Page 7 of Butterfly Effect

“Whatever.” Lad points out a few topics we can cover and when our time is up, we are both late for our next classes. We rush to set up a time for next week and as I shove my book in my bag, I make one last threat.

“If you ask to switch partners with me, I will tell the professor you are racist. I doubt you want that to tag along on your gleaming reputation.” I swing my backpack strap over my shoulder.

“My grandma is from Mexico.” Lad’s expression is priceless. Like how a quarter Hispanic man, who doesn’t look like he has any degrees of any foreign nationality, could possibly be a bigot.

Maybe bigot it is stretch, but the pretty boy in front of me has always been afraid what people would think of him if they knew he held other lines than the pure European genealogy of his mother.

“And I am half Japanese mixed with a few Indigenous tribes. We’re practically soulmates.” I go up on my toes with a smile. “Plus, I don’t like anyone else in our class.”

“You don’t like me, Alaska.” Lad rolls his brown eyes; what a shame he wastes all these good looks on being beautiful and petty, the perfect combination for America’s sweetheart, instead of a male escort, his true calling.

“True, but if it makes you feel better, I don’t like you least of all.” It’s a simple explanation that I don’t want to expand on at the current moment.

“Makes perfect sense.” Lad walks in front of me and even holds the door for me.

Shit, I should drop my shorts right now for him. I hope he doesn’t mind a screamer on his team of bandits he has banged.

“I thought so.” Too cheerful for my own good.

“See you next week, Alaska,” I swear his voice sounds disappointed, maybe because he doesn’t want us to wait that long without seeing each other. A vapid girl with no morals could only hope.

But I assume it is because I’ve become his worst nightmare, and I love reminding him of it, every chance I can.

The best part about Lad is he never brings up that night he found me in the ditch with my dead mother, and I don’t either, which makes us great partners.

Chapter 2

Aladden

Icruisedownthehallway, wave at a few people, but then launch myself into a dark corner and try to control my breathing. It’s a panic attack, that is what the doctors and Dad tell me.

Everything has changed over the past year. I was on my way to being an Olympic champion. But that one night, destroyed my dreams, my hope, and left me with more than a guilty conscience.

They started happening after the accident. But I can’t control them. I never once had them before a big competition. I was definitely too cocky to let something like fear get in my way of victory.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six.” I get to six and grab the bottle of pills in my bag. They are lost at the bottom pit and I am trying to control the chaos in my head, but I can’t reach it fast enough.

No, not here.I fucking beg,don’t let me break down here.Tension is building behind my ears; it is starting to drift down my neck between my shoulders. I can feel the uncomfortable shocks in my arms as I slump down to the floor.

I cover my head with my bag, hoping no one notices me. Classes have already started and I catch another lucky break. In my little cocoon, I allow my body to break it’s brave barrier. I lose control and fade into the panic. When I finally feel the jiggle of pills, I pull it out and pop some in my mouth without hesitating.

Two are for the invisible pain I can’t name or even face. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, but it does take the edge off and make me fly. Another is for anxiety, and I feel so exhausted I know I should swallow an Adderall. But my body doesn’t want to fight anymore today.

I know it is stupid to mix pills, uppers and downers, sideways and nose divers. But it is the only way to keep up with the demanding pressure if I want to make the Olympics before I am twenty-six.

They say the peak performance for Olympic swimmers is twenty-one to twenty-six. But of course, I have a goal to hit that before I turn twenty-two, twenty-six at the very latest. That is the only plan that matters right now in my life. I just hope I make it there in time before my body gives out.

Please don’t give out until I get one medal; let me get one gold medal and I will never show my face again.The pressure isn’t dwindling it resurfaces and attacks my body into paralysis again.

I sit there for ten minutes, maybe twenty, and I hate every minute of immobility. A place where I can’t convince my brain to move my body. The worst part of all is I can’t convince myself it is even worth it.

“Hey!” A voice literally makes me flinch from the surprise.

When I look up, it’s my arch nemesis.

“How long have you been standing there, Alaska?” I remove the contact in our eyes, hoping it will distract me from feeling pitied.

“Long enough to wonder why the fuck am I still holding your pen and why I even cared to return it?” It’s sweet, really, gentle even. I am glad she isn’t hovering over me. I want the bitchy attitude. The bitch I can deal with; I don’t think I can handle a nice nurse Alaska.

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