It's My Life - Stacie Ramey Page 0,25

I say.

“So you’ll try?”

“You’re not exactly giving me a choice, are you?” I stare into her eyes, will her to see me, really see me, to understand that my gripe is not with them, or even with Dr. Jacoby. It’s with this situation, the one that means I’ve got to relegate my care to people who feel justified in deciding things for me. For. Me. Like I’m an infant still and dependent on them.

Dad turns to me. “Jenna, we’ve given in to you about your classes, which both your mother and most of your teachers feel is a bad decision.”

For the millionth time I think about who I could have been. But this time I get all mystical about it. I think about me—the preborn, soul of Jenna—who became mixed with the human person with the messed-up body.

I swallow the rage that brews inside me.

“David…” Mom tries to defuse this nasty situation.

“And…after this semester is over, we are definitely going to have another discussion about that.”

My stomach drops. If he moves me out of my classes, I won’t be with Julian anymore. So I throw my hands up. “You win. I will do this. But I am not changing classes.” It occurs to me that Uncle Steve might need to help me with a few school-related things.

There’s a lot of murmuring and a bunch of wrap-up words, but I remove myself from all of them.

When we exit the office, the day is nasty gray, and the fake light-blue siding on the building we just left pisses me the eff off. The hospital is the same kind of phony. All bright on the outside with tons of windows. Painted and designed to look like a nice place, a happy place, a making-dreams-come-true sort of place, but I know the truth. It’s no castle. It’s a prison. At least for me. But then again, everything’s different for girls like me.

5:00 P.M.

Are you over me already?

No. Sorry. Had a bunch of stuff after school.

You worried me.

Sorry. I had a pretty suckish day, TBH.

You want to talk about it?

Nah. Thx. How was your day?

Crapped out on a Geometry test.

Who do you have?

Bartoletti.

He’s a softie. He’ll let you correct all of your answers to bring your grade up.

Really?

Yeah. And he’ll tell you you’ll get half of the points back, but most times he gives you more than that.

You had him?

No. Know someone who did.

Thanks. You save the day again.

Have to go for my superhero costume fitting now.

Send pics!

As if.

What? You can cut off your head so I can’t see it.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

I happen to be an expert at superheroes and their costumes so you might need my help.

There are literally thousands of comic books to use as models.

Uh oh. Big question. Might be a deal breaker for us.

?

Marvel or DC?

DC. Of course.

So glad you’re not an Avengers fan or something.

Are you kidding? With Khal Drogo playing Aquaman?

Whatever it takes to keep you in my universe.

Don’t you mean the DC universe?

That too.

Nine

Ben drives Rena and me to school this morning, which already makes it a better day than yesterday’s suck fest. Once Rena’s bounced out of the car and onto the pavement, I turn to Ben.

“I’ve got a confession.”

Ben stops sipping his Dunkin’ iced latte long enough to raise an eyebrow.

“I’m sort of…” I look at my phone. “Well, I inadvertently…”

“Spit it out, girl. You’re not on trial.”

“I’m kind of catfishing someone.”

He chokes. He puts his hand on his throat and leans forward. I pound him on the back. When he’s fully recovered, he says, “You’re what?”

“I guess that’s what you call it.” I flash my phone at him.

He takes it. “I better have a look.”

I put my hands over my face. Peek between my fingers. This is going to be bad.

“Wait…what? You’re not catfishing someone—you’re catfishing Julian.”

My hand goes out, but Ben doesn’t return my phone. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Mm-hmm.” He scrolls backward. I guess I didn’t realize how many texts Julian and I have exchanged because he’s still scrolling minutes later. He puts his hand on his forehead. Looks at me. “I have so many questions. So many. So. So. Many.”

“I get it. Just ask.”

He steeples his fingers and drums them against one another. “Which to choose, which to choose.”

I smack him.

“Okay. I guess my first question is why?”

My turn to take a sip of my drink. “Ummmm. I wanted to?”

“Okay. I can see that.” Ben puts on his careful tone, like the way you’d talk to a wild animal