Free Rumble by Ellen Hopkins

anyway.
    He was too young to have the first idea how
    to go about such a thing. But then the wrong
    person overheard the wrong conversation,
    and that person, well, as I’m sure you’ve
    already intuited, he was supposed to be
    my friend, but that’s how the whole thing
    got started and . . .” Vince and I were
    pretty great friends growing up, in fact.
    We ran in a pack—Marshall, Vince, Doug,
    and me. Luke always wanted to tag along,
    which would have been okay had I been
    in charge. But the other guys didn’t think
    he could keep up and were mortified
    to have a little kid attached like a tail
    whenever there were girls around,
    especially since most females found
    Luke just “so darn adorable.” Then, as
    we got older, my buddies and I were doing
    things no younger brother should witness.
    “Yeah, I was defriended because of Luke.
    Obviously they weren’t very good friends.”
Only Marshall didn’t blink an eye,
mostly because, big confession, his favorite
uncle is gay: Big effing deal. Why should
I care if Uncle Ken is in love with a dude?
It’s not like he gives me all the filthy
details. And man, can that Taylor cook!
Tell Luke to be sure and find someone
who knows how to make homemade
pizza. See, that is why I love Marshall.
    But I leave that off the table. “Anyway,”
    I tell Martha, “I still have decent friends,
    not to mention a girlfriend to die for.”

Tongue Slips
    Are making this conversation
    so tiresome. Martha stares at me
    quizzically. “Not literally expire
    for. Man, can’t I use a colloquialism
    without inspiring paranoia?”
No comment. Instead, she asks,
What about your nightmares?
    I could lie, but what’s the point
    of therapy if I don’t admit, “I still
    have them from time to time. But
    not nearly as often as I used to.”
She looks unconvinced. When
was the last time you had one?
    Confession, I’ve heard, is good
    for the soul. And that’s why I’m here,
    isn’t it? “A couple of days ago.”
Her gray head nods expectation.
Did something specific trigger it?
    Just hours ago I was dying—er,
    I mean, anxious—to discuss Hayden
    with an impartial third party. Yet, now
    reluctance forms like a big glob
    of phlegm in my throat. “I—uh—I’m
    not sure. Maybe it’s because . . .”
    Oh, what the hell? “I think it had
    something to do with Hayden. We got
    into a couple of arguments and I started
    thinking about losing her. I don’t know
    if I could handle losing someone else.”
I hate to point this out, but loss
is inevitable. You’re young and . . .
    Even as my mouth spills the words
    “I know,” my head swivels side to
    side in the negative. “Okay, I know
    we’re young. But why does that have
    to mean we can’t last? Some people
    who fall in love in high school stay
    together for the rest of their lives.
    Why couldn’t that be Hayden and me?
    I hate how people make promises,
    then turn around and break them.
    I hate how everything good turns
    to shit eventually. I hate when . . .”

I’m Panting Anxiety
    Wheezing air like I just completed
    a dozen wind sprints, Dad yelling
    at me to hurry. Move it. Why can’t you
    run like your brother? Yeah, Dad.
    Luke outran me all the way to hell,
    which is about the time I started getting
    mild anxiety attacks. Guess I’ll have to
    catch up to him there. Martha sighs.
Deep breaths, Matt. In. Pause. Out.
Pause. Remember what I showed
you last time. She lifts her hands,
rotates her palms upward for in. Pause.
    Turns them toward the floor for down.
    Directing my breathing like a symphony.
    It’s fascinating to watch, and without
    really thinking about it, I collect myself—
    oxygen intake and blood pressure start
    to normalize, and I can breathe comfortably
    again. “Man. You are really good.
    Do you come in a portable model?”
She grins. The whole point of therapy
is giving you the necessary tools to use
on your own, so a portable me is
unnecessary. You should be practicing
this exercise at home.