Picture This

by Norah McClintock

  Tom brought thoughts of Logan.

  Who was I kidding? Whenever I shut my eyes, I almost always thought of Logan.

  Except, I was starting to forget the way he smelled. Don’t be grossed out. Logan smelled better than anyone I’d ever known. I’d even bought a bottle of his cologne to wear. But it didn’t smell the same on me as it did on him. Body chemistry, I guess.

  Forcing myself to think of something else, I concentrated on the roll of earth at the small of my back, the scratch of grass beneath my palms, the warmth of the sun on my eyelids.

  I floated there for a while, knowing it was almost time to go back inside. Just as I was about to sit up, I heard a slight buzz in my ear, felt a soft tickle on my cheek. I imagined it was Logan teasing me with a blade of grass. I imagined what I would do back and grew hotter still. The buzz faded; the tickling dropped to my chin.

  Some kind of bug. I brushed at my face, heard an angry buzz, and then I felt it—a sharp sting on my neck.

  “Ow!” The pain was intense, red-hot and scorching.

  A bee sting. My first.

  It had to happen sometime. And what better place to get stung than outside a drug store where I knew the pharmacist and he could pull the lid on a bottle of Calamine lotion without me paying for it.

  I grabbed my soda and scrambled to my feet. Sunlight glinted off the cars passing by, the sky was an unreal pencil-crayon blue. A car horn sounded; a child laughed. The noises rushed in, filled me up.

  Probably I should get the stinger out, I thought. Weren’t you supposed to?

  A wave of dizziness turned the world sideways. Nerves, I told myself. It was only a bee sting. No biggie.

  Except the pain was spreading. Down my neck and into my chest. Sweat beaded my forehead.

  Don’t be silly. You’re going to be fine.

  I hurried toward the parking lot. The dizziness was getting worse, the noise from the cars growing louder. I knew about shock reactions; I’d learned something working at Bartell’s for the last eight months. But no one in my family was allergic. To anything.

  By the time I got to the parking lot, I knew I was wrong. Someone in our family was allergic to something. And that someone was me. My legs felt like they were going uphill through cement. My arms tingled, my breath was wooly in my throat.

  Across the lot, I saw M.C. and her stupid Kitty dog standing in the doorway talking to Lila.

  I started to run. And then everything turned black.