Reason to Breathe

She opened the middle drawer of her vanity that displayed every shade of lipstick and nail polish on the market, and took out a comb and pair of professional shears. She invited me to sit as she laid a towel on the floor to capture the clippings, and attaching another around my shoulders. “No one’s going to recognize you tonight.”

That wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Sara drew the comb through my hair and clipped portions of it up. I felt the weight begin to fall and decided it was best to keep my eyes shut and let her concentrate – or to keep me from panicking as more hair fell to the floor. Sara sung along with the music as she combed, clipped, and cut. Before I knew it, she plugged in the hair dryer and ran it over a round brush as she styled my hair.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Sara instructed as she spread eye shadow along my lids with her cool fingers.

“Sara, please don’t make me look ridiculous,” I pleaded.

“I’m barely putting any on. I promise.” The bristles of a brush streaked across my cheeks. “What do you think? Em, open your eyes!” she demanded impatiently.

I slowly opened my eyes to view the transformation. My dark brown hair gently rested on my shoulders, and layers of bangs softened my heart shaped face. I found myself smiling.

“I like it,” I admitted. She hadn’t put much make-up on, to my relief - just a slight shimmer on my lids and hint of pink to my cheeks, which wouldn’t be needed if I was anywhere near Evan.

“Here,” Sara said handing me a tube of lip gloss and mascara. “I thought it would be easier if you put these on yourself. I’m going to get ready in the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

While Sara was drying and styling her hair, I sat on one of the beds and flipped through the latest women’s magazine with articles on how to be more aggressive and the fastest way to lose ten pounds. When she glided back into the room, she radiated with loose curls of shiny red hair and just enough makeup to show off her blue eyes and pouty red lips. It deflated me a little.

“What’s wrong?” Sara asked, reacting to my sunken shoulders.

“Are you sure you want me to go with you? I don’t want it to be awkward for you having me tagging along when I know everyone will want to talk to you.”

She scowled and threw a pillow at me. “Shut up. Of course I want you to go with me. Why should this be any different than any other day? If people talk to me, and I want to talk to them, I will. It’s never bothered you before.”

I looked at the floor, recognizing my nerves were getting the better of me – and it really had nothing to do with Sara’s popularity. “You’re right. Sorry, I’m just getting a little paranoid about going.”

“We’ll have fun, I promise.” Sara flashed the whites of her teeth from between her shiny red lips. She went back into her closet and threw something out in my direction. “This white scarf goes perfectly with that sweater, and it will keep you warm, so you won’t miss not having a jacket.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed the fuzzy scarf and wrapped it around my neck as I stood in front of the mirror. Sara was right - I did look different.

“This is going to be the best night,” Sara reassured me when we got into her car to drive to the school. She was so excited she could barely contain her energy, which made me smile. I made an effort to let go of the anxiety that’d been building. I could do this. I could be social. Okay, let’s not go that far. I would not be completely pathetic – that sounded better. Who was I kidding?

5. Fading

When we pulled in, the parking lot was filling with cars, and spectators were making their way to the ticket booth in a steady drove. A jolt of panic rushed through my body. I knew I was being ridiculous - this was only a high school football game - but I might as well have been walking to school naked. Sara jumped out of the car and yelled to a group of girls who were lost in a giggling conversation while heading toward the stadium.

“Sara!” they screamed in unison and ran to her, receiving her with hugs and gleeful babble. I followed behind her, suddenly feeling overly exposed in the fitted sweater - the fashionable scarf doing little to conceal the low neckline.

“Emma?!” Jill Patterson exclaimed in shock. Everyone turned to gawk at me. The fire ignited in my cheeks. I knew the artificial color would be unnecessary.

I forced a smile with my lips pressed together and waved casually.

“Wow, you look great,” another girl declared in disbelief. The rest of the girls offered similar gushing compliments.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, wishing I was invisible again.

Sara linked her arm through mine and led us to the ticket booth with a prideful smile. I took another deep breath and prepared myself for whatever the night presented. Unfortunately, there were many more reactions of astonishment and gawking

There was a lot of stares, whispers, and comments about my presence and transformation, but not a lot of conversation. It was evident no one knew what to say to me any more than I knew what to say to them. So I sunk into the metal bleachers and engrossed myself in the football game. Sara cheered for Jason and watched as much as she was allowed. She was often drawn away by just about everyone passing by, including some of the parents who were there to support the local high school football team or their son who was on the field - or bench. I couldn’t get over how many people she knew and how effortlessly she’d come up with a witty remark or a kind sentiment. I should’ve taken notes.

During the third quarter, I decided to get a hot chocolate while Sara walked off toward the school with Jill and Casey to use the restroom, talking and giggling about something. While I waited in line, I scuffed the ground with my foot, lost in the booming voice of the announcer calling the last play as Weslyn continued to move the ball down the field.

“Not a bad game, huh?” His voice carried through the cheering crowd and the deep voice of the announcer. I turned to find Evan behind me, holding his camera.

“No, it’s a pretty good game,” I replied, struggling to find my voice. The sweater suddenly felt stifling as my cheeks set aglow once again, ignited by the frenzied beating in my chest. “Are you covering the game for the paper?” As soon as I said it, I knew it was a dumb thing to say. Of course he was covering the game - I assigned him the coverage!

“Yeah,” he said holding up his camera, dismissing my ignorance. “I thought I heard you didn’t go to the games?”

“I’m staying over Sara’s tonight,” I answered, thinking that would be enough of an explanation for him as it was for everyone else. But he appeared confused. I paused to recall the answer Sara had prepared.

“I’m usually so busy with school and everything that I don’t get out much. It worked out that I could tonight.”

The line continued to move forward, I stepped up. Evan followed.

“Oh,” he replied. I could tell he still wasn’t satisfied with my answer. “Are you and Sara going to the party after the game?”

“I think so,” I said tentatively. “Are you?”

“Yeah. I’m supposed to follow some of the guys from the soccer team over there.”

I nodded, not knowing what else to say. I turned back toward the counter, thinking this would give him the opportunity to escape and go back to taking pictures of the game. I remained facing forward, not looking back to see if he’d walked away. I ordered a hot chocolate and turned to find him still waiting for me.

“Do you want to walk around with me while I take a few more pictures?” My heart stopped again. I wished it would decide if it was going to pound out of my chest or fall out. The stopping and starting was getting to be a bit much.

“Sure,” I heard my mouth say, before my brain registered what I’d agreed to do. He smiled, and my heart took off beating at its exhaustive pace again.

“So, you’ve decided to talk to me,” Evan observed, looking at the ground as he walked next to me.

“I shouldn’t. But, it’s only a matter of time before you see that I’m not that interesting, and you’ll let me fade into the background like everyone else.”

He laughed and studied me, uncertain if I was serious. I was bewildered by his reaction.

He drew his eyebrows together with a smile and said, “I actually think you’ve become more interesting now that you’ve decided to talk to me, whether you should or not.” I groaned. He smiled bigger and added, “Besides, I don’t think it’s possible for you to fade. Well, at least not in that sweater.”

All of the blood in my body rushed to my face. “It’s Sara’s sweater,” I confessed, looking at the ground to conceal the drastic color change.

“I like it,” he admitted. “It’s a good color on you.” Maybe talking to him wasn’t such a good idea after all. This was way more than I bargained for. What was I supposed to do with a comment like that? I took a sip of my hot chocolate, and sucked air between my teeth as the scalding liquid soaked into my tongue.

“Too hot?” he observed.

“Yeah – I don’t think I’ll be able to taste anything for a week.”

He smiled again. I decided my heart had been tortured enough by his smile and stared back at the ground.

“I have a bottle of water in my bag, by the team’s bench, if you want.”

“No, that’s okay, thanks. The damage is done.” Before I knew it, we had circled back around and were walking in front of the bleachers where the cheerleaders encouraged the crowd to spell “Weslyn”. I glanced up into the stands to locate Sara. She waved to me and pointed to Evan with her mouth open in disbelief. I shrugged in return, turning away before he noticed.

“Have you met many people yet?” I asked, trying to sound casual. It occurred to me that maybe he kept harassing me because he didn’t know anyone else. Why he chose me was another mystery.

“Actually, I have,” he answered sincerely, to my dismay. “It helps to be on the soccer team and involved with the paper. It gives me an excuse to talk to people. Someone’s always eager to fill me in on who’s who. That’s how I learned more about you – which was harder than I thought it was going to be.”

Before I could question what he found out, he continued with, “So you’re name’s actually Emily, huh?”

I nodded with a slight shrug.

“Then how come everyone calls you Emma?”

It had been awhile since anyone needed this explanation, but I found myself being more honest than I had with the others. "My dad used to call me Emma."

And I left it at that, and so did he.

We’d passed the bleachers and were standing in their shadows along the track. The cheering and announcing drifted away with the quickening of my pulse as panic raced through my body. I needed to know what he’d found out about me but was afraid to know at the same.

Unable to stop myself, I finally asked, “What else could you have possibly learned about me?”

He smirked and replied, “Besides the obvious – your perfect GPA, involved in three varsity sports, and all of that?”