𝚂𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝙼𝚢 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 (Complete)

𝙱𝚎𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚅𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙰𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚎𝚜

Realization hits harder than a hundred bricks falling from the sky with lightning and a hail storm in pursuit. Then a second realization hits like boulders bigger than islands.

Tomorrow is Monday.

Tomorrow is school.

But most importantly: Tomorrow is the day I have to come within five feet of people. People who have most likely seen my viral video.

Ｓｃｈｏｏｌ

𝐀𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐞

Ｓｃｈｏｏｌ

𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

I've already dug six feet into my bedroom floor—not physically, obviously, since I would have fallen through the floor long ago and landed in the kitchen sink, which would be very unpleasant since my mom is washing the dishes...Emilie has come in ten times, complaining about the noise my feet are making on my carpet—I don't know if she has stellar hearing or she just wants to be annoying, and Mia has threatened to call the cops thirty times...no, forty, claiming that ruining her 'image' is enough to get me life in prison. At least I wouldn't have to go back to school if I were in prison.

"Okay, take a deep breath, Paris," I say to myself. "All you have to do is wear a disguise. Yes, a disguise. Perfect."

A sudden thump at my window makes me scream. My head snaps in the direction of the window and I see a face smushed against the glass. My eyes go wide at the sight. I narrow my eyes and stare for a minute longer before I finally recognize the face. I walk over to the window and open it. Immediately Lucas tumbles inside and lands on his face. He lets out a groan. I give him a curious look and then sit down in front of him with my legs crossed. "What are you doing here?" I question.

He unsticks his face from the floor and looks up at me, his soft brown hair falling in front of his eyes. His face immediately brightens when he sees me. "I was worried I had the wrong window!" he exclaims, not answering my question.

He holds out a hand for me to help him up, but I just rise to my own feet to stand above him with my hands on my hips. "What are you doing here?" I repeat.

He drops his outstretched hand. "Are you mad at me?"

I blink as thoughts from Saturday come rushing back. "No..." He raises one eyebrow. "Not really."

"You don't have to spare my feelings," he says, his eyes trailing back to the ground. "I know what happened is my fault."

"Lucas—"

He holds up a hand to silence me, refusing to detach his eyes from the floor. "I just want to know what happened. Do you have stage fright? I would have understood if you had explained before."

I take a deep breath before saying, "I'd rather not pour my feelings out to the back of your head. It just feels weird."

He nods and quickly rises to his feet. I gesture to my desk chair, and he sits down. When he doesn't speak, I realize it's now my turn to lead the conversation. I settle down on my bed, adjusting way more than is necessary before I finally take a deep breath and begin. "Yes, I have stage fright." When he looks guilty, I continue. "But I'm the one who chose to go on that stage. I really thought I could do it." I pause, looking down at my fingers clinging to my legs with burning eyes. "You know that feeling when you think you're absolutely sure you've gotten over something but in reality it's just dormant, waiting for the right trigger? Like a moment of embarrassment, triggered by a place or person, a strong fear...triggered by a certain face or expression..."