Chasing Crazy - Kelly Siskind Page 0,105

again.

Office…I need to make it to the office.

But my name crackles through the microphone on stage. All five syllables.

Laughs disperse through the room as I fight the urge to curl into a ball on the floor.

“Should I tell them you’re not feeling well?” Becca’s voice registers as the principal calls my name again.

Fisting my hands, I breathe deeply. If I could handle tasting Mom’s curdled crème caramel, surely I can conquer the Thursday Burrito. It will pass. It’s just a moment. I probably need to get up and get moving. To avoid my name being called a third time, I stand on wobbly legs and wave at the principal like I’m royalty. The internal stabbing lessens. Slightly. I squeeze down the row, bumping each set of knees as I pass. Once in the aisle, I smooth my pleated skirt and close my eyes, willing the tornado in my stomach to cease. It does. Briefly. Three steps in, I stand taller, hoping my pale skin doesn’t look as green as it feels. On the ninth step, I stop.

Something shifts in my gut, something bad, a wave of cramps moving south.

A bubbling that can only lead to one thing.

Holy freaking God.

Suddenly, throwing up is the least of my worries.

I should lunge for the exit, a mad sprint before I erupt. I should pull the fire alarm or call in a bomb threat. I should do anything but continue on my current trajectory. Unfortunately, I stay my course, the movement almost involuntary. Automatic. I clench every muscle down to the tendons in my toes as I make my way to the steps. Then I climb.

One step. Sweat beads under my arms.

Two. My balance wavers.

Three. Four. Five.

I shuffle to the microphone, unsure how I’ve made it this far. I grab the podium to keep upright. They replaced the old one a month ago, and I grip the clear glass, mortified my knocking knees are visible through the transparent stand. The rows of shirts and ties blend into a massive cloud of blue and white. A voice from behind me, Mrs. Bramowitz maybe, prompts me to speak. All I can do is clench. Clench as if my life depends it, which it pretty much does. Another wave rocks through me. Deeper. Acute. Like if I loosen up in the slightest, if I even breathe, the contents of my stomach will flow down my legs. Glued in place, I barely twitch. My chin trembles as I lock eyes with Drew Masters, who not long ago smiled at me. Who maybe didn’t know I was defective. A girl beside him holds up her phone as if videoing my turmoil.

That’s the instant Mrs. Bramowitz approaches me from behind. I don’t see her. I smell her. My noses twitches the way it does, and the horror of what’s about to happen registers. There’s no time to cry or blink. Or wish upon a wishing star that I were anyone else but me.

I sneeze. Once. That’s all it takes to ruin my life.

About the Author

A small-town girl at heart, Kelly Siskind moved from the city to open a cheese shop with her husband in northern Ontario. When she’s not neck-deep in cheese or out hiking, you can find her, notepad in hand, scribbling down one of the many plot bunnies bouncing around in her head.

She laughs at her own jokes and has been known to eat her feelings—Gummy bears heal all. She’s also an incurable romantic, devouring romance novels into the wee hours of the morning.

Learn more at:

KellySiskind.com

Twitter @KellySiskind

Facebook.com/AuthorKellySiskind

See the next page for a preview of the first book in Kelly Siskind’s brand new contemporary romance series!

Chapter One

Shay

You can tell a lot about a woman by the type of bra she wears. For instance, the silky black number clutched in my hand as I swing my skis on the chairlift, the one that makes my girls look some kind of wonderful, this one says classy, yet conservative.

“How far is it?” Lily asks, her white-blonde hair almost camouflaged by the wisps of snow collecting on her lilac jacket.

March in Aspen and the snow is heavier than in midwinter, the evergreens lining the runs sagging under pillows of the white stuff. With each blink, the frosted tips of my eyelashes brush my cheeks. “It’s closer to the end of the lift. Trust me, you can’t miss it.”

“You sure this is a good idea? We could come back tomorrow, and you could wear a different bra and carry this one so you don’t,