How to Disappear Completely by Ali Standish

How to Disappear Completely by Ali Standish

Author:Ali Standish
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-03-22T16:00:00+00:00


28

I know I’m going to be in trouble for skipping first period, but anything is better than facing what’s beyond the bathroom door.

Between first and second period, a group of girls comes in talking about me.

“I can’t believe she would come to school,” says one. I don’t recognize her voice.

“Seriously. It’s like she doesn’t care that she’s putting all of us in danger. So wrong.”

I put my palms over my ears and press as hard as I can.

When I drop my hands, the girls are gone, but the door soon swings open again.

“Emma?” Fina calls softly. “Are you in here?”

I bite my lip and say nothing, and after a minute, she leaves.

A little while later, someone else comes in and knocks on the door of my stall. “Emma? It’s Ms. Singh.”

When I don’t answer, she adds, “I know you’re in there. Fina told me.”

Fina must have recognized my shoes. Slowly I get up and unlock the door. Ms. Singh stands on the other side. “We have to stop meeting like this, Emma,” she says with a hint of a smile that I can’t return.

“Did Fina tell you why I’m here?” I ask.

Ms. Singh shakes her head. “Do you want to tell me?”

“No,” I say. I don’t ever want to repeat the things I read on that website, or the lies Edie wrote about me to everyone.

“Well, I can’t let you stay in this bathroom all day,” she says.

“I can’t go to class.”

She hesitates for a moment. “Then I’ll take you to the office,” she says finally. “And you can call your parents to come get you.”

I nod, and let Ms. Singh lead me out of the bathroom and into the empty hall.

She waits while I call Mom from the office. I tell her I have a stomachache, and she says she’ll be here soon. Ms. Singh is frowning at me when I hang up. “A stomachache, huh?”

I shrug. I feel exhausted all of a sudden.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what’s wrong?” she asks. “I could help.”

I shake my head. “Really, it’s okay, Ms. Singh. Thanks for letting me call my mom.”

“No problem, Emma. I hope you feel better.”

Shooting me one last look of concern, she turns and walks out the office door.

When Mom arrives, I have to fight the urge to run to her and wrap my arms around her and cry into her shoulder. Instead, I focus hard on making up answers to the questions she immediately starts asking. Do I feel nauseous? Have I thrown up? Do I have any other symptoms?

When we get home, she sends me to bed and brings up some ginger ale and crackers. Boomer follows her and jumps onto the bed. Mom sits next to me and runs her fingers across my back the way she used to when I was little and woke up from a nightmare.

Things were so much easier back then, when nightmares were only in dreams.

I wish so bad I could tell Mom what is really wrong.



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