Top Ten(15)

She made herself slow her walk as her heart thumped and her throat constricted, dropping back to the rear of the group stealthily enough that Ryan and the rest of his friends wouldn’t notice. She was an expert at this, the ninja exit. Celia would pick her up, maybe. Celia would make fun of her, but Celia would pick her up.

Ryan’s friends crushed through the front door of the house, loud and rowdy. Ryan held it open behind him, then did an actual double take as he realized Gabby was still standing at the bottom of the stoop.

“Hey,” he said, coming back down a step, “are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, totally.” Gabby nodded. God, the only thing worse than having a panic attack was trying to have one in secret while someone else was watching. It was like trying to go to the bathroom without making any noise. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure? You kind of look like you’re going to hurl.” Ryan came all the way back down, putting his hand on her arm. Gabby flinched and he pulled it right back. “Sorry,” he said.

Gabby shook her head. “It’s fine,” she said. “I just need a minute.” A minute, sure. A minute for her breath to stop coming in gross, ragged gasps like she’d just run a marathon with no training; a minute for the golem sitting on her chest to relax his grip around her heart.

Ryan looked at her. “Wow,” he said, sounding almost conversational. “Your sister was like, not fucking around, huh?”

God, she could not believe this was happening right now. “No, Ryan,” she said tightly. “She was not fucking around.”

Ryan nodded. “Okay,” he said. “What usually helps?”

Gabby curled her hand around the skinny trunk of a freshly planted tree on the front lawn. “You wanna know, like, what I do when I’m having a panicker?”

“Yeah,” he said, “if that’s what’s happening to you now.”

Gabby could hear the party from inside the house, music and somebody laughing shrilly. She wished he would just go in there and leave her alone. “Stop,” she said. She didn’t trust this tree to be holding her weight. Wouldn’t that be perfect, if on top of everything she ripped these people’s brand-new sapling out by the roots like the Incredible Hulk in front of the cutest boy at Colson. “This is embarrassing.”

“Why is it embarrassing?” Ryan asked, sitting down on the bottom step. “It’s like, an illness, right? You wouldn’t be embarrassed if you were having an asthma attack.”

Gabby hesitated. She appreciated the sentiment—she thought it was surprisingly evolved of him, actually—but she didn’t know how to explain to him that this wasn’t like an asthma attack, not really. If she had asthma, nobody would make her do triathlons to build her character. But going to parties, joining clubs, calling for pizza—people always thought she should be trying a little harder to do stuff like that.

Ryan stretched his long legs out in front of him, casual. “Do you see a doctor about it?” he asked.

Oh, god, here they went. “No,” Gabby said, crossing her arms and wiping her clammy hands on the sleeves of her jacket. She wanted to make herself small enough that nobody would be able to look at her. She wanted to run all the way home. “I can handle it myself.”

“Really?” Ryan asked. “Because, no offense, but it doesn’t really seem like you’re handling it super great right now.”

Gabby’s eyes narrowed. “Because you know me so well, right?”

“Not at all,” Ryan said. “I’m just a casual observer.”

“You should mind your own business, then.” In fact Gabby had seen a therapist, for three long months when she was twelve, a guy with a gray goatee named Dr. Steiner, who asked her annoying, redundant questions while he let her win at checkers. Gabby had not been impressed. Now whenever she thought about trying again, it just felt like so much work. Having to go in there every week and talk about her stupid emotions. Having to explain herself to somebody new.

“My dad left,” Ryan announced out of nowhere.

Gabby blinked. “Huh?” Then, realizing abruptly what a rude response that was, she said, “I’m sorry.” She blinked again, letting go of the tree and standing upright, taking a step toward him. “Like, today?”

Ryan shook his head. “A week or so ago. The night I met you, actually. He came and picked his stuff up today, though.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabby said again. She had no idea why he was telling her this in the middle of her panic attack—jocks were exactly as self-absorbed as she’d always figured they were, maybe—but she was interested in spite of herself. She sat down next to him on the stoop, trying again to swallow down the wad of panic stuffed like a gym sock in her throat. “Did you know it was going to happen, or—”