"Breathe, Jake! Breathe!" Kyle ordered.
I leaned into him, forcing him to hold most of my body weight. I took deep breaths. Kyle smelled like his deodorant, sweat, and fresh cut grass.
"What's going on?" Noah had come all the way back for us, realizing something was wrong.
"He's having a panic attack." Kyle stressed. "What do we do? Where's Dad?"
"Okay, don't panic with him." Noah told Kyle. He bent his knees a little to look me in the eyes, watching me take deep breaths. "He's still conscious. That's good."
I suddenly bent over and threw up a bit of my breakfast. I almost face-planted but Kyle was still holding me up.
"That's not good." Noah changed his opinion.
I eyed my vomit and saw that some got on Noah's shoes. I coughed and spat out some more residue.
"What do we do now??"
"Hey, isn't that Jake?"
"What's going on?"
"Kyle? Noah? What's wrong?"
"Is he sick? Should I get Coach?"
