Student Learning Conferences. A three-word bomb. And there it is—the tight feeling I get when I think of you. It’s invading this place too. I try to ignore the flutter at the base of my throat as my heart races and trips, to push it all back and focus on the desk, the whiteboard, the voice of the teacher, what I need to do, but my breath’s too loud in my ears and the classroom’s fading and here comes the rat, forcing its way down my throat, gnawing away from the inside as I sit frozen. It squirms its little chest inside mine. Forces our hearts to beat next to each other, one too fast, the other too slow. I sit with my eyes closed, feeling it. My feet in the grass again, the cold spikes wet on my bare ankle. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Forever. Never.

I press my fingers down, pushing into something solid. I look at my hands. My eyes start to make sense of it, my fingers pressing on the desk. Other sounds come back. Voices. The scrape of chairs on the floor.

I remember where I am. My feet are on the floor, in my school shoes. The tightening in my chest eases, my ribs loosen. I look up.

“All right, Rae?” Ms. Pham’s watching me.

I nod. The other kids are in the hall, talking loudly and laughing. The day’s over and they can’t wait to get home. But I have attracted unwanted attention. Her concerned face sets off an alarm in my head.

I give a smile, deliberately pushing it into my eyes. “Just daydreaming.”

She nods. Her gaze lingers on me a second too long.

I grin and grab the form from her hand. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Pham.”

“Sure, Rae. See you then.”

I bite the inside of my lip till my mouth’s warm and salty and my eyes sting, your voice in my head. Careless.

I DON’T LOOK at the other parents waiting for their kids, all smiles. Or not even looking up from their phones, really, but there. A hand on the back, a touch on the head. I pull my cap down over my eyes and make my way through the gate.