It's My Life - Stacie Ramey Page 0,49

I don’t feel it. I don’t feel much of anything. Numbers are called out. A needle goes in my arm. A person I don’t know talks to me like I should know them. Like I should care. “Come on, Jenna, stay with us, sweetheart.”

Rena scoots past the medical personnel somehow and wedges herself into the tiniest spot, which is one of Rena’s many gifts. She can make herself fit. She holds my head, her tiny icy hands around my head, and puts her face by mine. “I’m sorry, Jenna. I’m so sorry.”

I want to talk to my sister. I want to tell how incredible it was to dance with Julian, even for just a minute. How it felt to press my body against his. To twirl. I was moving free and easy, just like that voice promised. But if I want to speak to my sister, I’ve got to leave Jennifer and my place in the library. I’d have to float down into the mess of my body on the ice right now, lying there, splayed like a bug that went splat on a windshield.

Hands go under me and I’m lifted. Lowered. Placed. Lifted again. Wheeled. We go over a bump. My body jumps. I hear myself cry out, the burst of air from my lungs more a result of the abrupt jostling than my desire to scream.

“Hey, take it easy with her.” Eric’s voice is laced with tears and anger. It’s a weird kind of voice from my brother, and for a second that makes me shift back into my body. What a stupid idea. As soon as I am able, I rise into the mental library again.

My body bumps up and down again, this time with hands on me, holding me still. I am the center of this drama, but I’m so removed from it. I’m loaded into the back of an ambulance. It speeds up, and I close my eyes harder. So hard that I am not sure I’ll ever be able to open them again. I don’t. Not for days and weeks and months and years, because sleeping makes me not feel the pain.

* * *

Before I open my eyes, the sound of a monitor greets me.

“I think she’s waking up.” Mom.

I blink, trying to be the dutiful daughter, trying to make up for what went down last night. Last night, right? “Hey,” I manage.

Mom’s face is tired and worn, but her eyes shine when I speak, and her lips turn upward. “Hey, sweetie, how are you feeling?”

“Thirsty.” Just saying that word makes my mouth go dry. “I’m thirsty.” It’s an easy feeling to figure out, and gives Mom something to do while I try to piece together everything that happened.

“Let’s raise her a little,” Dad says as he mans the control that lifts the head of my bed.

Mom’s got a straw sticking out of a cup and aims it at my face. I grab it before it can stab me or try to shove its way into my lips. I hold it still and take a drink. Choke. Mom pats me on the back while Dad shifts me forward.

They’re making me feel like a porcelain doll, and not in a good way. More in a “OHMYGOD, I’m such a freak” kind of way. I feel like I’m going to choke again, this time on my parents’ good intentions. It’s like they are sucking the air out of the room. I hold my hands up. “Please,” I say. “I can’t breathe.”

“You can’t what?” Mom sounds panicked.

Dad laughs. Pulls on Mom’s shoulders. “She needs room. Give her some space.” The truth is, Mom handled all of our daily issues, but Dad was the one who took care of us when we were really sick or hurt. The time Eric broke his leg, the time Rena had pneumonia. Dad had a way of understanding what we needed and calming us down, just by being there. I’m busy waxing nostalgic when I notice the trapeze over the bed. And my leg stuck in it.

“No,” I say.

Before anyone can respond, the door opens, and a woman dressed in scrubs walks in. Her hair is dark brown with grays layered through, and she’s got it in a high ponytail. “Hello, Jenna,” she says. “I’m Dr. Lukowski.”

“What happened?” I ask. “I mean, obviously I broke my leg and all, and I remember it happening, but then…”

“You were pretty out of it when they got you here,” Mom says.

“Pain will do that.” The