Revived

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I’m flattened and thrashing on the sun-warmed track next to the football field, lying on what looks like asphalt but what I realize now that I’m down here is actually that fake spongy stuff. It reeks like it was just installed. There’s a woman kneeling beside my right shoulder, shouting into a cell phone.

“Her name is Daisy… uh…” Sharply, she sucks in her breath. “I don’t know her last name!” she cries.

For a split second, I don’t know, either.

“Appleby,” another teacher shouts.

“Appleby,” the first repeats to the 911 dispatcher. “It looks like she’s having an allergic reaction to something.”

Bee, I try to say, but there’s no air. No word.

My jerking limbs are like venomous snakes to the students forming a circle around me: The kids jump back in fear. I gasp with my entire body but only one rationed breath comes through. I know it’s one of my last.

When my P.E. teacher told us to jog the outdoor track to warm up for volleyball, I was excited about the fresh air. Maybe I’d get a little color on my cheeks. But then a fuzzy yellow and black menace wanted to join me, and decided that maybe he’d invite a few friends, too. I hit number one on my speed dial the second I felt the familiar pinch of the first bee sting; I only hope Mason makes it in time.

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