Cold Girls by Maxine Rae

Author:Maxine Rae
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Social Themes / Death, Grief, Bereavement / Friendship / Coming of Age
Publisher: North Star Editions
Published: 2023-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

chapter sixteen

six months before

We left Milo tending to his hand in Grace’s basement and ran out of there like it was on fire. For the first time, Liv started driving without turning on music.

“I—”

“It’s fine,” Liv said.

“I didn’t mean to start a whole . . . thing,” I said.

“You didn’t.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Rory.”

I felt that one in my chest, hard and cold. Like ice.

I took a deep breath, then another one, like I did sometimes when one of my family members was on my nerves. It didn’t push away the anger at her shortness. I wanted to say something petty, something with no purpose except to bite her back, to make her feel a little dismissed, too. Because I had just been humiliated on the Hot Seat, and I was a virgin, and I was uncool, and I didn’t feel like a bigger person just then.

I said: “Just drop me off at home and go back to the party. Go back to your boyfriend.” I swallowed. “I’m clearly the weird girl that you took under your wing to be the hero.”

It worked.

“Fuck off,” she snarled.

“I will,” I retorted, embarrassed at how my eyes were starting to prickle. “Just fucking pull over.”

She did, shifting into park, and I unbuckled my seat belt.

Then she started hyperventilating.

I froze, my hand on the door, and looked at her. Everything that had just hung in the air between us—all the tension, the anger, the pettiness—had dissolved. She was still clutching the steering wheel, but her head had dropped, and her body was heaving with each breath. Each high-pitched, raspy breath.

I knew I should say something, but my throat had buckled itself shut, and all I could do was watch. She lifted her head and stared straight ahead, a look of existential dread in her eyes, the blood drained from her face. She let go of the steering wheel and placed her hands under her chin, her whole body shaking. The weird, raspy breaths kept coming, jagged, like a knife cutting clumsily through paper.

“I . . . can’t . . .” she kept saying, over and over again, shaking her head, closing her eyes. “I . . . can’t . . .”

“You’re scaring me,” I whispered.

She shook her head again, trying to say something. She was so pale. “N . . . nor . . . normal,” she choked out.

“Normal?”

She motioned to her chest, which was heaving. Each breath cut through the air sharply, puncturing the warm, stale haze in the car. She took five breaths before speaking again, and when she did, the words tumbled out, strained, as if it was costing her every effort she could muster.

“Panic attack,” she breathed.

I blinked. I thought I knew what panic attacks were. This didn’t seem like that. This seemed like a heart attack.

I fumbled around, realizing that I was shaking, too. “Should I call someone?”

She shook her head, eyes closed, face twisted. She took a deep breath, and then another. “Had . . . them,” she choked out. “Since .

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