by Chelsie Hill
This unexpected response from me made his head snap up, and we looked at each other, really looked at each other, for the first time since my accident. The eye contact sent a flutter through my belly, but it wasn’t a flutter of attraction or wanting. It was just familiarity. Nostalgia.
And it passed as quickly as it arrived, with disgust and anger taking its place. And these emotions took root.
“You never came to see me.” My blood pumped at full speed through my veins, but I managed to keep my voice even. “You never answered any of my texts. Then you were a total dick to me in front of everyone. And that’s how you break up with your girlfriend of almost a year? Public humiliation? That’s all I was worth to you?”
“I don’t know why I said what I said.” Curt had never looked so small to me. He seemed to be folding into himself, bracing himself against the truth of my words. “Or why I didn’t come see you in the hospital. I just … I panicked, okay? I was so freaked out and I didn’t know how to deal with you”—he waved his hand at my legs—“like this.”
The way he said it, it was like I was somehow no longer human to him. And if I’d been wondering if any residual feelings for Curt had been lurking anywhere inside me, that casual dismissal set fire to them and blew away the ashes.
“Like what?”
It was obvious this was difficult for him; his face looked pinched, like it did when he was almost done with a water polo game and his muscles were about to give out on him. But I wasn’t going to go easy on him. He owed me more than an apology; he owed me the truth, and I wanted to hear him say what he thought of me. Damaged. Broken.
“Hurt,” he said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t know how to handle seeing you so hurt. If we hadn’t fought, you wouldn’t have been in the car. I felt so guilty, and I was scared, so I freaked out and I hid. It was the totally wrong thing to do, and I am so, so sorry, Kara. I know you’ll probably never forgive me, and I don’t blame you. But I just had to—”
“If it had been you in the accident, Curt, I would have been there every day in the hospital. I would’ve never left your side.”
He covered his face with his shaky hands. “I know.”
How could I have spent so much time with him? How could I have thought he cared about me? How could I have cared about him?
“Well, thanks for your apology,” I said. “I appreciate it.” I wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, but I was definitely ready for this conversation to be over.
Curt took a deep breath, and it seemed to pull him back together. “So, you’re back with Jack, huh?” He let out a small, humorless laugh. “I should have seen that one coming.”
While I wanted to tell Curt how happy I was with Jack, how I finally felt like myself with him, something I never felt with Curt, and how Jack never forgot to pick me up, no matter how busy he was, I didn’t. He didn’t get to know that about me. He didn’t get to know anything about me anymore. So I just said, “Yeah.” Then, because I had to, “So, you and Jenny?”
He shrugged.
“Well, good luck to you guys.” I wanted to add that he was going to need it to deal with her, but I felt like the bigger person here, so I kept that one to myself. “I better go find Jack.”
And I turned my wheelchair around as quickly as I could, away from Curt, finally mastering that dramatic exit.
CHAPTER 21
I don’t know who decided to make these school assemblies so freaking long, but I wanted to find them and run their feet over with my chair. Cheerleaders cheering, class competition, drum line performance, introduction of the fall sports teams—it was all fun and games when you were sitting in the bleachers and the whole production was getting you out of second period, but it was torture to sit through when you were the very last thing on the agenda.
“Oh my God,” I whispered to Jack. “Are they going to let each individual student get up and walk across the gym floor before they finally get this over with? I’m freaking out over here.”
We were lined up in alphabetical order, all the queen candidates with their escorts next to them, sitting in folding chairs up against the back wall of the gym. Well, I wasn’t in alphabetical order. I was stuck on the end after Maya Zelinski. And I wasn’t in a folding chair, either. But at least Jack was next to me, thank God. There’s no way I could get through this without him.
“Take a deep breath,” Jack said as he massaged my neck. “Did you know that changing your breathing can change your mood? In through your nose, out through your mouth, and you’ll feel better in a minute or two.”
If he was throwing out a fun fact at this point, he must have been as jittery as I was. But I was willing to try anything to calm myself down, so I was about to break into some yoga breathing when it was finally time to go. Mrs. Mendoza flapped her hands at us, some of Jack’s friends from Student Government got on the mic to do introductions, and before I even had a chance to take a deep breath, we were all heading over to the red carpet that stretched down the middle of the gym floor.
Each candidate was called one at a time, along with her club and fund-raiser. Everyone cheered as each of the girls walked across the gym and stood against the backdrop set up at the opposite end. I have to admit, I had to hold in a laugh when Jenny wobbled on her stilettos. Petty? Probably. But it still felt pretty good.
“And last but not least,” Paul, Jack’s Student Government friend, said into the mic, “we have Kara Moore representing the brand-new Walk and Roll Foundation. Kara’s fund-raiser was drunk- and distracted-driving awareness, and she’s being escorted today by Jack Matthews.”
All the other couples walked with the girl’s arm slipped delicately through the guy’s, looking stiff and formal. But when Jack and I made our way down the red carpet, I grabbed his hand and laced our fingers together, squeezing tight. Forcing a smile on my face, I pushed myself down the red carpet with my free hand. It wasn’t easy; pushing myself down the gym floor would have been much less work one-handed than this dumb carpet. But I wanted to do this. Go down the red carpet. Hold Jack’s hand. All with my head up and a smile on my face.
“Your hand is shaking,” Jack whispered out the side of his mouth. “Breathe.”
So I did.
Keeping my focus on Jack’s steady hand wrapped around mine, I took a chance and looked out into the bleachers, which were full of students packed in like sardines. Most of them were talking to one another and not really paying attention, a bunch smiled and clapped, which helped me relax, and a few looked bored. Who could blame them, though? I’d probably be bored if I were them.
But there in the front, crouched down on the gym floor with her camera running and braids falling on either side of her face like a curtain, was Amanda. I knew she would be filming the assembly; she said she wanted to add footage from Homecoming into the final version of the project before she submitted it for the scholarship. I didn’t think I would be able to find her in the crowd, though. I smiled into the small lens of her camera, and she lifted her free hand and gave me a thumbs-up. Her support, and the pressure of Jack’s fingers on mine, buoyed me, and I made it to the end of the red carpet without puking into my own lap.
Once Jack and I were in place, in the center of the line of candidates and escorts, the Student Government students handed Mrs. Mendoza a mic, and I knew it was time to go. I tuned her out as she thanked the student body for their participation in Homecoming by donating and voting, and I focused on squeezing Jack’s hand until she finally looked at our line and smiled.
“I’m pleased to announce that this year’s Homecoming Queen is…”
Jack squeezed my hand again. I squeezed back so hard, I thought I might crush his fingers.
I held my breath.
“Jenny Roy, whose fund-raising project raised enough money for two new sets of game uniforms for the varsity and junior varsity water polo teams!”
Alice from the Japanese Club, who was standing next to me, snorted quietly. “Game uniforms. Right.”
Somehow, t
hrough the whole assembly, I’d kept a smile plastered on my face. But as soon as Jenny’s name was announced, my stomach dropped to the floor, disappointment flooded through my system, and I had no idea if that smile was still there or not.
I lost.
I lost and Jenny Roy won.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. After everything I’d lost already—Curt, dancing, my legs—it was my turn to win. That’s how it was supposed to happen. That’s how karma was supposed to work.
But in my heart, I’d always known I wouldn’t ever be Homecoming Queen. Even way back when Curt told me I was his nominee, back before my accident, before the wheelchair. I never let myself really want it, because I knew deep inside I would never actually get it. Girls like Jenny, who thrust themselves into the spotlight and thrived on attention, were Homecoming material. They were always the girls who won.
So I wasn’t surprised. Or disappointed. I really wasn’t.
But.
I wanted to prove to everyone that I could. I let myself want it.
Why had I been so stupid?
The students who were packed into the gym all screamed and cheered, and Mrs. Mendoza placed a sparkly plastic tiara on Jenny’s head, while Jenny smiled her fake smile and tried to look sincerely surprised. She jumped up and down and hugged Curt and bent her head so Mrs. Mendoza could wrap a sash around her shoulder that said HOMECOMING QUEEN.
Jenny, who would get to walk across the field during halftime at tonight’s football game with her dad. Jenny, who would get to dance with Curt in a spotlight tomorrow night at the dance. Jenny, who, over and over, kept getting the things I wanted.
I plastered a smile back on my face and clapped politely for her. So did Jack. I wondered if my sadness and disappointment were over the fact that I didn’t pull it off or the fact that Jenny did. I wondered if I’d be this conflicted to see Mrs. Mendoza crowning Alice or Maya Zelinski or one of the other girls Homecoming Queen right now.
All the queen candidates and escorts followed Jenny and Curt back down the red carpet and filed into the backstage room, and I couldn’t wheel myself back down the red carpet fast enough. I was sick of this attention. I wanted to go back to trying to fly under the radar.
Jack waved me over to a quiet corner of the room, and he kneeled down in front of me, gripping the handles of my chair. “It doesn’t matter, you know.” He trailed the tips of his fingers lightly up and down my arm as he spoke, making goose bumps sprout up on my skin. “The crown and the sash don’t matter. You raised money for something that matters. You started something important here. That’s so much more than she can say.”
A long sigh escaped my lips. “I know. You’re right.” And he was. “But I’m still bummed, you know?”
I looked up and noticed that a strange crowd of people waited in the room, probably to shower attention on Jenny Roy and her stupid tiara. At least if she was distracted by a crowd of adoring fans, I could slip away, change, and get myself back to class unnoticed. A smug comment from her was the last thing I needed right now.
“Hurry,” I said to Jack. “Grab your stuff and let’s sneak out of here. Can I change in the activities office? I need to get out of this dress. The straps are digging into my shoulders like crazy.”
“Do you need help?” Jack said with a smile. “Because I’m pretty useful at those sorts of tasks.”
But we didn’t get a chance to make a quick exit, because the strange people didn’t crowd around Jenny; they pushed right past her, actually. Who were they?
“Kara! Kara Moore! Can we talk to you for a second?”
“What?” Did they say my name? Why? I turned my head to see if someone was standing behind me, but there was nothing but the door to the gym. I turned my head up to Jack to see if this was some kind of surprise from him, but he looked just as confused as I felt.
“No idea,” he said, shrugging.
The first woman who reached me looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her. She was wearing a bright green skirt suit and had department store–perfect makeup and a hair helmet, and I couldn’t think of why I would know anyone who dressed like that.
“Kara!” She shoved her hand into my personal space. I assumed she wanted me to shake it, so I did. She strangled my fingers and practically ripped my arm out of the socket. “So great to meet you! Do you have a second to talk to KDAK?”
“Oh,” I said. “You must be confused. You want Jenny Roy. She’s right over there.” I pointed across the room to Jenny, who was holding up her compact and arranging her hair around the tiara, although I wasn’t sure how this woman could possibly get me and Jenny confused. “I didn’t know that Homecoming Queen was all that newsworthy.”
The woman threw her head back and laughed, but strangely, her hair didn’t move. “Oh, I’m sorry! I don’t want her. I’m Dierdre Duncan from KDAK, and I’m here to talk to you about your video!”
“What?”
“We love what you’re doing here at your school! And your story is so compelling! Vinny! Get over here!” She snapped her fingers at a tall, skinny guy with long dreadlocks who was holding a camera that looked to be about twice his body weight and about a zillion times more ginormous and fancy than Amanda’s camera. Vinny snapped to attention at the sound of her voice, since he looked as if he’d been distracted by Jenny’s primping. Or her tiny strapless dress. It took only two strides of his long, toothpick legs, and he was right by Dierdre Duncan’s side, camera positioned on his shoulder.
Jack crouched down next to me. “What did you do?” he whispered.
“I’m sorry,” I said, turning back to the overcaffeinated Dierdre Duncan and her hair helmet. “I have no idea what’s happening.”
“The video! Of everything you’ve done on your campus! Starting a chapter of the Walk and Roll Foundation! Raising money! Your story has touched so many people!”
Oh my God, the video. In all the drama of Homecoming, I’d completely forgotten about my late-night upload of Amanda’s video project to the news station’s contest. But why would I even think about it? The videos weren’t even supposed to be live until the weekend.
“We pushed it live on the site this morning and featured it on the home page! You have thousands of views already! Thousands!” She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Okay, Vinny! Let’s do this!” She pulled out a microphone with the KDAK logo on the side and dropped her bag on the floor with a thud.
And just liked that, Vinny was rolling, Dierdre Duncan counted down, and I stared at the red light on Vinny’s camera like I’d been smacked in the face with a frying pan.
“I’m Dierdre Duncan, here at Pacific Coastal High School, with seventeen-year-old Homecoming Queen finalist Kara Moore, whose inspiring YouTube video chronicling her journey to recovery after a drunk-driving accident left her paralyzed from the waist down has become an overnight sensation.” Dierdre Duncan’s professional television voice was a little deeper and lot less enthusiastic than her conversation voice, and the disparity only added to this completely surreal experience.
“Kara, tell us a little bit about the video.” She shoved the mic in my face.
“Well, uh, the video is actually a project by my best friend, Amanda Kenyon, who created it for a scholarship contest. It’s not even done yet, really, and—”
“What was the topic of the contest? And why did Amanda choose you as her subject?”
I smoothed my hands, which were becoming sweatier and sweatier with every second that passed, down the lap of my sequined dress. “The topic was active teens, and Amanda thought it would be cool to show that it was possible to be active even in a wheelchair, to show that kids with disabilities can do more than people think. If you want to talk to her about it, I can—”
“Well, you’ve certainly proved that, Kara. Now, the beginning of the video states that you’re not an inspiration in the way we expect. What do you mean by that?”
“People do amazing things all the time. I did the best I could with the things t
hat happened in my life, just the way anyone else would. I don’t think that’s particularly inspirational, it’s just my reality. I’m not trying to inspire anyone, I’m just trying to be myself.”
A crowd had formed behind Vinny. Queen candidates, escorts, Student Government officers, teachers, even Jenny and Curt stood by, heads cocked to the side, and watched Dierdre interview me. All eyes were on me, but for once, I didn’t feel analyzed and judged. For the first time in so long, I was flooded with that familiar euphoria from performing for an audience that I hadn’t felt since the last time I danced.
I was talking about something that mattered, and people were listening.
“Kara, can you tell us why you decided to forgo the silly fund-raisers that are so popular with the other Homecoming candidates here on campus in favor of drunk-driving awareness?”
“I guess I saw the opportunity to do something productive and I took it.” The more I spoke, the more my confidence built, like a ladder that I could climb up. My words came out stronger, louder. Having an attentive audience helped, too. Maybe it was just because of the cameras, but I felt like everyone was really listening to me for the first time since the accident. “If I’m going to raise money for a cause, I want it to be for something that matters. People on the campus need to be aware of the dangers of drunk and distracted driving. As teenagers, we seem to think that bad things can’t happen to us, but I’m proof that they can, so I want to equip the students here with ways to keep it from happening again.”
“That’s fantastic, Kara. Pacific Coastal High is lucky to have such a hardworking and motivated student on this campus. Now, Kara, we actually have a surprise for you.”
And from behind Dierdre Duncan, a short, balding man in a red polo shirt whom I hadn’t noticed stepped toward me holding a huge piece of paper.
“Kara, this is Mr. Sam Taylor, the owner of Taylor’s Tires.”
