It's My Life - Stacie Ramey Page 0,13

arms around my shoulders. “And she’s won the last ten times!”

Julian shot me a look of complete approval, which made me blush.

Eric pushed himself to his feet in one swift move, climbed on the back of my wheelchair, and pointed forward. “Onward.”

“You’re such a dork,” Rena said.

“Dork!” I agreed, but we zoomed toward Mom, who was now standing in front of us.

“You’re going to break that…” Mom started running the other way, aware now how close we were to catching her. “Very expensive…”

I remember Julian’s laughter. “Go, Jenna,” he’d said, his hazel eyes lit up the whole time.

I must be smiling, because Ben says, “Hey, where’d you go?”

“Oh yeah. I was just remembering…”

“Julian…” He puts his hands over his heart. “Oh, Julian…”

“Gee, I wonder why I don’t want to talk with you about the boy.”

Ben laughs. “Look, no judgment here. I mean, you remember how moony I was over that Kevin guy…shudder.”

“We were friends. Best friends. That was before you moved here.”

“I know the timetable. What I don’t know is what happened between you two.”

I lie back and sigh. “It doesn’t matter.” I pull my legs out of Ben’s lap. Sit up. He puts his hand on my arm. “I’m undateable.”

“That’s not true.”

I take another bite of cookie. “Maybe I’m going to blossom in college, like Todd Stein.”

Ben leans me against his chest. He brushes the hair off my forehead. “You’ve got classic beauty. Gorgeous blue eyes. Sultry lips. Wavy curls.”

“You mean frizzy hair, and lips that get stuck. Not to mention how sexy it is when I have a severe spasm.”

“Just makes you you.” Ben rubs my head in the most mesmerizing movement. It’s the kind of caress that makes you feel loved and safe. “You are a great beauty.”

I stop the swing. Sit up again. “You mean a terrible beauty.”

He makes me face him. Ben’s eyes get all sweet and fierce. “No. I said what I mean. Listen to your dad. Go see those other doctors. See what they can do.”

My mood nose-dives. “They can’t do anything. My body is impossible.”

He pulls me against him again, and we swing. Back and forth. Back and forth. “For a girl who loves stories, you seem kind of oblivious.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re at the point of the story when everything changes. And this year happens to fall at the denouement. Kind of convenient, no?”

“Are you throwing story at me, Ben? You may have to stick to business.”

“How so?”

“If anything, we are at the inciting incident of my story. It is certainly not the denouement. You just like to throw around French words!”

“They roll off my tongue, don’t they? The point is, you need to live your story, not fantasize about it.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Anything is possible in your story.”

I close my eyes and let Ben swing me to sleep, my mind filled with his soft voice and sweet promises.

Six

Sunday night leads to Monday, and I wake up in the morning, just me—no voices, no besties, no nothing. No feelings of impending wonder. Just a normal day. And maybe that is for the best. We all need a break from drama.

In the van on the way to school, it feels like there’s this silence hanging over us as we all hold our collective breath. This is how it always is after I return to the scene of my last seizure. Mom’s not superstitious in general, other than writing checks for cousins’ bar and bat mitzvahs in increments of eighteen, but even she is exceedingly careful after a biggie.

When I’ve missed school, I feel like everyone else knows things that went on. And I don’t. I feel like I’m coming back to a place that has been saved for me by a spacer or something, and I wonder if it’s worth trying to fit in there when everyone else has undoubtedly moved on.

The radio is on low and I hear “R.E.M.” Rena takes my hand, because we both love Ariana Grande. She sings the melody, and I hum the harmony inside my head where all of the notes are perfect and full-bodied.

We pull in front of the school, and there are a few girls walking with leather jackets and scarves and wool beanies—the girls in the AP classes. I pretend I am one of them, a college in the Northeast in my future, carrying a Dunkin’ coffee cup, pausing my conversation to take small sips. In a fair world, I’d be one of those girls, walking like they do, stride for stride, living my best