Chapter Text
The first time it happened was three and a half weeks into freshman year.
It took two student council meetings and cheerleading tryouts and having to start practice three times a week and joining the debate club because that was what her mother wanted and all of it would look good on her college applications for the first spell of anxiety to hit her.
Alyssa walked through the newly familiar halls of James Madison High School after classes, the last of her classmates having left in favour of the weekend. Cheerleading practice and forgetting her biology text book in her locker had held her back.
The weather was still nice enough that she could walk home for half an hour of peace before her mother gets home.
Her locker was down near the music rooms on the opposite side of campus from the gym, and the track. Some days, she had noticed that other students had music lessons after classes and she would be able to hear the faint keys of a piano or the gentle strum of a guitar.
Slamming her locker door shut, ready to do as little as she could over the weekend and making a list for what felt like the hundredth time of what she actually had to do, she felt out of breath.
Finish reading What’s Eating Gilbert Grape for English by Monday.
And polish off the paper that went with it, also due Monday.
That stack of Algebra problems Nick had managed to get for everyone for talking back in class, due first thing Monday morning after homeroom.
The Biology work book pages that made absolutely no sense, to be completed by Tuesday.
Those Chemistry worksheets that were due Wednesday.
Get started on researching the paper for History. That wasn’t due for three more weeks.
Work through those composition problems for French. Those were definitely due Monday afternoon.
Start working on her arguments for debate club. Her first argument was on Thursday but she still had to attend on Tuesday.
Finish those minutes for the Student Council meeting they had had during study hall the day before.
Go for a run.
Go to Church.
And to the weekly after-Church lunch.
Make sure her new uniform was cleaned properly for the pep-rally.
Get to Shelby’s birthday party Saturday afternoon.
She was carrying her cheerleading bag and her back pack, her body sore from new routines and being hunched over her desk trying to finish an English paper.
She had been nervous about starting high school. Sure, she had her friends and a slew of new extra-curricular’s to keep her busy. But with the heavier course load and all of her time taken up by activities came pressure.
Pressure from her teachers to understand the lessons that were being taught, and to score well on tests and get good grades on papers.
Pressure from her friends to get in with the popular kids, and say the right things at just the right time about the cute boys because that is what is expected now that they’re not middle-schoolers anymore.
Pressure from her mother to get good grades, and to be the perfect Christian daughter, because if she was maybe her father might even call her for her birthday. Maybe he might send a gift. If she was perfect maybe he would come home.
Some of her friends seemed to thrive under the new sense of responsibility and attention.
Alyssa felt funny, like a growing sense of dread that pooled in the pit of her stomach just a little more each day. She couldn’t place it, so she put it down to the worry about trying to get everything done.
It was only three weeks into the school year, and she already felt like she was drowning. The unease settled into her shoulders and her breathing became heavier. The tightening of her chest made her panic more and within minutes she was sounding like she had just run a marathon.
She couldn’t breathe.
And it scared her.
“Are you okay?”
It took a minute for Alyssa to finally look up, seeing Shelby’s neighbour Emma standing in front of her with a look of concern on her face.
And a fading bruise near the edge of her jaw.
She recognised her from the few times in classes when she had been called on, or those rare occasions Emma made an appearance in Church, or the few times she’d seen her in her backyard when Alyssa was hanging out at Shelby’s over the summer. Kaylee was the newest addition to the group, pulling Shelby and Alyssa into the popular kids circle and somehow Emma ended up as the social pariah of the eighth grade. She didn’t fit in and now that they were in high school, status seemed to be more important and Emma appeared to have fallen by the wayside, forgotten about and left to her own devices to try and float through the harsh waters that was James Madison.
Alyssa had heard the rumours. But all she knew them as was rumours and it wasn’t any of her business anyways. Right now, Emma was helping her even though she didn’t have to. Even though it was Alyssa’s friends that were usually the ones to make the first comment.
“Can’t breathe.”
Alyssa tried not to let the sensation overwhelm her. It became harder when the tears threatened to tip over and Emma seemed to be moving slowly and deliberately.
“I think you’re having a panic attack.”
It was weird, like she was there but she wasn’t as she watched Emma calmly take out her brown paper lunch bag and empty it all back into her back pack, holding it out for Alyssa to take.
When she didn’t, Emma took Alyssa’s hand and moulded it to fit her fist and her mouth.
“Breathe into the bag. Try and match me.”
There was Emma’s hand on her knee and it felt heavy. The sensation gave her two things to focus on. She was kneeling right in front of Alyssa, keeping eye contact and trying to get her to mimic her own breathing pattern, muttering words of encouragement to keep trying.
To Alyssa, it felt like it took hours.
According the clock at the end of the main hallway, it had only taken seven minutes to get her breathing back to normal. It was already four thirty and her mother was going to be home by five.
She felt tired and worn out and she had a feeling that any likelihood of getting homework done tonight was seeming less and less likely.
“Are you okay?”
Alyssa didn’t trust her own words, so she just nodded and wiped the remnants of salty tears from her cheeks.
“Are you sure?” Emma looked at her with concern again, taking the water bottle from the open pocket of Alyssa’s sports bag and offering it to her. “Do you need help getting your stuff home?”
Alyssa shook her head, “I’ll be okay.”
“Okay,” Emma smiled politely, the edges not even tickling the sides of her eyes. “Keep the bag. You know, just in case. Just breathe.”
Alyssa stayed sitting there for a few minutes after Emma had walked away, ducking into a music room three doors down.
When she stood up, her body feeling heavy and her bags feeling heavier as she hoisted them up onto her shoulders before beginning the trek home. There was a glimpse of Emma in the music room as she passed, back to the door and holding a guitar.
The walk let her try and process what the heck had just happened, as she tried to count the blocks to make it feel like she was getting somewhere.
Emma had stopped and helped her.
Emma has said she was having a panic attack.
What the heck was a panic attack?