Chapter 2She Stole My Last Breath

The September sun beat down on the turf like an open furnace.

The dark synthetic track gave off a nauseating, petroleum stink that made my throat tighten with every shallow breath.

I stood at the far end of the third rank, sweat soaking the collar of my heavy gray training uniform.

"Hallie Dominic!"

The athletic coordinator marched over, a laminated roster clutched in his hand, his expression storm-dark.

"Here, sir."

"Where is your medical exemption? I gave you until five o'clock yesterday to file the hard copy with the dean."

I looked the man in the eye. "I don't have an exemption filed, sir."

"You don't? Then why weren't you at kit inspection yesterday? Why were you five minutes late to roll call this morning?"

I hadn't been late by choice. Last night, Savannah had tipped a full mug of iced caramel macchiato across my clean uniform. I had stayed up until two in the morning scrubbing the milk stain and drying the fabric under a desk fan.

"My fault, sir."

"Your fault? Everyone else managed to follow the schedule. What makes you special? Fall out. Three laps around the perimeter. You don't rejoin your squad until you finish."

I pivoted and pushed my legs forward, feeling the dead weight in my quads.

Halfway through the first turn, I saw them under the shade of the tall oak trees near the pavilion.

Savannah wore an airy white eyelet dress and an oversized raffia sunhat. Jordan stood beside her, twisting the cap off an ice-cold bottle of sparkling spring water and passing it to her. Bryce stood on her other side, holding a handheld misting fan aimed directly at her collarbone.

They looked like three friends at a private country club.

My pace faltered as I ran past them.

Jordan caught sight of me, his eyebrows knotting into an instant scowl. "Hallie? What are you doing over here? Did you mouth off to the trainer already?"

The disdain in his tone was sharp and unvarnished.

Bryce turned, letting out a heavy, disappointed breath. "You really can't help yourself, can you? Just apologize to the staff. Stop trying to prove a point."

Savannah clutched the water bottle with both hands, leaning forward with exaggerated concern. "Hallie, do you need a sip? Your face is completely pale."

She extended the open bottle Jordan had just handed her.

I didn't reach for it.

"I'm fine," I rasped.

I kept moving.

The leaden ache in my chest blossomed into a suffocating burn. The whistling sound in my throat turned harsh, like a rusty pair of shears grinding together.

By the second lap, the bright green turf began to bleed into the asphalt. The white chalk boundaries warped and shimmered like heat mirages.

A memory flashed behind my eyes—sophomore year, the President’s Academic Fellowship.

It was the most prestigious grant in the college of design, carrying a substantial cash stipend. My GPA had been the highest in the department; my portfolio was the clear favorite.

When the recipient board was posted in the faculty lounge, Savannah’s name was on the plaque.

I had stormed into the department chair’s office. The professor adjusted his glasses and told me Jordan had submitted an amendment on my behalf.

"Your brother explained the delicate financial situation Savannah’s family is facing, and told us you insisted on withdrawing your candidacy in her favor. It was a noble sacrifice, Hallie."

"Financial hardship."

The designer tote bag Savannah carried to the registrar that day cost more than my entire semesterly grocery allowance.

I found Jordan at the campus sports pub, cheering as Savannah picked through a plate of loaded truffle fries.

"She’s been trying to buy that vintage keyboard for months, Hallie," he had said, not even looking at me. "You’ve got side gigs. You don't need the extra cash. It’s just money."

"I didn't sleep for three weeks to finish that portfolio, Jordan!"

"It's one award. I’ll make it up to you later."

He never made it up to me.

He couldn't even remember that I hated mushrooms on my pizza, let alone a four-thousand-dollar fellowship.

"Hhh... hhh..."

My lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves.

The wheeze tearing through my throat was loud enough now that nearby students started glancing over.

"Hey! Are you okay?" a girl shouted from the sideline.

Her voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a deep well.

Halfway through the third lap, my knees simply gave out.

The horizon tilted sideways. Then came the blunt, violent impact as my body hit the rubber track.

My palms and knees tore against the rough synthetic surface, burning white-hot.

Gasps rippled through the nearby ranks. Shuffling boots echoed in the distance.

Through the gray static closing over my sight, I heard Bryce’s voice.

"Hallie! What are you doing?"

He didn't ask if I was hurt. He asked what I was "doing".

I forced my eyelids open a fraction.

Bryce was striding toward me, but he stopped a full step away. His arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed in disgust.

"Are you seriously throwing a tantrum on the track just to get back at Savannah? You think playing dead is going to guilt-trip us?"

"Playing dead."

Jordan caught up, instinctively shifting his body to block Savannah from the sight.

"Hallie, drop the act," Jordan barked. "Savannah has anxiety about medical stuff. Look at her—she’s shaking because of you."

I looked at them.

The boy who had promised to protect me before we even started grade school.

The boy who had spent three years claiming he loved me.

Their eyes didn't hold a single flicker of concern for the girl bleeding on the asphalt. Their eyes were fixed entirely on the girl in the white dress who hadn't even broken a sweat.

I parted my dry lips, trying to tell them I couldn't breathe.

All that escaped was a sickening, dry rattle.

The light snapped off. Darkness rushed in.

Right before the void swallowed me, a furious, unfamiliar female voice tore through the air:

"Are you two blind or just braindead?! Listen to her chest! She's having an acute respiratory attack! She’s suffocating to death!"