I can’t breathe, and Vera is still yelling at Jubilee about a missed lesson, how they don’t have money to waste on lessons she can’t be bothered to show up for, and about everything else that used to matter in her life, and should still, but doesn’t because of me, and.

icanticanticanticanticanticanticant

The whole thing started because Peak asked her mom if she could cut out early to grab some dinner with me and Frankie. And I told her not to; I knew this was coming. I told her Vera wasn’t my biggest fan anymore. That she was giving me the look, the same one Jayla gives me when she thinks I can’t see her, the look that says I’m ruining Peak’s life. And you know what? I get it. I do.

If I had a kid, I wouldn’t want them hanging around someone like me either, but that doesn’t make it not hurt. That doesn’t make my stomach not churn deep down, doesn’t make it not grow from a spark to a full-fledged panic attack, so that by the time Peak storms out of the back room, I’m already outside, gasping for cold air with my back pressed hard against the bricks and my head between my knees.

“Ridley.” She crouches down next to me, and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. She combs her hand through my hair more gently than I deserve. “Want to hear something cool?”

I give her the tiniest nod, forcing my eyes open.

“Did you know that if you measured all the blood in a newborn, it would only equal about one cup?” she asks, her eyebrows raised as if I’m going to challenge her. I’m not. Mostly, I just want to know who decided to measure blood volume by baby. But then I start thinking of, like, freshly squeezed babies and all this other weird stuff, which kind of freaks me out more, and I put my head back down.

“Okay, wait,” she says. “That was a bad one.” She laces her fingers through mine, squeezing tight. “Let me think . . . um . . . did you know you’re less likely to get bitten by a shark if you blow bubbles in its face?”

I sniffle hard and wipe at my nose, hating the way the cold makes it run, while I let my brain catch up to what she just said. “Wait,” I say, my voice rasping out. “What kind of bubble mix can you use underwater?”

She wrinkles her forehead, and I drop my chin, realizing too late she doesn’t mean the soap kind you buy in the store. “I . . . see my error now.”

“Yeah, seriously.” She laughs and sits down next to me. “Feel a little better?”

“Not really.”

“It was just a panic attack. It’s over.”

I shake my head. “I shouldn’t be the reason you’re fighting with Vera.”