“THAT WAS FUN!” Mira cried as she shoved Jefferson into gear and spun out of the parking lot.
“Whoa, easy, girl,” I yelled, grabbing onto the screamer strap that hung from the ceiling of the car. We were both thrown left as she took a hard right onto the road, then with a squeal of the little tires, we swung back to the middle as she jerked the car into the next gear. “I’d like to stay alive long enough to celebrate your newfound friendship with your obsession.”
“He was nice, wasn’t he?” She flipped her head to look at me, sending her long ponytails flying. I dodged toward the window as the right one almost wapped me in the face. “I knew he was nice. He’s too good-lucking not to be nice. He couldn’t be stuck-up like all those other jocks.”
“Yeah, he was much nicer today than normal,” I admitted. After my total humiliation, Q actually had been nice. And he didn’t seem to mind Mira being there at all. In fact, he was much friendlier with her than he’d ever been with me. Like he didn’t even care if she saw his lips twist or not. A familiar twinge went through my chest and I shifted positions in my seat. What was with the twinges lately?
“Yeah, he did seem to like to talk to me,” Mira chirped. “But, you know—” she flipped her head to look at me again— “he seems like he respects you and all.”
Respects me? I guess that was an improvement from the invisibility cloak I’d been wearing last week.
“How are you doing keeping up with your other studies?” Mira continued talking, oblivious to my silence. “That must be a real shizzle-load. Thank God I’m a drama major—I couldn’t even contemplate doing everything you do. Has your mom been flippin’ out about keeping up with your homework? And what’s the latest with Brandon? Is he still texting every day?” She gave me a sly grin. “That boy’s got it bad for you.”
Mira kept up a steady flow of conversation with herself. I interjected a few answers here and there to keep her happy but I wasn’t feeling as chatty as she was. I looked out the window but instead of the trees and neighborhood houses we were passing, I kept seeing that look on Q’s face in study hall. Mira interrupted my musings. “Are you going to ask him to Sadie Hawkins? It’s next weekend, you know.”
“What?” I gasped and jerked around to face her.
“Sa-die Haw-kins. Hello? Earth to Ivy - are you going to ask Brandon to Sadie Hawkins?” Mira slammed Jefferson into third gear with only a slight jerk of the clutch. “Hey! Maybe I should ask Q.” Mira grabbed my hand and squealed, “We could double-date!”
Chapter Twenty
Kellen
I didn’t even know what to think about Ivy’s friend, Mira. She was just so weird, but she did make me want to laugh—and not always with her, if you know what I mean. Oh well. She didn’t need to know that.
And that moment with Ivy—I grinned as I remembered the expression on her face when Mira told me they had a code name for me. I laughed again. Ivy Ly had a code name for me? I punched the pillow and bunched it behind my head, grinning. I never would’ve guessed that one.
I was stretched out on my bed, waiting for my mom to take me to an appointment with Dr. Murdoch. Not that anything much had changed—I still limped when I walked, dragging my right foot, my right hand and arm were still messed up and I didn’t even want to think about my face—but I was still anxious to see what the doctor had to say. Maybe they’d developed some miraculous pill in the last month for Traumatic Brain Injury victims.
MOM AND I checked in and sat down in the waiting room.
“How are things going with your tutor?” she asked as she thumbed through a magazine.
“Fine.” I sounded non-committal and wanted it that way. “I think she’s like a genius, or something.”
“It’s awfully nice of her to go with you to all your classes on top of doing her own studies.” My mom glanced at the side of my face before she went back to her magazine. “She must be exhausted at the end of the day.”
“Hmmm.” I mumbled in response. I hadn’t really given a lot of thought to what Ivy Ly’s life was like.
“Kellen Peterson.” The nurse called my name from the open door that led to the back offices. “The doctor will see you now.”
We went in and the nurse checked my weight— “you’re still down, Kellen” —my blood pressure, pulse and lungs. “Any new problems?”
Like I didn’t have enough already? I shook my head.
“How’s your memory? Any improvements?”
I shrugged. If my recent quiz results were any indication, that answer would be a definite no. But the truth was, after Ivy had gone over the test with me, I had understood where I’d made my mistakes. And two of the wrong answers had just been simple subtraction errors.
“Okay, Kellen.” She snapped the file closed and smiled at me. “The doctor will be in to see you shortly.”
I swung my legs as I waited on the elevated bench and tried to open and close my right hand. I hated to even look at those curled up fingers. I couldn’t even grip a football. Every day I wrapped my fingers around the ball, carefully positioning them over the strings as if I was going to throw a pass, but I didn’t have the strength to grip the ball tightly enough to hold it with my right hand. If I lifted it over my shoulder, the ball squirted free. It was like my arm belonged to someone else’s body—definitely not mine.
Dr. Murdoch came in through the door, all bustling efficiency, her stethoscope hanging around her neck. She was probably in her forties with short blond hair. She’d been my pediatrician almost since I was born. She had kids that were just a couple years older than me. She went through the same questions the nurse had, nodding and scratching some additional notes.
“I have a report from your physical therapist.” She pulled a piece of paper free from the folder and scanned it through the rainbow framed half-glasses perched on the end of her nose. “He says you’re a very hard worker and he expects you to make a full recovery.” Her eyes shifted to look at me. “That you just need to allow yourself time to let your body heal and to retrain those muscles.”
She stood up and moved over to me, holding the tuning fork or whatever it was that checked reflexes. She checked both my knees and surprisingly my right knee reacted. “Hmmm,” she said, straightening up. “That’s a good sign.” She slid the tuning fork into her pocket and reached for my right hand. “And how’s the hand coming along?”
“It’s not,” I said. I was afraid my voice would crack if I said anything more. My emotions were so weird now. One minute I’d be fine, the next I’d be trying not to cry. Better not to risk it.
She straightened my fingers, bending them this way and that, testing their flexibility and strength. Satisfied with her examination she laid my hand back on my thigh and looked me in the eye. “What about the cognitive? How’s school going?”
I sighed and shifted my position so I didn’t have to meet her eyes, running my good hand through my hair. “It’s tough,” I admitted. “I can’t remember things very well yet. And some of the math and science concepts are hard to grasp. It’s like I just don’t get it.” Frustration crept into my voice and I stopped talking.
“But you’ve got a tutor?”
I nodded.
Her eyes narrowed at me, not in a mean way, but in a doctor-thinking way. “Your speech is better.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that too,” my mom said from where she sat in a chair across the room.
Her comment surprised me but I realized she was right. I wasn’t slurring anywhere near like I had been.
Dr. Murdoch rested her hand on my shoulder. “Give yourself time, Kellen. You’ve had a traumatic injury to your brain. It takes a while for that tissue to heal or regenerate.” She dropped her hand and stepped back to the file, leaning down to make some notes. “I’d like you to increase your piano practice. New studies are showing that the act of learning and reading music while simultaneously playing with both hands has had dramatic results on cognitive recovery as well as manual dexterity.”
She straightened up and f
aced me. “Try and play two hours a day.” She raised her eyebrows and gave me an ‘I dare you’ look. “Pretend it’s football practice.” She snapped the file closed and held it to her chest as she walked across to the door. “I’d like to see Kellen back here in another month, Mrs. Peterson.”
My mouth was still hanging open when the door snapped shut behind her. Practice piano two hours a day? Was the woman out of her mind?
IN THE LAST month and a half I’d learned that fear and desperation were even more powerful motivators than Coach Branson yelling at me. My mom gave me one of her pep talks on the way home from the doctor’s office.
“Why don’t you try playing the piano more, Kellen? It won’t hurt you to expand your horizons beyond sports a bit.” She didn’t make a big deal of it. “Dr. Murdoch is very smart. I don’t think she’d suggest you play the piano unless she really thought it would help.”
“Yeah.” I looked out the window as we drove. The streets I used to ride my bike down, the field where we used to play ball in the summer, the road to the lake—all of it looked different now. My perspective on everything had changed. What I’d taken for granted before now seemed like the carrot at the end of a stick I couldn’t reach. I guess that’s what you get for scrambling your brains. I sighed and let my head fall back against the headrest. “I’ll try.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ivy
The next week went by in a blur. Q and I settled into an easier routine with his classes and each other. By now, everybody knew I was his tutor and nobody seemed to think much of it—it was high school—there was always some other new gossip to be spread. Besides, everyone loved him no matter what condition he was in.
At lunch, Q always went to sit with Ollie and CJ and the rest of his jock friends, like we didn’t even know each other. I noticed that Jazzy always sat with Ollie though. The one girl in the group of boys. I wondered if that was a sign of true love.
Fourth period I had orchestra and Q went to the gym and did some of his PT exercises, then we’d meet again in the piano room for fifth period. The only person that seemed to be bothered by our tutoring arrangement was Laurel Simmons. I caught the flirty looks she gave him and wondered what her game was. Even though she was dating Josh Hendershot now, it was like she knew she could get Q to dangle on the end of a string for her. Sadly, I wasn’t convinced that he wouldn’t do it if she asked.
Fifth period piano practice had evolved into its own peculiar routine. It was just the two of us alone in the practice room and Q asked me to play almost every day. He knew, as I did, that nobody would know, or probably care, if we didn’t play the piano at all.
“It helps relax me, Ivy,” he said in that annoyingly charming way of his. Did anyone ever tell the guy no? I didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not, but I agreed to play for ten minutes at the end of the period, but he had to practice the rest of the time.
When I played, he always sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, giving me the opportunity to stare at his near-perfect features. I hated to admit it, but I enjoyed that ten minutes as much as he seemed to.
I DROPPED MY backpack on the table in study hall. It was Wednesday. Midterms were next week and I was feeling the pressure of trying to keep up. Q was already seated with his back to the room, like normal, his books spread out before him.
“Hey.” He smiled at me. He was much more relaxed around me now and didn’t seem to care if I saw his wonky smile or not. “How are you?”
I looked up in surprise. He was wearing a baseball cap backwards, pulling his hair away from his forehead. I pretended I didn’t notice how crazy blue his eyes were. I think it was the first time he’d ever asked about me. I didn’t really think before I answered.
“Stressed.” I sat down and unzipped my bag.
He was watching me. “Have you always gotten straight A’s?”
“Yeah. I didn’t have a choice.” I pulled my trig book out of my backpack. “My parents would have kicked me out of the house if I didn’t.”
He was silent for a minute. “You get a lot of pressure from home?” There was something in his voice that made me pause. Like he felt sorry for me.
“Yes and no.” I rested my chin on my hand. “My parents just want the best for me. They know I can do it, so they push me. It was the same for my brother.”
“What does he do?” Kellen genuinely seemed interested.
“He’s a senior at Columbia University in New York. Pre-med. He’s hoping to eventually intern at Johns Hopkins before setting up his residency.”
“And what’s your life plan, Ivy Ly?” One side of Q’s mouth quirked, but I could sense the true curiosity behind the question. “Are you going to go to an Ivy League college and set up your residency somewhere, too?”
I shrugged, wondering why I was telling him all this. “Something like that.” I didn’t tell him that I couldn’t decide between music, medicine or a vapor trail to Paris. I was supposed to have my plan in place by now. “But what about you?” I stared back at him. If he could ask me personal questions, I could ask him, as well. “It can’t be easy to be the star quarterback and keep up good grades. You’re taking advanced classes and almost carrying a 4.0 too.”
He adjusted his hat with his left hand and looked away for a minute. Almost as if he was afraid to admit something. “Yeah. Sometimes it is tough. It’s not like my mom and dad have ever said ‘do this’ or ‘accomplish that’ or we’ll kick you out—” he smiled at me— “but I’ve grown up with this expectation. Like everybody expects me to be the star quarterback—to get picked up by the Pac-12, and get good grades. To be Kellen Peterson.” His voice held a bitter note. “Whoever that is.” He rubbed his forehead like maybe he had a headache.
“I know exactly what you mean.” And surprisingly, I meant it. The pressure to be Ivy Ly, the symphony showcase, who would be a world-class surgeon one day was ever-present, every day. To always be taking my playing—and my life—to the next level. To excel.
“The weirdest part?” Kellen’s face looked so honest and open. In that instant I caught a glimpse behind the ‘star quarterback’ curtain that he draped himself in and saw the young man turning the wheel to make himself appear bigger and better than real life. “Now I expect it of myself. Sometimes—” he hesitated and leaned toward me, his voice low enough that only I could hear him— “I’m afraid I’ll fail, Ivy. Fail myself. Everybody.” A shadow crossed his face. “Especially now.”
Something happened to me in that moment. It was a feeling I’d never experienced before in my entire life. It was like my heart zinged. And I’m pretty sure that empty place inside me wasn’t quite as empty any more.
“What are you two whispering about over here?” Mira swung her black sparkly messenger bag off her shoulder and swung it onto her lap as she sat down. Her hair was dyed entirely black today. It was a bit shocking, actually. Even for me, and I was used to her extreme wardrobe.
“Nothing,” I said in my most casual voice, not looking at Q. “Just some homework stuff.”
She was wearing a black and red Michael Jackson Thriller t-shirt where he looked like a zombie in mid-dance step, his hands swung up to the side like claws. She was wearing black pants, white socks and black penny loafers to complete the ensemble. Only Mira could pull it off, but I knew for a fact that she could dance Thriller to perfection, because we played the Wii dance version and she killed it every time.
“Well, I’m here to save you,” she said. “In honor of it being Thriller day—”
“It’s Thriller day?” Q asked with a puzzled look.
“Just in Mira’s world.” I reassured him.
Mira dug through her bag. “Look what I’ve got!” She pulled out an entire box of Twinkies and grinned. “Brain food!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kellen
I was quiet when my mom picked me up after school to take me to physical therapy. God, were emotional info-dumps a symptom of TBI too? I couldn’t believe what I’d reve
aled to Ivy. Since when did I let anyone know I was afraid I might fail? I barely admitted it to myself.
Uncomfortable, I shifted in my seat, but there was no getting away from the truth I’d spilled. It was out there now. I leaned my head back against the head rest and sighed. Hopefully, Ivy would keep it to herself. At least she hadn’t said anything to Mira. In front me, anyway. I sighed again. What a train wreck I’d become.
My teeth pulled at my lower lip as I stared out the window and wondered what Ivy’s home life was really like. I hadn’t had enough time to ask her what she wanted to major in at college. Or where she even wanted to go to college. But I was sure she had her future mapped out as clearly as her brother’s. Surprisingly, I wanted to know the answers.
“Everything okay, honey?” My mom’s question broke up my thoughts.
“Yeah. It’s fine. I was just thinking about something Ivy said.”
“Ivy’s your tutor?”
“Yep.” I looked at the window again. We were passing the little league fields where I’d grown up playing baseball. I wondered where Ivy marked the years of her childhood. I’d heard she was a tennis player. Was it tennis courts or libraries or performing arts centers?
“Kellen, did you hear me?” My mom poked me in the arm.
I jerked my head around to look at my mom. “Huh?”
“What do you think?” We were stopped at a red light and she was giving me an expectant look.
“About what?”
“About asking Ivy over for dinner as a thank you for all her help.” The light changed and we moved forward. “It’s a tremendous sacrifice on her part to try to go to your classes and keep up with her own.”
I thought about that idea for about two seconds. Today was the first real conversation we’d had since she’d started tutoring me. “Nah, I don’t think so, Mom. We’re not exactly friends.” I readjusted my hat and looked out the window. “Yet,” I whispered to my reflection.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Last Dance Page 8
