It's My Life - Stacie Ramey Page 0,62

two,” Mom says. “Always colluding against me.”

Colluding may be my favorite word.

Rena leans down and lets me wrap my arm around her, and she helps me stand on my one uncasted foot.

“Let me get your crutches,” Mom says.

Rena harrumphs. “Those so doesn’t go with her outfit. Not the vibe we’re going for.”

“But…”

“We are not entertaining buts at this point in the conversation,” Rena continues, as she helps me maneuver toward the living room. It’s not easy going with my huge cast. Mom trails behind us and calls to Dad, “David, make them…”

But when we are like this, there’s no making us do anything. I realize I can’t make it through the entire night without a wheelchair, but when I get to the living room, I see my small wheelchair is out and there is navy blue tulle and tinsel wrapped around the metal parts. It’s so pretty that I can’t even believe it.

Ben opens the front door and lets himself in. He’s wearing a navy blue tuxedo and a crisp white shirt. He points to the wheelchair. “You like it?”

“I love it, guys. Thanks.”

“No guys. All Rena’s doing.”

I shoot her a smile. Sister bonds transcend wheelchairs and able bodies and even imagined fairy tales. Sister bonds are weightless.

Friday, 5:39 P.M.

Well, this is it.

Yeah.

You nervous?

Yup. You?

Yup. But you know what? We shouldn’t be.

Why?

Because I already know all about you. Everything important.

Except my identity.

Except that.

Do you think this is smart, meeting like this?

I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it if I don’t meet you. Smart or not. It just feels right.

Doesn’t it?

Yeah.

Twenty-Three

The gymnasium is completely transformed. Icicle art hangs everywhere, and little white lights blink from small fig trees placed around the room. There are white crystals in bowls, and there’s even a big ice sculpture shaped like a hockey player.

It’s crowded already and as we maneuver through the throng, I try to be super careful not to roll over everyone’s feet. It’s a little unnerving, but the music in the background is pleasantly distracting. The DJ is at the front of the room, his booth lit up, and the moment feels so big and beautiful that I almost cry. But there’s also this giant knot in my stomach, a big ball of worry, and it makes it hard to breathe. Can I really tell Julian I’m the one texting him?

“Hey, going to say hello to some people. You good?” Rena checks in.

“Sure.”

“You look gorgeous, Jenna,” Rena says. Blows me two-handed kisses as she goes to join her friends.

Ben watches her walk away. “So…Rena doesn’t know? Interesting.”

“I’ll probably tell her tonight. After. Whatever happens.”

“Sure,” Ben says with a smile.

“What are you all goofy about?”

He fake-wipes a tear. “My little girl is growing up.”

I smack his arm.

“You want a little help with this next part?” Ben asks.

“Um. I’m not sure how you’ll be able to help.”

“You sure?” Ben asks, and pats his jacket. He pulls out a bottle of Coke. “How about some liquid courage?”

“Are you saying that’s not Coke?”

“I said nothing of the sort. What I’m saying is that it might have a little something extra in it.”

He passes it to me. My hands are somewhat crampy.

“Rum?”

“Yup. Classic combo. You get that buzz and that jolt at the same time.”

“You think I should?”

“So you want to face Julian sober? No prob.”

I swipe at the bottle, almost knock it to the ground. Ben captures it and, with his hand over my hand, offers me a sip. I cough a little as it burns my throat. It’s not like I’ve never had alcohol. It’s just that I’ve never drank in school. I take two more sips, then release my grip on the bottle and he retracts it.

“So who are you looking for tonight?” I ask him.

“Me?” He pulls up a chair from a nearby table. Sits. “I’m just here for fun. And as your chaperone.”

I give him a look.

“Eric made me promise.”

Just as he says that, the door opens and a crowd of hockey players flood in, all in their jerseys because they won the Connecticut Cup. Morgan and Neil each have dates, but the rest are flying solo. Julian doesn’t even make it all the way across the room before Audra Bacon stops him.

I can tell by her body language—one hand out, leg bent, hopeful smile—that she’s asking Julian to dance. I watch his face. He looks happy, I guess. And why shouldn’t he be? Audra’s got the straightest brown hair with red highlights, and when she moves it swishes behind