As I reached for the handle, Deanna called out, “Wait. I made you a smoothie for the road. Extra protein to help with your episodes.”
She held out a travel mug, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the stainless steel. Something in her eyes made my skin crawl.
It wasn’t anger.
It was anticipation.
Like she was waiting to see if I would drink it.
“Thanks, but I’m running late,” I lied, practically running out the door.
Behind me, I heard her telling Dad how ungrateful I was, and his murmured agreement made my heart ache.
Outside, the air felt cold and clean and bright, the kind of crisp morning that should have sharpened my mind.
Instead, my vision swam for a second.
I swallowed hard, forcing my feet forward.
Chemistry test.
One thing at a time.
At school, my best friend Olivia took one look at me and frowned.
“You look like death warmed over,” she said, pulling me aside near the lockers. “This isn’t normal, Anna. How long are you going to ignore what’s happening?”
I slumped against the metal, exhausted.
My locker door reflected my face in a warped way—pale, lips too white, eyes too dull.
“What am I supposed to do?” I whispered. “Every time I mention feeling sick, Dad says I’m being dramatic. Deanna acts concerned, but…”
I trailed off, not wanting to voice my suspicions.
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