Page 180 of The Darkest Chase

I wanted to be saved and transformed, never broken and weak again.

But Red Harrow didn’t rescue me.

He never even noticed me until one fine day when the ball got away from his friends on the paved lot they used as a court.

It came bouncing over to me.

I put my book down and picked it up, wobbling to my feet.

I couldn’t help staring.

I’d never held a basketball before, and the orange texture was interesting.

It was new and wonderful, and I was so absorbed in this simple experience that I didn’t notice Red jogging over until his voice hit me like a hammer.

“Hey, kid. Give the ball back.”

I froze. I couldn’t even lift my head, but I raised my eyes, staring at him.

My crush, so close I could smell him and see the cocky twist to his smirk. His bright-red hair was sweaty.

My heart beat so hard.

I opened my mouth, trying to speak.

But all that fell out was a long wheeze, like someone trying to blow into a flute and failing. Just this godawful flapping sound around the prongs of the oxygen tank’s hose, fitted in my nostrils.

First Red blinked.

Then he burst into the harshest laughter.

“The fuck? Are you deaf too? You sound like a donkey!”

My eyes burned.

I tried to protest—no, no, I’m a girl! I’m just a girl who loves you—but all that came out was another shrill wheeze.

Then a lot more of them, all loud, honking gasps.

An attack coming on so fast I barely felt it. I dropped the ball and I fumbled for my inhaler in my dress, my vision spinning.

Red didn’t rescue me that day.

He just watched and laughed.

Before it was over, he was mimicking my honking, flapping his arms like a demented goose and calling his friends over to join in.

I could only half hear them over my wheezing breaking into sobs.

All while the boy I naively loved mocked me and called me a flipping donkey.

They were still doing it by the time I shoved the inhaler in my mouth and eased that killing tightness.

While I tried to breathe, I glared at them through the tears, tried to make my quivering lips work to speak, to shout, to tell them to go straight to hell.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t curse those rotten kids.

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