Brooklynn—
Anna is having a low blood sugar—something we both know all too well.
I’ve been a type one diabetic since I was nine. My pancreas shut down on me one day, making me sick as hell. I was thirsty, tired, nauseous, moody. My symptoms went on for almost a month before my mom took me to the doctor…my life changed, I changed, everything changed.
Anna’s problem is the opposite. She makes too much insulin and often goes low a couple hours after eating or—like right now—if she’s had too much caffeine or sugar. Since the day we both went low at color guard practice, we’ve joked we should just stick our pancreases in a blender and maybe it’ll come out healthy.
As she fumbles for glucose tabs in her locker, I notice her hands are sweaty and shaking. I push her aside, snatch the bottle off the shelve and snap the lid open. I hand her three of the sour chalky tablets.
“Thanks.” She takes them. “I’ll be okay. I shouldn’t have had all that…the strawberries and tea…that probably has sugar in it and a coffee this morning. It just spikes me, and then I drop really fast.”
I nod. “I know. Just chillax.”
But what I don’t say…what I will never say, is that I am jealous of Anna as she stands there sweaty and dizzy. I don’t feel my lows anymore and it’s my fault. Highs just scare the living crap out of me now. It’s been one year, five months, two weeks and four days since I became the New Brooklynn. And I have to keep that up before it all goes to hell again.
I can’t say any of this…so I close my eyes and focus on helping her.
Anna pops another glucose tab in her mouth and rubs her eyes hard. “Tell me more about—about this kid.” She says, but I can tell she’s getting wobbly. We both slide to sit on the floor, backs up against the wall. “Do you even know his name?”
I shake my head. “I told you everything I know…but I want to know more.”
“Me too.”
“And how about you and Ryan, I saw you talking all alone!” My voice edges to an excited squeal, but that damn pump is beeping in my pocket. I pretend it’s all good.
She shakes her head, but I’ve already seen the color rise to her cheeks. “You like him,” I continue. ”I know you like him. I saw the way you watch him march when we stretch.”
For the last two and a half weeks, the marching band and the dance team have practiced together. They march and play awesome music; we flip, spin, twirl ribbons, wave flags and cheer. And the whole time, Anna has had her eye on Ryan—and vice versa.
“Okay,” she admits, with a weak smile. “I do…you have to admit he’s pretty cute.”
“I dunno. But it’s great that you like him.” The pump beeps twice again, and I decide to see what it wants. Shit, my bolus didn’t go through. A wave of temptation washes over me…do I just cancel it? Do I just cancel it? My eyes mist over.
Anna nudges me. “Hey, you okay?”
I snap out of it…but the tears are about to fall. “Y-yeah. Um, I think the canula is kinked. I’m gonna go see if I can fix it. I’ll, um, be right back. F-feel better.” I get to my feet…I realize I’m shaking. One tear slips out—I make a beeline for the bathroom.
Thank god no one is there. I rush into the handicapped stall and fall to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Curled up against the wall, pump in hand, on the edge of weak and strong. That damn pump beeps again: asks if I want to continue with the bolus.
I say no. For the first time in one month, one week and two days I say no.
I cry some more…I am so weak.
Okay, so this is gonna start kind of slow...Each character will get a chance to speak from their POV and their conflicts will come out. There is not a central conflict, per say, but each character must help the others overcome their personal burden that is holding them back from progressing forward as a young adult. They're all in high school. Anna and Ryan are sophomores, Brooke is a junior and Shawn is a senior
