Chapter 1She Stole My Last Breath

The day before mandatory preseason field conditioning, I turned my dorm room upside down looking for my medical clearance waiver.

The letter from my pulmonologist—the one explicitly documenting my chronic, exercise-induced asthma—was gone.

I was on my knees, shoving aside shoe boxes under my bed, when my phone buzzed with an incoming group audio call. I tapped the speaker, and Savannah’s shrill, breathless squeal instantly filled the cramped room.

"Oh my god, you guys! It actually worked! I got fully exempted from field drills! The medical note Jordan gave me was a total lifesaver!"

I froze. A sudden, cold prickle crept up from my fingertips, numbing my hands.

My older brother, Jordan, cleared his throat, his tone dripping with dismissive casualness. "Savannah gets dizzy if she’s in direct sun for five minutes. Besides, Hallie, you’re built tough. What’s a few days running drills under the sun anyway?"

Bryce, my childhood sweetheart, jumped in with that frictionless, soothing tone he always used when he was about to smooth over another betrayal. "Exactly, Hallie. You’ve always had grit. Look at it as a chance to build your stamina."

Savannah chimed in with her trademark breathy coo. "Hallie, you’re the sweetest. If it gets too intense out there, just wave to the sidelines. I’ll run out and bring you cold Gatorade!"

I didn't answer. I didn't yell. I simply pressed the red button and disconnected.

I scrolled up to the very beginning of that four-person group chat, back to the afternoon Jordan had created it during our freshman year. His first message was still pinned at the top:

"Rule number one: Whatever good stuff comes our way, Savannah gets first dibs."

The memories hit me all at once, sharp and hollow.

The merit scholarship last spring. The single front-row ticket to the winter gala. Every single time I had gathered the courage to say, "Wait, I want that too," and the three of them had turned toward me in unison, their eyes heavy with that quiet, suffocating judgment.

I had finally learned how to read their silence.

Favoring her had become their muscle memory. And walking away would have to become mine.

……

* * *

"Hallie? Why’d you drop out of the call like that?"

The door swung open, and Savannah swept in, practically buried beneath glossy shopping bags from high-end boutiques downtown. She dumped them onto her desk with a theatrical sigh and glanced over her shoulder at me.

I stayed seated, staring at the empty medical folder in my open desk drawer.

"Did your battery die?" She walked toward me, casually reaching out to loop her arm through mine.

I leaned back, dodging her touch.

She didn't miss a beat. Without an ounce of awkwardness, she reached into one of the cream-colored bags and pulled out a sleek, pastel-pink tube of luxury sunblock.

"Look at this. Jordan drove all the way to the department store across town just to get it for me. He said he couldn't stand the thought of me getting a sunburn during roll call."

Next, she fished out an insulated steel tumbler, pastel mint, with an internal cooling core.

"And Bryce got me this. It keeps water below freezing for twelve hours straight."

Sunscreen. Ice-cold water.

They had mapped out every single contingency to keep her comfortable on the shaded bleachers.

And to do it, they had handed away the one piece of paper that kept me out of the emergency room.

"Where is my medical waiver, Savannah?" I asked, my voice dry as chalk.

She blinked, eyes widening with textbook innocence. "Jordan gave it to me. He said your asthma hasn't flared up in ages, so having that paper just sitting in your drawer was a waste."

"A waste."

Last month, when my throat seized up at three in the morning and my fingernails turned bruised-plum from oxygen deprivation, Jordan was three miles away, holding Savannah’s popcorn at an IMAX midnight screening.

Of course he thought I was cured. He wasn't there to watch me suffocate.

A dull, heavy pressure bloomed in the center of my chest, like a fistful of wet cotton wedged beneath my ribs.

"That clearance was issued in my legal name. How could you possibly submit it?"

"I just told the registrar there was a paperwork mix-up from when I hyphenated my surname," she said, flashing a breezy, guiltless smile. "Besides, you never speak up in class anyway. It's not like the department head actually knows what your face looks like."

I drew a sharp breath.

A familiar, jagged tension pulled at the base of my lungs. A faint, high-pitched whistle rattled inside my airway.

I jerked open the bottom drawer, my fingers frantically sweeping the dark corners for my blue rescue inhaler.

Nothing. Bare wood.

I pulled the drawer entirely out of its tracks and tipped it forward. Empty.

"Are you looking for that scuffed-up blue canister?" Savannah asked, tilting her head.

I looked up at her, my vision prickling.

She gestured toward the hallway with a manicured thumb. "I did a quick sweep yesterday while you were at the library. That thing was covered in grime, and it expired like months ago, right? I just tossed it down the trash chute."

"Tossed it."

She had taken my lifeline, the one thing standing between me and respiratory failure, and dumped it down the garbage chute.

The panic flared, instantaneous and suffocating.

I bolted out of my chair, shoved past her, and sprinted into the hall.

"Hallie! What is your problem? It was literally an empty plastic tube!" her voice shrilled behind me.

By the time I reached the utility alcove, the custodial cart was already gone. The main bin had been emptied and lined with fresh black plastic.

Empty.

I slid down against the cold, cinderblock wall, my hands clamped over my knees, gasping for air. The draft in the hallway felt like crushed glass tearing down my trachea.

My phone vibrated violently against my hip.

Bryce.

I swiped the screen with trembling, uncooperative fingers.

"Hallie? Savannah just texted me. Did you really just snap at her over nothing?"

His voice was smooth as velvet, but beneath the surface lay that familiar edge of tired reproach.

"My... inhaler," I forced out, fighting the constriction in my throat.

"It’s an inhaler, Hallie. Can you please stop turning every minor inconvenience into a federal case?" He sighed, the sound heavy through the speaker. "Savannah was just trying to help you tidy up your mess. How was she supposed to know it mattered that much? You're frightening her."

"Frightening her."

I was sitting on the floor suffocating, and his instinct was to shield Savannah from my tone.

"Did you... ever tell her... what it does?" I wheezed.

"Why would I bring your medical history up to her out of the blue? Look, you’re always preaching about how self-sufficient you are. Flying off the handle over an expired prescription? That’s really not like you."

"Not like me."

Then who had I been all these years?

The memory of my college admission dinner flooded back. Jordan had booked a private dining room at an upscale steakhouse down by the harbor, inviting every aunt, uncle, and family friend to celebrate my acceptance into the honors college.

Ten minutes before appetizers were served, Savannah slipped on the wet tile near the restroom, crying that her ankle was sprained.

Jordan and Bryce didn't hesitate. They scooped her up between them and sped off to the emergency clinic.

I was the guest of honor, and I became the ghost at the feast.

I spent the evening standing alone by the host stand, absorbing the pitying, awkward stares of our relatives. Refilling water glasses. Making light excuses for my missing brother and boyfriend.

When they finally came home past midnight, Savannah had an elastic bandage loosely wrapped around her foot.

Jordan had glanced at the leftover boxes on the counter and patted my shoulder once. "You’ve always been resilient, Hallie. You know how to handle a room."

Resilient.

Independent.

Easygoing.

Those were the labels they slapped on me like shipping tags—the currency they spent to buy Savannah whatever she wanted at my expense.

"Bryce."

"Yeah? Are you ready to be reasonable now?"

"My waiver is gone. Tomorrow on the field, they’ll run me until I drop."

"Treat it as cross-training," he said lightly. "Savvy’s skin is prone to solar hives; direct heat makes her break out. Just let her have this one, Hallie."

"Let her have this one."

First it was clothes, then jewelry, then honors awards, then the front-row seats.

And now my lungs. My life.

"Fine," I whispered.

I ended the call.

The spasm in my chest eased slightly, but it was a temporary reprieve. I knew what was waiting for me tomorrow under the midday sun.

I didn't send another text. I didn't reach out to Jordan.

If they truly believed I was made of iron—if they were so convinced I couldn't be broken—then I would let them watch me shatter.

When I stepped back into the room, Savannah was holding the insulated tumbler, posing for a selfie in the vanity mirror.

"Not mad anymore?" she asked, glancing up with a wide, radiant smile.

"Not mad."

"I knew you'd understand! You're the absolute best." She leaned over and bumped her shoulder playfully against mine. "Be quiet when you leave tomorrow morning, okay? I’m planning on sleeping until noon."

"Okay."