Page 105 of Absorbed

“No. I don’t know. I just can’t sit at home worrying. I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is…” Stacey shook her head and looked at the blank wall over her shoulder, and whispered, “...blood.”

“What?” Ms. Moreno gasped. “Please, Stacey, look at me. Anything you say can be just between us.”

Tears spilled over the swollen pink rims of Stacey’s eyes. She sniffed, still avoiding her teacher’s gaze. “Everyone already knows.”

“Okay. That’s okay.” Ms. Moreno got up and pulled her stool beside Stacey’s. She laid her arm on the table and gently touched Stacey’s elbow. “Then there’s really nothing to worry about. Talk to me.”

Stacey’s breath quivered as she tried to get the words out. “Jessie broke his neck. He’s in the hospital. A man died in the pool.”

Ms. Moreno’s hand drifted to her mouth. “Oh no,” she whispered.

Stacey’s eyes finally met Ms. Moreno’s. Her words began flying out frantically. “I’m a terrible person. Jessie and I had sex. Then I spread rumors about him at a party after I saw himwith another girl. Now his life is ruined. And it’s my fault.” She covered her face with her hands, sobbing into them.

“What do you mean it’s your fault? How did he get hurt?”

“He wasn’t supposed to be lifeguarding!” Stacey’s lip trembled. “It was my shift. But…I was taking a pregnancy test in the bathroom, and he covered for me. We both needed to know if I was. I think he was distracted. Then the man was drowning, and Jessie dove in to save him, but it was where the water was too shallow!”

Ms. Moreno stood and put her arms around Stacey. “That is SO much to deal with.”

“That’s not all!” Stacey lifted her head up, desperate to pour the whole truth out. “I’m a horrible person. I got totally trashed at a party and made out with a guy I barely know. He almost…I…” Stacey’s voice was panicked. “…I was unconscious, and my friend Gabe had to punch him to get him off of me, and…”

“Shhhh…” Ms. Moreno sat on her stool and took Stacey’s hands between her own. “Let’s breathe. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Stacey’s eyes skipped back and forth between Ms. Moreno’s. “It’s not okay! Nothing is okay! Not anymore!!!”

“You can tell me everything. From the beginning. But, first, let’s try to calm down.” Ms. Moreno took a long, slow breath in through her nose, and let it out audibly through her mouth.

Stacey shook her head and swallowed hard. She felt sick and sad and angry all at once. Like if she stopped trying to hold herself together she really would fragment into a million pieces.

“You can do this, Stacey. Just breathe in for three, hold it, then out for three. I promise, it will help.”

Stacey's lips curled over her front teeth as she slowly pulled air in through her nostrils and held it. Her mouth fell open as she gasped the air out.

“Good. Let’s do that again a few more times. Slowly.” Ms. Moreno continued demonstrating with her own breaths as Stacey followed her direction.

Stacey slowly relaxed with each breath.

“Okay,” Ms. Moreno said. “Now, I’m sure there are so many things running through your mind. And, like I said, I’m here and will listen to everything. But I have an idea that I think will help you stay calm while you talk. It’s something I learned to do when I’m stressed that helps me process everything. Wanna try?”

Stacey felt her eyebrows squeeze together, confused.Art? Now?“What is it?”

“It’s mostly a way to get a mess of thoughts out of my head. Sometimes they’re ideas or things I’m confused about, but a lot of the time it’s things that are bothering me. Things that upset me so much, I have a hard time letting them go.”

“So, this project—whatever it is—helps you let it go?” Stacey wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Yeah, actually. It’s worth a shot, right?”

Stacey shrugged. “I guess.”

“K. Sit tight.” Ms. Moreno said, patting Stacey quickly on the knee.

She pulled several sheets of watercolor paper from a drawer, and a sheet of brown cardstock. She pulled open the art supply closet and rummaged around for a long piece of twine.

At her desk, Ms. Moreno folded the stack of paper in half, cardstock on top, then opened it again. She used an extra-long stapler to bind the pages together along the fold in three places, securing the twine under the center staple atop the cardstock cover. She grabbed a similar-looking booklet from her purse and brought both over to the table, setting them in front of Stacey.

Stacey sat, chewing on her fingers.

“I’ve never shared my journal with anyone,” Ms. Moreno said, holding up the worn booklet, covered in sketches and stickers.“But it will give you an idea of what I’m trying to explain.” She started slowly flipping through the pages.

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