The next morning at school, we get a surprise in Chemistry.

After my poor night's sleep, I'm more anxious than the previous day, feeling uncertainty churn in my gut. I can tell myself there's no reason to feel this way, but it does little to console me. With every appeasing word I think, I have something to combat it with and little in the mood for any surprise.

Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out.

"Today will be our first experiment of the semester," O'Brians says. "l know, be careful not to knock anything over in your ecstasy. But do feel free to read the full instructions before beginning. You will be paired in two's, which if you didn't already guess, is kind of a given. I'll make rounds afterwards to score your success."

I gnaw on my lips, nearly drawing blood. Ignoring my sweaty palms, I put on the safety goggles, pull out my textbook, and start reading. Glancing sideways, I see that Daren isn't bothering with his own and scoot mine over so he can look it over, too. I almost have to crane my neck with how much space I attempted to put between us.

"I know the experiment," he says, nudging my book back to me.

A part of me highly doubts that, but I don't fight it. "All right. Um. First we have to put the-"

He grabs one of the vials and starts mixing them and I read as he does it, trying to make sure he is doing it correctly. Sure enough, they match the directions and I have to squander my inexplicable annoyance that rises inside me.

"Safety goggles, Mr. Pierce," O'Brians calls to him, tapping his temple. "We don't want anyone to have a burned cornea."

I watch as Daren puts on his goggles and continues the work. A bad odor wafts up from the mixture, forcing me to breathe through my mouth. "Now, we use the hydrofluoric acid-"

"You don't have to narrate," he says, eyes meeting mine behind his wide frames.

I take another breath through my mouth, trying not to visualize the smell going down my throat. "I would like to get a decent grade," I tell him, an edge to my voice. "And this is a two person endeavor, which includes me."

"Hand me that vial," he says, looking back to his work. I reach over and snatch up what he asks for.

"Pour one tablespoon into it and I'll write it down," he says, inexplicably switching. I look into the rest of the concoction and add the contents of the vial to it. Abruptly, it starts to fizz and expand, blowing up like a blue balloon and over the edge. I forget to breathe through my mouth and the smell of it burns its way up my nose and I resist the urge to cough. Dizziness swirls around me, striking fear into my gut.

You're fine. Just breathe.

Get out.

I take another breath through my mouth. The feeling intensifies.

I become estutely aware of my breathing, breathing too much or not enough and I sit back down, imagining falling off my seat, staring up at curious faces.

"Mr. O' Brians," I call, just above a cracked whisper. i try to keep the note of desperation out as I ask "may I go to the bathroom?"

"We're just wrapping up, Miss. Mickenry," he says. "I'm just going to score you and then you are free to leave."

Trapped.

I run a nervous hand through my hair, pressing my gloved hands against my face.

"Mr. O'Brians," a different voice calls and I look at Daren, who is still working. "She's reacting to the smell," he says, matter-of-fact.

I purse my lips. Great. Now everyone knows. I'm just the dot against the canvas, singled out, made known. I shouldn't care. I don't know why I care. But people are looking now and the dizziness seems to worsen.

The fear of blacking out rises like a mountain inside me.

Mr. O'Brians steps over. I picture his head hovering above me. "Are you feeling all right, Miss. Mickenry?" he asks.

Get out. I want out!

"Dizzy," I say, eyes still closed. My voice sounds weak. Please stay on the chair, please stay on the chair.

"Mr. Pierce, perhaps you wouldn't mind escorting her out to get some fresh air. When you return, I'll give you your score."

I feel the urge to protest. To tell him no. Everything in me repels the thought of being walked like a child outside, especially with him. Not that I'm already casting judgment onto him, but because being around him makes me uncomfortable, and I'm uncomfortable enough as it is.

"Fine," he says, and stands. He walks behind my chair and waits a moment before grabbing me by my arm.

His hand is warm. Or maybe I'm just cold, but it sends an awkward sensation coursing down through my fingertips.

I gently pull myself off the stool, ignoring the  ground as the world loses its axle and just revert my attention to one foot in front of the other. Daren seems indifferent as he leads me out of the door, holding it open for me as he continues to hang on to my arm. It feels like my mind is battling with itself, one side is trying to compel me to run to the door as fast as I can, the other part has me too terrified to move, wondering why the floor is moving that way.

I stumble ahead of Daren, until he has to speed-walk to keep ahold of me. I think I'm swerving, but I don't care.

I don't care.

"The door is this way," Daren says, turning me down a hall in the right direction. Sweat beads down my neck as scenarios race through my mind, just as he keeps this door open for me too and I'm hit with the cold.

And I just sit down right there; on the stairs that lead to the doors, feeling for my phone in my pocket, grasping it as if it's compulsory.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pretending Daren is not still here. Pretending that the world is staying where it should. "You can go back inside," I say without looking at him. I rest my elbows on my kneecaps.

"Sticking your head between your knees helps," he says, and I'm surprised at his advice. But I shake my head, then instantly regret it. "Doesn't help."

"You're not trying it."

"I've tried it before," I say through ground teeth. "It doesn't work."

"What?" he asks. I peek beneath my eyelashes to see him standing above me, hand on the dividing rail. "You get dizzy a lot?"

You have no idea.

"You really don't have to wait out here," I say, opening my eyes again and staring at the sky, the only thing that stays in place. The clouds still hang lazily above, mixes of whites and greys, woven into a forlorn mass. It's sure to deliver snow but even after nearly two weeks of it, I'm not bothered.

Wintre likes winter.

"Do I really seem in a hurry to get  back in there?" he asks.

I shrug. Another bad idea. I become aware of my breathing again. Too shallow. Too deep. "No," I say. "It's just cold out here."

"I'm fine," he assures, the illumination from the silver lining casting a sdull glare over him. The grey of the clouds matches the color of his eyes, storm raging against storm.

I look away, suddenly wanting him to head back to class. To stop just standing there. "I think it's fading," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.

I see him glance my way, unconcerned. "Great."

"You can go back in," I repeat.

"You really want me to leave." he deadpans. It's not a question.

 I feel whatever color that has returned to my cheeks drain back out again. I could lie, but I've never been a good liar. A testament to how often I do it. "I just don't like people standing over me."

He sits down, on the opposite side of the railing. He casts me a look. "Better?"

"I don't want you to feel like you have to stand out here and wait until I don't feel like falling over," I clarify, switching reasons. My breathing doesn't sound as labored or weird anymore and my chest has relaxed, the vise slowly easing open. I stretch my feet out before me.

"I don't feel like I have to, I was told that I have to," Daren says, bluntly. A straightforward character, he is, not bothering to fill in anything extra with words that are adorned in polite excuses.

I bite my lip. Silence ensues as my head continues to spin, slowing down like a carrasol. The stillness is deafening and I look over at him.

  "How are you liking it here?" I ask, trying to lessen the awkward silence that is steadily becoming a void between us. He obviously isn't going anywhere.

Daren cocks his head to the side, black hair falling across his face. "For the almost two days I've been here, it's riveting."  

"Did you come from New York?" I ask, without thinking. There's no harm in it. He doesn't have to answer me. But, to my surprise yet again, he does.

"Yeah."

"Why'd you leave it?"

His eyes wander to mine and they tell me he's irritated with my prying, but he just shrugs slightly. "You ask a lot of questions."

"Only three," I say, rubbing my hands together.

He does the same but then pulls himself closer, looking at me intently. "So let me ask you one."

I don't like where this is headed but to be fair, I consent. "Okay."

"Why do you always sit close to the door?"

I sit back and bite the inside of my lip, taken off guard.  I mentally add observant to the list of his character traits. A minute passes away as he waits.

"Well?"

"I like sitting by the door," I restate. "What's so wrong with that?"

He's still looking at me, gaze intense and it's like I can't use any kind of block because he'll see right through it. But unlike me, he doesn't pry.

"Ready to go back in?" He asks a few minutes later, getting to his feet.

No.

"Yeah," I say, pulling myself up by the rail. "Thanks."

He's about to reply when the bell sounds, and my hands instinctively tighten as I imagine weaving through the throngs of freshly released teenagers. He seems to sense my uneasiness, but makes no comment as he opens the door and holds it again for me.

We're a door away from class when someone grabs my arm and I rip around to find Bailey, staring at me, wide eyed. I see the question burning there, bright and stifling, but don't answer.

"Hi,...Daren," she says, spinning around to face him. She says his name llike she's trying it on for size to his face. He gives her an offhanded look. "Hey."

"I'm in your English class," she beams, smiling like only a love struck girl can.

He nods. "I know."

"Oh. Oh, I was actually going to find you after to school and invite you to my party." Her words make me internally cringe. "The entire school is practically invited. All forty five students," she says dryly. "Including you. I can introduce you to some people, if you're interested."

Daren honestly doesn't look the least bit interested, but though he's proven to be blunt, he hasn't necessarily proven himself to be rude. "Okay," he says. "Sounds spellbinding."

Bailey's smile widens. "Great! Here is my address."

I'm astonished as I watch her grab Daren's hand, pull out a pen, and as banal as any high school movie could be, writes her address neatly across his palm.

Daren glances at me with an almost painful what is your friend doing? look, but makes no remark.

"It's on Saturday at seven." Another smile.

I glance between the two of them, suddenly no longer bothered by the crowds, intent on watching this play out.

"Okay," he says again, looking at his hand. Then, as if overly eager to get away, he turns and walks toward Chemistry.

Bailey latches onto my arm and starts down the hall. When we come to the doors, I whip around, having forgotten my stuff.

"Wait, I gotta get my score," I say, pulling against her. She let's go and I head for Chemistry, nearly plowing into Daren as he comes out. "Here," he says, handing me a paper and my bag. My eyes skim over the score.

a ninety-six.

"Thanks," I reply, at a loss for a better word. I fold the paper between my fingers and drape my bag over my shoulder. "Again."

"You're welcome," he says, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. Then he nods to me once and disappears among the crowds.

I can only suppose he gained that ability from maneuvering through the streets of New York.

I catch up with Bailey and shove my grade into my bag.

She gawks at me, glances back to find Daren but he's long gone. She shakes her head. "Wow. I'd take a piece of that over my birthday cake any day."

I say nothing.

"Why were you guys standing together? Were you talking? What'd he say?"

But I just take a deep breath, the last taints of dizziness dissipating as we walk out. I really don't feel like telling her the whole story in the detail she wants, so I relay a short version, how I was reacting from the chemicals in class and Mr. O'Brians asked Daren to help me outside.

"You are so lucky," she says, and though I know what she means,  I have to bite my lip to keep from snapping at her.

There's nothing lucky about feeling trapped. There is nothing lucky about fighting false instincts telling you to run. There is nothing lucky about having to have a person you don't know, whether attractive or not, drag you out of class just to help you outside. There's nothing lucky about feeling safer the closer you are to a stupid door.   

And it isn't lucky having a complete stranger calls you out on it.