School had always come easy for me. I had a decent grade point average—a 3.8— because I wanted to have options after football. Secretly, I’d always toyed with the idea of being a doctor one day. After my football career, that is. But I’d never killed myself to get straight A’s, though I’m pretty sure I could if I wanted. Now, I can’t seem to remember anything I’d read and trying to think my way through a simple math problem gave me a headache.
At this rate, I’d be lucky if I kept a 2.8 gpa.
LAUREL CAME BY TODAY.
I had just returned from PT so I was really tired. When I got tired, nothing seemed to work very well. My right leg dragged, my fingers wouldn’t do what I wanted and my speech was more slurred than usual.
I was flopped across the couch, watching ESPN, still in my sweats and pitted-out t-shirt. I was too tired to try and navigate a shower.
My mom answered the doorbell. I could tell when she came into the family room and cleared her throat that it wasn’t CJ or Ollie. I pushed myself up with my good arm and peered over the back of the couch.
I’d never seen Laurel look better than she did right then. Her blonde hair was brushed back away from her face as if blown by the wind. We’d had a stretch of sunny fall weather and she was wearing a pair of beige shorts and a light blue jacket. Her legs were long and tan. As she walked toward me it was like one of those slo-mo moments with the babe on the sports commercial.
“Hey.” I tried to push myself into a sitting position without looking clumsy. I was acutely aware of how perfect she was and how far from perfect I was.
“I just couldn’t wait one day more before I saw you,” she cried. Behind her I saw my mom roll her eyes before she left the room. Laurel slid onto the couch and faced me, reaching for my hands. “How are you?”
“Good.” I nodded. I kept my right hand close to my body so she couldn’t see how weak it was. My fingers curved into my palm now and my wrist was twisted in a weird way. I wondered what she really saw when she looked at me. I’d lost quite a bit of weight and I knew that my cheekbones were more pronounced than they’d been before. I had a problem with the right side of my mouth—when I smiled, my lips didn’t always match up. So I tried not to smile.
She waited for me to say something but when I didn’t she looked down and fidgeted with the zipper on her coat. “When are you coming back to school?”
I concentrated on making my words clear. “Maybe in a week or two.” I nodded again. I could do that much normally. I think. My fingers ached to touch her skin, to wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her hair. Just to be normal again. Do all the things I used to take for granted.
But I didn’t move.
“How’ve you been?” I managed to ask.
She got a weird look on her face that I couldn’t figure out. “Fine.” An awkward silence filled the space between us making the distance seem unbridgeable.
She asked a few more questions. Was I in pain? Had I been doing my homework? Did I know Mark Carter was starting quarterback now?
I gave short awkward answers. My heart pounded and ached at the same time. I wanted to ask her what she’d been doing. How cheerleading was going. Anything. Everything. Mostly I wanted to ask why she hadn’t visited me in the hospital. But I didn’t.
She looked at me for a second, then dropped her eyes.
Another long silence stretched between us.
“Well, I guess I better go.” She jumped to her feet.
I nodded. “Yeah.” I couldn’t stand up without giving away how bad my right side was. I was tired enough I wasn’t sure my right leg would support me. “Thanks for coming by.” But even to my own ears my words sounded garbled and confusing.
Her eyebrows flicked into a brief frown and then she forced a smile onto her face. “Well—” she lifted her hands up and let them drop to her sides— “take care. I’ll see you soon.” She backed away from the couch. I lifted my left hand to wave goodbye as she turned and walked out of the room. I stared at her legs as she left, long and tanned—working so effortlessly.
When the front door snapped shut behind her I closed my eyes and let my head drop back against the couch. A long sigh slipped past my lips and I squeezed my eyes shut to try to stop the tears from escaping.
What had happened to my life?
Laurel sent me a text an hour later breaking up with me.
Chapter Eleven
Ivy
My mother adjusted my hair and straightened the collar of my white shirt. Again. I was an odd mix of nerves and calm. I knew this piano piece inside and out. I had practiced until my fingers were raw nubs of flesh. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but it sounded good.
As I stood in the antechamber off the main auditorium I listened to the swell of music as the violins, cellos, and flutes crashed into a crescendo. Eight more measures and they would stop and introduce me. I flexed, then wiggled my fingers to keep them limber. I wondered if anyone had ever had a heart attack and fallen face first onto the keys whilst playing Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 5 in D Major?
“Remember to smile,” my mother instructed me. “All your hard work will pay off.”
The music came to a halt and applause echoed through the room. I began to pace, a wave of nerves trying to drown me. I heard the voice of the conductor over the microphone.
The door creaked open and a woman dressed in black stuck her head into the room. She motioned with her hand. “Ivy, you’re up now.”
I nodded and gave my mother a quick peck on the cheek. My father was seated out in the audience along with Mira, Shelby and Lily, though the girls weren’t sitting with my parents. They had come to support me, but at that second I wished the concert hall was empty.
“Make us proud,” my mother whispered to me.
I nodded and walked through the door.
“And remember to smile.”
A swell of applause started when the audience spotted me. I smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, my shoulders back, as I walked at an even pace to the grand piano centered in the middle of the orchestra. I wondered if I was going to throw up on my dress just like Q did.
The conductor in his black tails bowed to me and spoke soft words of encouragement as I stepped toward the piano bench. I took my seat and faced the familiar row of black and white keys. A calm settled in my shoulders and arms. It was like coming home. I poised my fingers over the keys and nodded my readiness to the conductor.
My fingers knew their way through the song as much from muscle memory as from conscious placement. The melody rippled from the keys and soared to the highest peaks of the room. I forgot the audience. I forgot my friends. I forgot my parents and their dream for me to be a doctor. It was just me, my piano and the musicians around me, speaking a language that flowed through my fingers rather than through my mouth.
Thirty minutes later I finished with a flourish and was greeted with deafening applause. I knew my mother would have heard the few mistakes I made, but apparently the audience hadn’t, because they gave me a standing ovation as I left the room.
Brandon Chang was first cello and caught my eye as I walked by. He raised his eyebrows and gave an approving nod. It was like ten pounds had been lifted off my shoulders. Playing piano, creating music—this was what I wanted to do with my life.
Chapter Twelve
Kellen
“Welcome back, Mr. Peterson.” Our principal, Mr. Decker, sounded sincere as he walked around his desk to greet me. It had been a month since I’d been to school. I could walk on my own again, but my right foot dragged in a weird way if I tried to walk fast. Well, really, if I walked at all.
Mr. Decker started to reach for my hand to shake then thought better of it and put his hand on my shoulder instead. “Per your parent’s request I’ve taken the liberty of lining up a tutor so you won’t have any trouble getting caught up on your studies.”
I nodded.
“If you need any help with anything—” he paused to look me in the eyes— “and I mean
anything, son—you let me know.”
“Thank you, sir.” I ducked my head as I spoke so he wouldn’t see my lips twist in that weird way they did now. I used to think I owned this school. Now I wanted to be invisible.
He motioned to a chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat. She should be along any minute.”
She? My tutor was a girl? Shit. Great.
The principal slid a hand over the few wisps of hair that covered the bald top of his head. “I’ve arranged for her to accompany you to your classes for the next few weeks so she can take notes and get you back up to speed.”
He picked up a piece of paper and glanced at it as he sat down on the edge of his desk. “It looks like you’ve already got a class together—AP English—maybe you know her?” He looked up at me. “Ivy Ly?”
The name sounded familiar but I had trouble remembering my own name lately, let alone matching faces and names with people I barely knew from classes I hadn’t attended in a month.
I shrugged and shook my head.
“Ah, well, that may be all for the best. Miss Ly is a brilliant student. She’s maintained a 4.0 all four years she’s been in high school while taking accelerated classes. She’s also a gifted musician excelling in both violin and piano.” He peered closer at the paper again. “Hmmmm…it looks like she’s going to be working with you fifth period on the piano as well.”
Mr. Decker glanced up at me. “Do you play?”
I shook my head, trying to ignore the headache that was working its way up from the base of my skull. Though I had taken four years of piano lessons when I was younger, I hadn’t played since I was fourteen. I wasn’t even remotely interested in playing music now, unless it was the tequila song they played at the football games.
But Dr. Murdoch had insisted there was new research that suggested playing the piano not only helped the brain generate new synapses to replace those damaged by the injury, but also helped with finger and hand dexterity. That was all it took for my parents to sign me up. It didn’t matter what I thought.
There was a hesitant knock before the door to Mr. Decker’s office pushed open. A face peeked around the corner, her long dark hair swinging off her shoulder.
“Mr. Decker? You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, Miss Ly—” the principal motioned with his hand for her to enter the room— “thank you for coming so promptly.” He retreated from his perch on the side of the desk and sat in his big wooden chair. “As I mentioned in my email to you, I’ve had a request for a tutor and I think you fit all the requirements quite admirably. Let me introduce you to Kellen Peterson.”
I lifted my left hand in her direction, not even trying to smile. Instead, I wondered what she saw when she looked at me. I used to be Kellen Peterson, star quarterback of the Griffin Eagles. Had she known who I was? And even if she did—who was I now?
Mr. Decker swung his hand back toward the girl— “and Miss Ivy Ly.”
I’d definitely seen her before. She was small-boned and pretty. Really pretty. She had dark—almost black—hair and tan skin. Her eyes were equally dark and alive with intelligence. I could almost feel it crackling as she swept me over in one flick of a glance. She couldn’t hide her surprise either. It was obvious she hadn’t known what she’d signed on for.
Mr. Decker glanced down at the page again. “Miss Ly has completed a number of the classes you’re in—math, science and fourth year French—so she can assist you in getting back up to speed on the content you’ve missed. Additionally, she’ll accompany you to your other classes for the next few weeks. Luckily, you both have sixth period study hall.”
Luckily. I looked at my new tutor again. She was very petite and wore skinny leg jeans that just emphasized how small she was. She stood ramrod straight with her hands folded in front of her like she was lined up for inspection. Her face was expressionless as she stared at Mr. Decker and I wondered what she was really thinking.
Mr. Decker looked up from the paper. “Ivy has also generously agreed to stay after school if you need extra assistance on homework, if necessary.” He smiled at both of us. “Sound okay?”
I just nodded. It was too much to try and tell them I wouldn’t need her—I had physical therapy after school every day. They probably wouldn’t be able to understand me anyway.
I glanced at Ivy out of the corners of my eyes again. She didn’t look any happier about the situation then I did. Basically, she was there to wipe my butt because I was too messed up to do it myself. I got the feeling she’d summed me up and filed me away before I’d even had a chance to open my mouth and slur my words. God—what did I do to deserve this?
Chapter Thirteen
Ivy
God, what did I do to deserve this? When Mr. Decker emailed me and said he wanted to talk to me about a community service project that would look good on my college applications I’d been pleased he’d picked me. Honored, really. He’d mentioned it involved tutoring but teach a stroke victim? Or whatever Q was? Are you kidding?
I was shocked by how thin he was. Kellen Peterson had always been big. Big shoulders, muscular arms, tall, athletic and good-looking—and he knew it. He’d always strutted down the hall like he owned the school. The kid I was looking at now was too thin, his cheekbones pronounced, his clothes hanging on him. There was something defeated in his eyes.
The Q that Mira had babbled on about had kept his hair shorter, like all the jocks, but this guy’s hair was long and shaggy, like Tank Bergstrom’s. It swept across his forehead and shadowed his eyes—almost like he was hiding behind it. Don’t get me wrong—he was still good-looking—but in a very different way from how I remembered our star quarterback.
“So, now that you both have your new assignments—” Mr. Decker got up and opened the door— “might as well get to it.” He gave us a big smile. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Q barely acknowledged me when we left Decker’s office.
He mumbled something I couldn’t quite understand.
“What?” I leaned forward to hear better, but I couldn’t understand him the second time either. I didn’t dare ask him to repeat it a third time but I thought he said, ‘Sorry to get you involved.”
My sympathy didn’t last long. When we got to our first class, everybody—and I mean everybody—in that room seemed to know him and wanted to welcome him back. He slouched into a chair and tried to wave people off but it was like the serfs paying homage to the returning king. Sickening, really.
I just stood there like I was invisible.
And he just ignored me.
Brilliant.
AT LUNCH TIME he went to sit with all his jock friends. I was so relieved to be rid of him I practically ran to find Mira. Once we were through the lunch line I pulled her outside to tell her the news. I didn’t want to take the chance that we would be overheard by anyone.
I set my brown lunch tray on the outdoor table and plopped down on the cold wooden seat, pulling my black pea coat tighter across my chest. “Don’t freak, okay?”
“Why are we out here?” Mira looked at me like I’d lost it. She was in electric blue skinny pants with knee-high black boots today and a black and white striped t-shirt underneath a black jacket. She looked like some freakish rock star. In a fashionable sort of way.
“It’s like 40 degrees,” she said. “And in case you haven’t heard, Kellen Peterson is back at school. I want to go stare at him while we have the chance.” She glanced toward the windows of the cafeteria as she spoke. “Have you seen him? He’s so thin.”
“I need to tell you something.” I gave her my piercing ‘this is important’ stare that any true friend would instantly recognize. Mira, however, ignored me.
“Do you think he’s been sick too? Maybe that’s why he’s so thin.”
“Listen.” I growled.
She frowned and her eyebrows became slashes across her forehead. “What?”
I tugged at her arm. “Sit down. I don’t want you to faint when I tell you.”
Her butt hit the wooden bench like it’d been pulled down by a giant magnet. “I don’t like the sound of that. Tell me what?”
I held up my hands to placate her. “Don’t panic. This actually might be your golden opportunity.”
“Now, you’re starting to make me nervous. Just spit it out—whatever it is.”
I cleared my throat and spread out a napkin. I’d known Mira since first grade. We were closer than sisters because we never fought. Potentially until now, that is.
“Decker called me into his office this morning.” I picked up my bagel and concentrated on spreading some cream cheese on one side.
“Oh.” Her voice got lighter. “Are you getting an award for your grades?” Mira didn’t have the same pressure at home to get good grades. Nor was she driven enough to seek them on her own. She always said she liked to live vicariously through me.
“No. I’m not getting an award.” I thought about what I did get and it seemed more like a punishment than anything. “I have to tutor somebody—go to their classes for five periods then work with them during study hall. And maybe after school occasionally,” I added in a rush.
“Whoa.” Mira jerked her head back in surprise. “What’s Decker going to do—give you a time-turner?” Mira was a complete Potterhead. She quoted Harry Potter like it was the gospel.
I snorted and dropped my bagel back on to the plastic wrap. I’d lost my appetite just thinking about it. “He said something about the teachers agreeing to make an exception and letting me do my homework on an extended schedule. It should only be for a few weeks,” I added hurriedly. I had a feeling that would be a crucial bit of information for her to know.
Mira’s face twisted into a mask of confusion. “Who needs a tutor for that much of the day? Are they a foreign exchange student or something?” All of a sudden she put two and two together. Her mouth sagged open. “Wait a minute.”
She grabbed my wrist and gave me the ‘this is important’ stare—which I, of course, immediately picked up on. See—I wasn’t such a bad friend. Was I?
The Last Dance Page 5
