Page 37 of On the Bright Side
Afternoons are alwaysthe better half of the day. Following lunch and study hall with Jackson, I spend my time with my interpreter Kim, who is always so great and professional. I could fall asleep at my desk and she’d keep on signing. I think one time that actually happened.
It’s the morning classes with Pamela that are still the bane of my existence. Today, I was a few seconds late to first period, and she was so irritated. When I went to check my phone, she scooched her chair half an inch toward me as if to command my focus again. It’s not her job to make sure I’m engaged in class. All she’s supposed to do is provide access, and I can do whatever I want during class, like any other student.
“You need to pay attention,” she signed while the teacher was writing something on the board.
“Relax.” I rolled my eyes but put my phone away, lest she cause another scene.
Being watched so closely really keeps me on edge. She’s judgmental, especially at eight in the morning. She’s also way too friendly with my classmates. Whenever I ditch her between periods, she’s chatty with people in the hallway.What do they possibly have to talk about? And why is my interpreter more popular than me?It’s a lot.
Yet right now in AP English, I’ve already shared my thoughts on thePride and Prejudicechapters we covered this week, so I can zone out while Kim carefully details my classmates’ contributions that clearly show many of them didn’t read the pages.
Which, it’s a good thing I don’t need to be engaged on the subject at the moment because my mind is anywhere but the many literary merits of Jane Austen.
Jackson asked me out.
I haven’t been asked out…ever? Cody and I started dating so soon after we met as middle schoolers. There was never a does-he-like-me-or-not phase. We suddenly justwerea couple.
I’d be reading too much into whether we are just going to the museum as friends, but Jackson said it himself—this is a date.
I’ve got a date with Jackson tomorrow.
Chapter Sixteen
Jackson
I wake Saturdaymorning feeling poorly rested, but I don’t let that stop me from my usual routine. It was hard falling asleep last night since I’m a little nervous about going to the museum with Ellie.
We didn’t text much after school yesterday. I suggested a time to meet at her house. What kind of date takes place at 9:45 in the morning—andis centered around a homework assignment? Maybe, if this goes well, I can get another chance to impress her with something more interesting.
I prop myself on my elbow, trying to muster the energy to get out of bed, but my eyes are still closed. How did I not get enough sleep?Oof, I must not have had enough water yesterday. That’s gotta be it. It’s going to be one of those mornings where my start-of-the-day warm-up is a slog.
Barely opening my eyes, out of habit, I slide down to the carpet beside my bed to do sit-ups.
One.
Blegh, I’m hating this. It usually helps me get a good start to the day, but not if I must deplete all my energy fighting through it. I lie with my head on the ground. Taking a deep breath, I start again.
Two.
Nope, I’m dizzy as hell, as if I just stumbled off an amusement park ride rather than attempted a single sit-up.What is going on?
Lying down again, I realize I’m having difficulty seeing. The light fixture above me seems to be moving. It’s lurching back and forth across my vision. I take a deep breath.I’ll open my eyes again, and everything will be fine.
It’s not.
I stare ahead at the doorknob, not moving my eyes. I’m not moving my eyes at all. So why the hell does the handle keep darting off to the side like I’m in some sort of low-budget horror movie?!
I try to stand. Another bad idea.
The world has twisted.What kind of nightmare is this?The dizziness is all-consuming now. I can’t find my center of gravity or hold myself upright, even while sitting. Swaying forward and back, I bury my face in my hands, willing whatever this is to end. I press against the bedframe, hoping to steady myself.
Something is wrong.
I open my mouth to call for my parents, but no sound comes out. I don’t have the energy to vocalize. Grabbing the mattress, I try to pull myself up, opening my eyes a squint. I make it to the edge of the bed, which isn’t a victory because I can tell this is about to get a whole lot worse. An unpleasant sensation swirls in my stomach.
Yesterday’s dinner returns with a vengeance, shooting up my throat and pooling on the floor. I slide to the ground, narrowly avoiding the puke.
My parents must have heard something. I think they’re calling me from downstairs.Help, I try to say. But I can’t force the word out.
