her legs to push through the quicksand of her fear.
“Brea!” Myles called after her as she ran through the cafeteria, shoving people out of the way.
She burst through the double doors into the hall, but it wasn’t enough.
“I can’t breathe,” she said to herself as her head whipped from side to side searching for an escape.
“Where are you going, weirdo?”
She didn’t know who said it, but a crowd of people stood in the doorway watching her.
Myles pushed through them, trying to get to her, to reach her.
But he was too late.
Brea’s sneakers squeaked against the tile floor, and the hall became a blur of lockers. A hall monitor tried to stop her, but she kept going until she reached the front door of the school.
A blast of winter air struck her the moment she crashed through the doors. She gulped a breath as if she’d never feel its icy chill again and ran down the steps.
Snow coated the walkway in front of her, leading to the student parking lot where a fresh dusting covered the cars.
Snow made the world look so new, but even that was a lie. It only covered up the grime underneath.
A chill raced down her spine, and she hugged her arms across her chest, wishing for the jacket that sat snug in her locker.
Wacko.
That was what they thought of her. She couldn’t face this school any longer. But where could she go? Her parents thought much worse things of her. Tears froze in her lashes, and she wanted to scream. Not even her tears could thaw her.
“Where are you going?” Myles’ voice behind her was soft.
She didn’t turn to him. “Leave me alone, Myles.”
“Brea, you have to go back in there and show them nothing they say matters.”
“But it does. It all matters.” She whirled on her heel, narrowly missing a patch of ice. “You can’t tell me you don’t think it. Just a little.”
“Think what?”
“That I should never have been released from the institute.”
“I’d never think something like that.”
A warm tear tracked down her icy cheek. “No, you wouldn’t say it, but everyone thinks it. My parents. Them.” She gestured to the school. “This version of me, the one who exists inside that school instead of in a sterile room. It’s not real. I finally see it now. The Brea Robinson you see is the lie.”
“Don’t say that?”
Anger burned through her. Why couldn’t he see this?
The doors opened behind them, and a few of Myles’ teammates piled out of the building. They stopped when they saw them.
“Lover’s quarrel?” Carson Freemont asked.
As the quarterback, most people wished he’d speak to them. But he’d been tormenting her since middle school, and she just wished he’d go away.
“This is none of your business, Freemont.” Myles drew himself up to his full height—which was about an inch taller than Carson’s six feet.
Carson laughed. “Touched a nerve, did I?” He looked to his friends with a grin. “So, Brea, heard you were in the nut house. Almost killed your ma.”
And it all made sense. How some of the kids at school knew. Carson’s mom was in a church group with Brea’s.
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, kept there by some invisible force. A tingling started in her fingertips, and she rubbed them together, trying to rid herself of the feeling. She knew what it meant.
Brea was about to lose control.
She breathed deeply, trying to push away the emotions swirling in her chest. Shame. Guilt. But most of all, anger. She was so freaking angry at this world, this school, these kids. The list was long.
“Not about to go psycho on us, are you?” Carson lifted a brow and stepped toward her. His frame loomed over her smaller one, and she stared down at her feet.
He wasn’t finished. “Come on, Robinson. I want to see some of that legendary temper. You can be a grand prize winner of a lifelong stay at the Clarkson Center.”
He even knew the institute they’d put her in. The Clarkson Center dealt with delinquents with mental disturbances.
Memories flashed through her mind of the first night she’d arrived there when she was just a child. They’d strapped her to a bed. She’d thrashed against the restraints and screamed about how nothing was real.
After that, everything she’d done had been monitored. Even now, she was expected to go straight to her therapist after school.
Her fists clenched at her sides, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t lose control, she told herself.
But it was no use