Cherry Roberson’s knees were knocking. She struggled to move forward as her legs rattled like shutters in a thunderstorm. During passing time, her shakes went unnoticed. Thank God. Fellow students rushed past her without a glance.
     Think about math, think about math. Sadly, to no avail. Cherry remained bombarded with the knee-knocking thoughts. Numbers and equations simply vanished from her head as quickly as they came, replaced by his teeth, his jaw, his laugh, his eyes.
     The horrible, all-too-familiar sinking sensation returned. Her heart became a fist trying to punch its way out of her chest and onto the squeaky hallway floor. Burning, burning all over. It was too late now. Deflated, Cherry ducked into the nearest bathroom, flushed and trembling.
     Oddly enough, a sort of relief came over Cherry as soon as the yellow, slimy vomit smacked against the toilet water. Her eyes squinched shut. With one hand she fought to keep her namesake, very red hair, held back from her face. The linoleum was cold and slightly damp. Her left knee had hit the floor too hard on the way down. Cherry could practically sense the ugly bruise forming. The vomit kept coming.
     I hate you, Link. This is all your fault.
     A pause. She took in great gulps of air. It tasted of bowl cleaner.
     Maybe I’m finished now.
     Just as the memory of Link hugging her intruded her brain again, the retching returned.
     I. Hate. You. Link.
     Finally her stomach was empty. No more. The acid ate away at her insides. Cherry’s cheek rested against the seat. Breathe in. Breathe out. The smell was horrible.
     The tears leaked out the corners of her eyes. She didn’t bother wiping them away.
     Link ruined my life.
     Impossible, though, to deny how good it felt those days when Link used to brush her hair. Backstage at rehearsal, Cherry would remark how tangled her hair was loudly, just hoping Link might offer to brush it. With happiness, he did. His hands holding her red, red locks, combination strong and gentle, sent electricity over Cherry’s skin.
     “Man, Cherry, you’ve got a helluva head o’ hair!”
     Cherry’s heart turned back flips. It took all of her strength not to cup his face in her hands and press her tongue into his mouth.
      At this thought, Cherry let out a tiny, choked sob. Tears cascaded down her splotchy pink cheeks.
     How could this happen to me?
     Link could make anybody laugh. He was so goofy. Not to mention a real charmer. His eyes squinted shut when he smiled. He was bouncy and animated. Never had he failed to brighten Cherry’s day. Every time he left, she could hardly wait for his return. That was how it started, she recalled. Wanting to spend all her time with him.
     If only I’d known it would come to this.
     Nobody understands!
     In middle school, that was the first time. The first time that Cherry’s friends had mused over what a blessing true love must be. Gag. Such talk bored Cherry to death.
     “Doesn’t sound so great to me.”
     She remembered Miranda staring. “But…why not?”
     “Being totally obsessed with another person? You can’t even think straight! Love makes you act like an idiot. Some people even kills themselves over breakups. Is that really worth it? I don’t think so!”
     Later, questions like, “Won’t you ever get married?”
     “Be controlled by some guy and turned into a baby factory? No way!”
     Cherry had a hard time admitting to herself that this was, indeed, a fear. All in all, it was the loss of control that really got to her.
     Nothing hurts worse than this!
     Her nose ran heavily. It was near faucet-like in its intensity. She sniffed, and pulled her knees up to her chest.
     In the darkness of the nights, beneath the warmth of a blanket, hands were clasped together and resting against her forehead.
     “Dear God, if you’re real, please make me incapable of ever falling in love. I don’t want to have to beg. Just do it, please, and I’ll believe in you forever!”
     The futility of this exercise drove Cherry further from God. She hadn’t been to church in at least eight years. She observed that this could be God’s punishment.
     Cherry leaned against the stall. Thick with graffiti and dirt, it shielded her from the outside sufficiently. Water came from her canteen and from her eyes, still. This canteen had always been a godsend. She tossed back her head, mouth to its opening, her tight throat welcoming the coolness. She rinsed the acid off her teeth and spit into the toilet.
     People must think I’m a bulimic. If only they knew.

     They can never know!
     She might’ve been dead, sitting there in the girl’s bathroom stall. Her eyes had dried. Breathing had slowed. She blinked infrequently, but looked at nothing in particular. A sensation of deep void, nothingness, emptiness, had overtaken Cherry. She contemplated a crack in the wall.
     I don’t want to go to class.
     She hadn’t heard the bell, but by then it had to have rang. She didn’t want to walk in late. Again. She didn’t even want to leave this bathroom stall, because she didn’t want to have to face herself in the mirrors above the sinks.
     Vaguely, Link’s voice echoed: “Aw, Cherry! Don’t you worry. You look like a million bucks!”
     Needles danced up Cherry’s arms.
     A flag of surrender was raised and waved gallantly above her head. Cherry dragged herself to the nurse’s office.
     Maybe she’ll let me go home today. After all, I have got a sickness.
     I’m in love.