Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [20]
My face flushed deeper, my pulse reeled, the room started to spin— I was going to faint. Hoping to stop the swaying of the room, I closed my eyes, took several deep breaths— getting even dizzier— and tried to pretend I was dreaming. I hadn’t meant to follow the book’s advice, but somehow here I was, doing what it had suggested.
“Hello, my name is Yara Silva. People always ask what my name means.” I took another deep breath.
As I talked, little drops of sweat began to trickle between my shoulder blades and my necklace felt uncomfortably warm around my neck. Still trying to calm myself, I concentrated harder on pretending I was dreaming, distancing myself from reality, like I was outside myself, a mere observer. Suddenly the world around me seemed to slow, and I felt as if some part of me had detached from the rest. My head felt groggy, as if in a deep sleep and unable to awaken itself. I heard the words I was speaking, but at the same time, it was as if I wasn’t the one saying them. It felt like I really was dreaming, but somehow I knew I wasn’t. Had I hypnotized my own brain? Focusing as hard as I could, I tried to see if I could pull even further away.
It worked; I felt a cold rush of air as my spirit completely left my body. My dull, foggy brain was suddenly wide awake, alert, while the rest of the world seemed frozen in time. The words I had been saying stopped and I turned to see my body, still as a statue and ghostly white. What had I done? Could I get back? Raw panic overwhelmed me, constricting my chest, pulling my spirit back to my body.
I became whole again, except now I was freezing and shivering. Everything seemed back to its normal pace, but I felt sluggish, slightly out of sync. My shaking body had never felt colder and I crossed my arms and began rubbing them for warmth. A scattered chorus of giggles from my classmates brought me back to the reality that I had a speech to finish. My tongue was heavy like it had been coated with thick peanut butter. After rubbing it several times against the roof of my mouth it finally loosened. It took great effort to give my closing remarks.
“That was . . . interesting,” Mrs. Piper said politely, looking surprised that I hadn’t passed out. Still shivering and feeling dazed, I made my way back to my seat, nearly tripping twice. Brent’s eyes were on me; I could feel him trying to get my attention but I refused to look at him. I sank gratefully into my chair, squinting against the glare of the lights in our class.
Cherie leaned over and practically shouted in an impressed voice, “That’s the best you’ve ever done.”
I shushed her with a worried glance toward our teacher. Cherie frowned at me, not liking being shushed. Still not quite feeling like myself, I started to explain, in a quiet whisper, the weird event that had just taken place, “It wasn’t me; it was like . . .” I was interrupted by Mrs. Piper calling Cherie up for her turn.
She stood up in front of the class, and without any fear, launched into the story of her life. My head throbbed in pain and I dropped it to my desk, covering my ears with my arms to stop the pounding in them. My nostrils inhaled an overpowering and nauseating mixture of sweat, perfume, and deodorant. Worse still, my taste buds absorbed it and it settled down to my stomach, which turned over, threatening to be sick. Tears flooded my eyes, trying to ease the burning caused by the painful brightness of the room. The shrillness around me was like a live wire, scratching and tormenting my senses, zapping my nerves, in a series of painful jolts.
Soon Cherie sat down amid a round of loud applause that made my ears cringe. A thick sheen of sweat formed on my face as my body slowly warmed. With my head still down I raised my hand, begging Mrs. Piper to let me be excused. Cherie tried to ask me what was wrong, but I couldn’t answer as I fled