I couldn’t even look anyone in the eye. Not that it mattered, because at this point I was convinced my eyes had completely bugged out of my skull and were rolling across the floor somewhere. My stomach did a somersault so aggressive, I thought it might stage a protest and hop right out of my body. Maybe if I turned inside out, I could crawl into myself like a human pretzel and stay that way for the rest of my natural life.

My throat had dried up like the Sahara, yet somehow, my palms were sweating so much they could fill a kiddie pool. I had that awful, prickly feeling in the back of my neck, like every single pair of eyes in the universe was glued to me, waiting for my next move — probably wondering how long it would take before I keeled over or burst into flames. Either option sounded fine, honestly.

And why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? I mean, I’d been breathing successfully for years without needing to think about it, but now it was like my lungs forgot how air worked. In, out. That’s all they needed to do! But nope, now they were like “Nah, we’re just gonna let you suffocate for a second while you drown in your own mortification.”

Maybe if I stood perfectly still, I could blend into the background and everyone would forget I ever existed. You know, like one of those chameleons that turn the exact shade of a leaf. Only I would turn the exact shade of “please erase this moment from the history of the world.”