Street Girl

04 | elliot

But it's like the closer I get to drafting season, the more faraway it seems. I never thought my confidence would start to crack like this.

"What is it?" Mrs. Pickle presses. "I'm told you're playing even better this year than you did the last. Didn't you win the game the other night?"

"Yeah, our team won. I scored three goals, but my coach and my dad still think it 'wasn't my best game.'"

"And that bothers you?"

"Yeah. A lot." I tug at a loose string on my tan slacks. "It's like even at my best, I'm never good enough."

"But you're breaking junior records all over the country. I saw the interview you did on TV last month, and you seemed very confident."

"Yeah, that's true," I say, but the sun was brighter last month.

"So why aren't you happy now?"

"Because what if what happened last year happens again?"

Her lips purse, followed by a long-winded sigh. "Elliot, I think you should go back to seeing your regular psychiatrist. She can help—"

"No." When she flinches, I clear my throat. "I mean, no thanks. Really. I don't want pills again."

Last season was terrible enough. I'd started out stronger than ever, like I was on top of the world and nothing could hold me down. Even Mason, the cockiest guy I've ever met, told me that I was getting too cocky. Apparently people didn't like me as much as I thought they did.

But then things got dark again. For the rest of the season, it rained and rained and rained. Months of blackness I can barely remember.

It happens sometimes, ever since I was a kid. It's easier to think of my mood swings like storms—some of them last months, others days or weeks, and sometimes it rains harder than others, but the sun always comes out again, even when it feels like it never will. That's how it was explained to me when I was a kid, and I guess it's always stuck. Things have been turning grey again lately, but I can't tell if the storm will pass or turn into a hurricane.

Last year was a fucking category five.

Memories of the night that changed everything force themselves into my head, and every muscle in my body turns to stone. The night I lost my friends. The night people saw me for who I really am. They ditched you for a reason. I clench my teeth hard to block out the noise.

"Elliot," Mrs. Pickle says, and I focus on her voice. "Where are you right now?"

"I'm okay." I stand and sling my side pack over my shoulder. "Uh, I know it's early, but can I go now please?"

With a sigh, Mrs. Pickle nods. I hurry out of her office into the brightly-lit hallway. My heart pounds as the panic attack turns on, so I dive at the water fountain and drink as much as I can.

God, get a grip.

Standing upright, I lean my back against the wall and shut my eyes before taking a deep breath. Okay, I'm good. I'm in public—I have to be good. The lunch bell rings, and the hall quickly floods with students.

"Hi, El," Amber and Macy say as they pass me, and I wave at them with a lazy smile, still catching my breath. Eric and Mason walk together ahead. They don't even glance at me as they pass, like I'm totally invisible.

I'm about to take off when Katie exits the History room. I've been wanting to tell someone about what happened on Friday—about the girl trying to steal from my shed—but Katie's probably having lunch with Luke, so I should catch her before he makes his appearance. These days, it's hard to get five minutes alone with Katie, even though we both work at FarmCo together.