me. Nothing. I give up, I thought. Standing up, I brushed myself off, ambled up to Ms. Martin’s desk, grabbed the bathroom pass and walked out. The hallway was completely empty. Everyone was in class. I turned the corner and sat down next to the door of the bathroom, eyes closed. I could not take that test. Too much going on in my brain to focus on anything. I rested my forehead on my hands and focused on breathing so I could go back inside and take that damn test. I tried the counting exercise Davis and I had worked on to count the anxiety out of my brain. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seve-
“Waiting for the restroom?” I looked up, and there was a girl staring down at me, boyfriend in tow.
“Um...no. I just needed to get out of class.” I stammered, blinking up at them.
“Oh...ok! Well, is anyone in there?” She asked sweetly, feigning innocence.
“I doubt it,” I responded. “Go ahead.”
The girl giggled and dragged her boy into the restroom behind her. I put my head back in my hands and attempted to refocus myself. I could still hear the girl laughing, followed by shuffling, followed by a series of truly comical sounds I wished I’d never heard. I give up. I thought with a sigh. I pushed myself up off the ground and tried to find another place to get my brain back in order.
I passed classroom after classroom, row after row of lockers, until I found a cranny between a row of lockers and the wall. I crammed myself into it and resumed my head-in-hands, curled up state. One. Two. Three. Four. I counted the unneeded worries out of my head. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. I got myself back into the state of mind to do algebra. Nine. Ten. Elev-
“Are you ok?” A voice said from above me.
I sighed. “Give me a second and I will be,” I responded, not taking the time to look up at the voice. I continued to count. Ten. Eleven. but my rhythm was off. I couldn’t take the worries out anymore. I give up. I thought. I decided to let them sit for a while, see what they would do, see if they’d go away on their own. I opened my eyes to a pair of high-top, all-black converse. I looked up at the voice. He was almost too backlit to make out, but the silhouette of his curly hair shone, a halo that felt as if it were made of dreams. He held out his hand and I took it, pulling myself up. I dusted my jeans off and squinted at him. Now I could see his face, his brown locks and sun-baked, freckled skin which gave off an air of innocence almost clashing with each other. I wasn’t sure what to make of this boy. He wasn’t conventionally good-looking, but he was attractive in an almost bohemian way. He seemed nice enough, though “nice enough” these days could be anything. He could be a serial killer or a rapist for all I knew.
“You good?” He asked, flashing me a toothy grin. “You looked like you were having a bit of a hard time down there.”
I laughed, shrugging it off. “Something like that, I guess.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and started back towards algebra.
“Waitwaitwait” He stepped in front of me, light on his feet. “Are you sure? Because you really seem like you could use a break from class.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to skip class with you?” He suddenly seemed a lot less nice.
“Nonononono!” He exclaimed, flustered and flailing for words. “I just meant that you don’t seem like you should go back to class yet.”
“I think I’m good, thank you.” I pushed past him. I give up. I thought as I stomped back to class, leaving nice-boy behind me. Some people just don’t know when to back off. If I don’t want to TALK about algebra-induced anxiety attacks, then leave me alone. As I walked back to my algebra test, past the rows of lockers and the classrooms, past the still giggle-filled bathroom, I couldn’t help but think that nice-boy was probably just trying to help, that I was being insensitive. As I placed the pass back on the desk and took my seat, I considered whether I was mean to that kid, or was I just doing what I needed to do? I sighed, clearing my head for the task ahead. I looked down at the paper and the anxieties fell away as I lost myself in the math.