Choke (12 page)

“What'd you do that for?” she asked.

I couldn't answer. I needed to catch my breath.

“You don't really want to be a breath sister, do you?” Nina said.

“It's not that,” I managed.

“Then what is it?”

“I just remembered. I've got a book on hold at the library.” Now
I
was a big fat liar, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get away.

“Don't be such a schoolgirl,” Liz teased. “Besides, the book's not going anywhere.”

I lied again. “I need it for a class this afternoon.”

Before they could say anything else, I slipped out of the bathroom and hurried to the library.

I didn't know how I felt or what to do. In some ways, life at school was better now.

But in other ways, it was worse. As a breath sister, I was a fake. Nina was already figuring it out, and soon, everyone else would, too. Then I'd be kicked out of the in-crowd just like Alicia and Courtney had been kicked out. But even though I still wanted to be popular, I didn't like the choices
I had to make. I was scared of the choking game, but more importantly, I missed Elena.

I gazed at the books, not really looking at the titles. I just wanted to think. Should I beg Elena for forgiveness? If I did, we'd be friends again. Everything back to status quo. But what would Nina do? Would she turn everyone against me? I'd have out-crowd status for sure, and I'd probably drag Elena down with me. Then, my only hope for romance would be Pimple Jim.

“Can I help you find something?” the librarian asked.

“I'm just browsing.”

She nodded and went to help another student. I had no desire to check out a book.
Maybe I should go to a table and study?
I thought.
Wait a minute! Where did I leave my textbooks?
The last place I saw them was in the restroom, on that shelf above the sink. I couldn't believe I'd forgotten them.

I rushed back, pushed open the restroom door, and discovered that Liz and Nina were still in there. But then, I noticed that Nina … that she was … that she was unconscious on the floor. The filthy restroom floor! Liz crouched beside her, but she didn't seem concerned. Why wasn't she concerned? Nina had collapsed! She looked like a rag doll thrown against the wall. Her legs were bent in backward L's,
and her eyes had rolled back, the lids flickering as if she were having a seizure.

I pushed Liz aside.

“Nina. Nina!”

I lifted her chin, tried to rouse her.

“Calm down,” Liz said.

“How could you let her pass out like this? So completely? Is this what you do all the time?”

I couldn't think straight. I did fidgety things like straighten Nina's shirt, brush back her hair, and tap her cheek.

Liz said, “Quit freaking out, Windy.”

“Do you want her to die?!” I exclaimed.

“That's why we call the game ‘flatliner' sometimes.”

“Flatliner” made me think of heart monitors, which made me think about the medical shows on TV. They did CPR, right? I'd do it then. I'd breathe into Nina's mouth and pound her chest. I'd get her back. I had to. It wasn't too late.

“Go get the nurse,” I told Liz. “I'm going to start CPR.”

“Will you calm down? Do you want us to get suspended?”

Just then, Nina's hand twitched. She blinked her eyes.

“Nina?” I said, hopefully.

She took a breath, coughing a bit.

“Nina?”

She mumbled something. I couldn't understand her, but no matter. She was coming back. She'd be okay. She
had
to be.

I grabbed a paper towel, dampened it, and patted her face.

“Say something,” I begged.

“Hey.” It was only a three-letter word, but Nina managed to make it last as long as a whole sentence.

“Are you okay?”

“More than,” she whispered. “More than okay.”

She didn't sound like herself. Her words were detached, as if caught in a speech bubble floating away. Her eyes were gradually focusing, though her legs stayed oddly bent. She was the aftermath of a horrible accident that I couldn't help watching.

Finally, she straightened herself and woozily sat up. “That was freaking awesome,” she mumbled.

“Awesome?! I thought you were going to die!” I cried. “Why didn't you tap out?”

“Tap out?” Liz laughed. “What's the point of playing, then?”

“What's the point of playing if you're
not
going to tap out?” I argued. “I know you say it makes you feel good, but the game's really about trust, right? It's how you become a breath sister.”

Nina reached for my hand. I couldn't believe how cold her fingers were. “You're my breath sister,” she whispered. “Both of you are.”

Her voice sounded like an old man's. She'd probably messed up her voice box. I glanced at her throat. She wasn't wearing her scarf. For the first time, I got a good look at her neck. Something was definitely wrong with it. A thick horizontal line ran across. Its edges were blunt, and it had overlapping bands of yellow and brown. That was why she always wore a scarf. She didn't want anyone to see the birthmark on her neck. Like her personality, her body had its ugly side, too.

“How can collapsing like a dead person be fun?” I asked Liz.

“
Because.
When the blood rushes back, you get this really cool floaty feeling.”

“Yeah, floaty,” Nina giggled.

I stood up, disgusted. I didn't have my notebook, but I knew what my next list would be: “The Top Five Stupid Ways to Get High” — smoking pot, drinking beer, shooting up, sniffing glue, and playing the choking game.

“Quit acting like a Goody Two–shoes,” Liz said. “It's not like doing drugs. No one's ever been arrested for playing the choking game.”

All I could do was shake my head in disbelief.

“Windy,” Nina said. “Look at me.”

I did. She was getting her voice back, her strength and her wits. I guess the floaty feeling didn't last very long.

“I'm okay, right? And I've done this lots of times.”

“Me, too,” Liz said.

“See?” Nina continued. “And we're perfectly okay. We're not drug addicts who can't tie their own shoes. And you know why?”

I shook my head again.

“Because the choking game's not dangerous, that's why.”

I thought about all the lies Nina had told me today, but this one sounded like the biggest lie of all.

A
fter school, I went straight to my room. I'd had such an upsetting day. The only thing I wanted was some private time with my cats. They were waiting for me. They must have sensed that I really needed them right now. When I put down my things, Cloudy ran to them and stuck his nose in my half-zipped backpack. El Niño purred as he lounged in the sunlight that poured in. And Sunny jumped on a pillow and begged for a belly rub. I didn't have to guess how they felt. Why couldn't people be as easy to read?

I opened the window. “Raindrop!” I called. The bushes rustled when he yawned and arched his back to stretch. “You've been sleeping all day, haven't you?” He sat, licked his
paw, and ran it over his head as if fixing a sleek hairdo. I tapped the window ledge and he hopped in. Mom already knew he was here. So why wait till bedtime? He wouldn't get in trouble as long as he stayed in my room.

Cloudy meowed suddenly. One of his claws was stuck in the spiral of my
TOP FIVE
notebook. “Crazy cat!” I said as I freed him. I shooed him away and then opened the notebook. “The Top Five Cats in the World,” I wrote, and even though he died a few years ago, I started with Cyclone. “Five, Cyclone, for being the cat I grew up with. Four, El Niño, for never getting upset or complaining. Three, Cloudy, for being curious about everything — my backpack, closet, shoes, and purse. Two, Sunny, for showing me affection and not caring how I look or what kind of grades I make, or how much money I have, or how cool I am. And the number one cat — Raindrop, for being young and innocent, for not knowing how ‘meanormous' people can be.”

Poor Raindrop. I had two weeks till summer, two weeks to find him a home. Otherwise, Mom would take him to the pound.

I brainstormed, but I couldn't think of anyone who'd adopt a cat. I had a bunch of boy cousins who'd probably use Raindrop for “experiments” the way they used the gerbils they once had. Elena, even if she were talking to me, had a
dog who thought cats were as tasty as Alpo. And there was no way on earth I'd consider Nina after what I saw this afternoon.

I decided to make a
CAT NEEDS HOME
flyer and post it around the neighborhood or on the announcement board at school. I opened my backpack for some paper and discovered the book I'd bought at the fair,
Careers for Animals
.

“How would you like a job, Raindrop?”

I pulled out the book and flipped through the pages. Dogs had the most career choices. They could guide the blind or assist law enforcers. A bird called a cormorant helped fishermen, while falcons helped hunters. Rats identified landmines, while dolphins found mines in the sea. Horses, oxen, and elephants had jobs, too. But I couldn't find anything for cats. They were probably too stubborn and lazy to work. I was ready to give up, but when I turned one more page, I found it — the perfect job! Research studies had shown that dogs and cats could help people who felt depressed. They were called “pet therapists.”

“I don't know where yet, but you're going to be a therapist! You're going to help people, Raindrop.”

As soon as I announced my brilliant idea, I heard the front door opening.

“Mom?”

But Dad peeked in my room instead. He was wearing his fancy suit and still had his red hair and blue eyes. He wasn't about to let Mom talk him out of his new look.

“
¿Cómo estás?
” he asked.

“How are you?” was probably the only question I could answer in Spanish. I said, “
Así, así
,” which means “kinda good and kinda bad.”

“Is everything okay,
mija
?”

Mom and Dad often told me I could share anything with them. But sometimes, I wanted to work out my problems by myself.

“Tough day at school,” I said. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Dad studied me for a moment. “If you want to talk later, my door's always open, okay?”

Just then, we heard jingling keys.

“Speaking of open doors,” Dad said as Mom entered the house.

“Hello!” she called. “Alfonso? Windy?”

We made our way to the living room.

“Look what I found in the mailbox.”

She handed Dad an envelope. He opened it and pulled out a DVD.

“What's this?” he asked.

“It's from the TV station. I called them and told them you wanted to know why you didn't get the job. They said they couldn't discuss it with me, but they promised to send you the audition tape.”

I remembered our conversation at the restaurant Saturday when Mom told me we'd discover why Dad didn't get the job. She must have already talked to the people at the station.

“Want to see it?” she asked.

“Of course,” Dad said.

He turned on the TV, put the disc in the player, and sat between Mom and me on the couch.

“Finally, you'll understand,” he said to Mom. “I didn't look the part back then. But if I went in today, with all these improvements, I'd look perfect.”

Mom sighed. “Let's just watch the video.” She grabbed the remote and pressed
PLAY
.

The screen showed the date and my dad's name, while a voice said, “Audition tape for position number 183485.” Then the screen showed my dad. Some people gained weight on camera, or the bright lights revealed all their blemishes and wrinkles. But Dad appeared fit and handsome. In fact, he looked
better
than the new guy.

“You look great,” I said.

“Yeah,” Mom agreed. “You're very debonair on TV — kind of like a Mexican James Bond.”

Dad scratched his head. “I do look better than I thought … so why didn't I get the job?”

At that moment, a voice on the TV said, “You can begin now, Mr. Soto.”

“Now?” my dad asked on the screen. Then he just stopped — like a hypnotized person waiting for a command. A map of Texas with major cities and temperatures was behind him, but he was staring at something right above the camera.

“What were you looking at?” I asked.

“There was a red light on top of the lens,” Dad said. “I guess I was looking at that. I didn't realize I was staring at it for so long.”

The TV voice said, “Cut!” The screen went black, then the words, “Take Two” appeared. This time, Dad ignored the camera lens. We saw his profile instead. Once again, the voice said, “You may begin now, Mr. Soto.”

Dad rushed to fill the silence. “The, um — you know — um …” The poor guy couldn't get his words out.

“What happened?” I asked. “Why were you so tongue-tied?”

“Well,” he admitted, “I got confused. It doesn't really look that way. On TV, you see a map, but in the studio, there isn't a map, just a big green curtain. You're supposed to look at a monitor to figure out where to point, and at the same time, you're supposed to read words from a teleprompter.”

“Mr. Soto,” the TV voice said.

My dad turned to it and froze again when he saw the red light above the camera.

“I hate to say this,” Mom began, “but you look like a deer caught in headlights.”

“That's how I felt. But I was just warming up. In a minute, you'll see me do much better.”

On the third take, Dad managed to read the words, but he spoke super fast. I could barely understand him.

“That's when I started to hyperventilate,” he explained. “Nerves, I guess. But I get over it. Just wait.”

“Take four,” the TV voice said.

This time, Dad did better. He avoided the red light above the camera, and he slowed down his words. But even though he was getting through the weather report, he was tapping his foot a lot, and instead of pointing at the map, he was tightening and loosening his fist. He inserted a lot of filler words, too, the same ones I used in speech class —
“okay,” “um,” “anyway,” “you know,” and even a Spanish one, “
entonces
.” He
never
said “
entonces
” on the radio. Finally, the TV voice said “Cut!” and the audition tape ended.

Next to me, Dad leaned over and stared at the screen in stunned silence. I could tell he felt bummed — double bummed. I scooted closer to him and put my hand on his knee. Mom pressed the
OFF
button on the remote and then put her arm around him.

After a while, he said, “I thought I did a lot better than that. Especially after I warmed up and caught my breath.”

“You weren't that bad,” Mom said.

“I was
awful
. I completely choked.” He stood up, took off his jacket and tie. “I'm going to the garage. Got some cleaning to do.”

“But you'll ruin your new shirt,” Mom said.

He just mumbled and walked away.

“Is he mad?” I asked.

“Maybe a little,” Mom said. “But at least he knows why he didn't get the job. Your father gets too nervous when he sees the camera.”

“That's what happens to me. Every time I have to make a speech, I choke, too. I stand in front of class, and all these people start looking at me. No matter how hard I try, I can't
relax. And then I forget stuff, even when I have my notes. It's like my handwriting suddenly becomes a secret code. And then my foot starts tapping like it wants to run off, but the other foot knows better so it doesn't move. It's horrible. It's the most horrible feeling in the world.”

Mom patted my shoulder to comfort me. “Everybody has that one class that makes them miserable. For me, it was history. I could never remember all those names and dates.”

I smiled. Knowing she had struggled, too, made me feel better.

“Your father's very good on the radio,” she went on. “People like his voice and trust his predictions. Maybe it's not glamorous like TV, but the radio's a good job for him. It's where he belongs.”

When she mentioned belonging, I dropped my head a little because I remembered everything it took to belong to the in-crowd, to become a breath sister. Playing the choking game and gossiping about others felt wrong, even when I was making fun of my worst enemies, Courtney and Alicia.

“Is something bothering you?” Mom asked.

“I had a fight with Elena,” I admitted.

“Because of Nina?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

She shrugged. “Instinct, I guess. Something told me she was trouble.”

“Why didn't you warn me?”

“You wouldn't have listened. Besides, you're a smart girl. If Nina was trouble, I knew you'd figure it out on your own.”

I didn't think of myself as smart, but Mom seemed convinced. Maybe there were different kinds of intelligence — being book smart like Elena and being smart enough to do the right thing.

Later that night, I opened my
TOP FIVE
notebook. “The Top Five Things I Learned from My Dad's Audition Tape: Stage fright is genetic; red lights mean stop only when they're hanging above a street; it's better to look like James Bond than Ronald McDonald; not all dreams are meant to come true; and everyone wants a place to belong.”

For me, that place had always been the in-crowd, so I started a new list — The Top Five Reasons for Being in the In-Crowd. Then, I stared at the blank page. I stared for a very long time. A month ago, my pen would have scurried across the notebook, but right now, I couldn't think of a single reason to jot down.

 

The next morning, I went to the school's back parking lot and waited for Elena's bus. As soon as I saw her, I snatched her piccolo case.

“I'm holding it hostage till you talk to me.”

She didn't even try to grab it back.

“Okay, then, talk.”

“I know you hate me right now,” I said. “I don't blame you. I deserve it. But I didn't know Nina had finished that list about you, so that's not really my fault except that I should have kept a better eye on my notebook. And I've been a bad friend in other ways, too. I chose Nina over you, and I chose those other girls, too. I admit it. I thought I needed them to be happy. But I already had a friend, one who really cared about me. I can't believe how stupid I've been. I mean really,
really
stupid.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “You scored really high on the stupidometer.”

I smiled. “Stupidometer? That's a new one.”

“What can I say? You inspire me.”

“Ouch! That hurts,” I teased.

“Then we're even,” she said. “So can I have my piccolo back?”

“No. Why don't you give me your gym bag and your tackle box, too?” I reached for them. Then the weirdness dawned on me. “Why do you have a tackle box?”

“Science project,” she explained.

She handed me her things, and then we reorganized ourselves to figure out the best way to hold all her stuff. Elena had a shelf in the science lab, a cubbyhole in the band hall, and lockers in the main hallway and in the dressing room. As we toured the school to drop off her supplies, I told her everything. How Nina stole Mrs. Vargas's money. How my dad freaked out at his audition. How my mom found Raindrop. How Ronnie broke my heart. And how the in-crowd played the choking game.

“The what?” she asked.

“The choking game. It's what breath sisters do.”

“They choke each other?”

I nodded.

“Why would anyone do that?”

“To get high,” I explained. “But I thought it was about trust. At least, that's how Nina sold it to me.”

“Trust?” She shook her head. “Let me tell you about trust. Trust is being an ice-skater. Trust is jumping and spinning through the air and knowing your partner is going to catch you. Trust is letting your partner hold you with one
hand as he speeds across the rink, and knowing that he's not going to drop you. Trust is keeping people
away
from danger, not
leading
them to it.”