Remember Me

Chapter One

The bell rings which is the cue to put my book down and hurry along to biology class. It's the last day of classes before the end of junior year and I am dreading every single minute of it. All the goodbyes, it was a pleasure to teach you's, and the can't wait to see you next year's make me want to throw up the cinnamon bagel I had for breakfast.

In all my years in school, I've never been a huge fan of the last day of school. Don't get me wrong, I am a typical teenager and absolutely love summer vacation, it's just the goodbyes that are hard for me to handle. Even the simple word goodbye could trigger one of my uncontrollable panic attacks. This year specifically is physically painful for me because much to everyone's knowledge, I am not coming back next year.

After today I won't have to walk past the mundane grey walls every day. I won't have to sit in English class and pretend to not know all the answers. I won't have to eat the disgusting cafeteria food, if you can even call it that, anymore. No more early mornings, cramming for tests, or scrambling to get to school on time when the bus doesn't show up.

Because the truth is I won't be alive next year.

I'll be dead in two months.

Screw life.

I was diagnosed with mesothelioma, a type of cancer situated in the lungs just under five months ago, at the beginning of January, and since then, my life hasn't been the same. It was like a switch was flipped after I had experienced the worst pain I had ever had in my entire life.

As I entered the English classroom, the familiar scent of books and freshly sharpened pencils filled the air. It seemed like an ordinary day, with my classmates chattering and the teacher preparing for the lesson ahead. Taking my seat near the window, I tried to focus on the upcoming discussion, but a sharp pang in my chest disrupted my thoughts. Ignoring it at first, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, hoping the pain would subside. But instead of fading away, the ache intensified, as if a vice was tightening around my chest.

I winced, clutching at my heart, my breaths becoming shallow and rapid. Concerned glances from my classmates met my anxious eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to speak up. It felt like an invisible weight pressing against me, making it harder to breathe with each passing second. I mustered the courage to raise my hand, my voice trembling as I addressed my teacher.

"Excuse me, Ms. Whitlock," I managed to say, my words barely audible above the throbbing in my ears. "May I please be excused? I'm not feeling too well."

Ms. Whitlock, her expression a mix of worry and understanding, nodded and gave me permission to leave the classroom. The mere act of standing up seemed to require immense effort, and I stumbled toward the door, my hand pressed against my heaving chest. My classmates concerned gazes followed me as I hurried out, their whispers fading into the distance.

Barely making it to the bathroom, I leaned against the cold tile wall, desperately trying to catch my breath. The pain now radiated through my entire torso, a burning sensation that felt as if my lungs were being seared by an invisible flame. My vision blurred with each intake of air, and the room seemed to spin around me. Panicked, I splashed some water on my face, hoping to find some relief. But as I gazed into the mirror, my reflection revealed the truth: I was pale, drenched in a cold sweat, and my eyes reflected a mix of fear and uncertainty. Every breath was a struggle as if the air had transformed into a dense fog that refused to enter my lungs.

My legs gave way beneath me, and I collapsed onto the bathroom floor, the pain intensifying with each passing moment. Gasping for air, I clutched at my chest, unable to form coherent thoughts. It felt like the world was closing in on me, fading into darkness as my body succumbed to the overwhelming agony.