Reason to Breathe by Rebecca Donovan Page B

My bangs were swept across my
forehead to conceal my bruise, and the bandages were barely
noticeable under the fan of hair.
    “Okay,” I demanded. “Why aren’t you talking
or looking at me?”
    “Emma,” she breathed in exasperation, “look
at you!”
    “What?” I defended, glancing back up at the
mirror. “I think I did a pretty good job of covering it up.”
    “That’s what I mean.” Her voice was shaky. It
sounded like she was going to cry. “You should never have to cover
anything up. I know you won’t tell me what happened, but I know you
didn’t fall . Will you at least tell me what it was
about?”
    “What does it matter?” My voice was small,
not anticipating the strength of her reaction. I wasn’t expecting
her to act like nothing happened, but I didn’t want her to cry.
    “It matters to me,” she choked. I watched her
blot her eyes with a tissue under her glasses.
    “Sara, please don’t cry,” I pleaded. “I’m
okay, I swear.”
    “How can you be okay with this? You aren’t
even angry.”
    “I’ve had the weekend to get past it,” I
admitted. “Besides, I don’t want to be angry. I don’t want to let
her get to me. I’m not okay with this,” I said pointing to my head,
“but what other choice do I have? I’ll deal with it. So please
don’t cry. You’re making me feel horrible.”
    “Sorry,” she murmured.
    We pulled into the parking lot, and she slid
off her glasses, blotting her eyes while looking in the rearview
mirror.
    “I’m okay,” she breathed, trying to produce a
smile.
    “How bad does it look? Be honest.”
    “You actually did a decent job hiding it,”
she admitted. “I’m having a hard time because I know the truth.”
And then again, she didn’t know the half of it.
    “If anyone says anything, because I know they
will, tell them I slipped on the wet floor and hit my head on the
coffee table.” She rolled her eyes at my lie.
    “What, do you have a better one?” I
countered.
    “No,” she sighed. “Keep the aspirin. I know
you’ll need them.”
    “Ready?” I asked tentatively. I didn’t like
seeing Sara upset, especially over me. The anger and sadness were
in complete contrast to her personality. It was uncomfortable to
witness.
    She released a heavy breath and nodded.
    I received a few questions about my injury
from some of my soccer teammates and other brave gossipers, but
most people just stared. I should’ve been used to the stares after
Friday’s disaster. I wished I invisible once again - or at least
ignorant of the gossip that was always happening around me.
    I found my way to English class without
having to explain my fall to more than two or three more
people. I sat in my usual seat, pulling out my paper to pass
in.
    “Does it still hurt?” Evan asked from the
chair next to mine. At that time, Brenda Pierce approached the seat
she’d been sitting in since the first day of class and scowled to
see it occupied. He smiled politely and shrugged.
    “Well, there’s one person who’s not going to
like you,” I said wryly, trying to avoid the question.
    “She’ll get over it,” Evan stated with little
interest. “So, do you still have a headache?”
    I drew my eyebrows together and reluctantly
admitted, “I took some aspirin this morning. So, it’s better, as
long as I don’t turn my head too quickly.”
    “That’s good,” he said casually. Everyone
else had asked what happened; no one bothered with how I was
feeling – until Evan.
    “How was the rest of your weekend?” Evan
whispered.
    “Okay,” I answered without looking over at
him.
    Ms. Abbott began with the class discussion,
handing out our newest reading assignment after we passed in our
papers. She also handed us a short story which she allowed us to
begin reading in class after she’d given us our writing
assignment.
    “Are we talking, or not?” Evan whispered when
Ms. Abbott stepped out of the room.
    “We are,” I glanced at him, confused.
“Why?”
    “I