Push Girl by Chelsie Hill, Jessica Love

time I saw him over the summer, and blond curls circled around the edges of his knit cap.
    It was no surprise that Jack and Amanda were my first nonfamily visitors. They lived next door to each other and they were friends with both each other and me; we’d been quite the trifecta back when Jack and I were dating. But we hadn’t been a threesome in almost a year, despite the best efforts of both of them, and being all together again like this gave me both a sense of nostalgia and a feeling of unease.
    And I won’t even mention my epic disappointment that my first nonfamily visitor wasn’t Curt.
    “Stop lying.” I tried to sound light, like we were chatting over lattes at Starbucks and not uncomfortably gathered in my sterile hospital room. Since they were here, I figured I might as well try to ease some of the awkwardness. “I know I’m a hot mess.”
    After much begging, Mom finally brought me a mirror yesterday and let me see myself. Trying to prep me for the reality of how I looked, she warned me that I was still healing from the damage of the accident and that, unlike my spine, none of the damage on my face was permanent. Luckily the air bag and seat belt kept my head from smashing through the windshield, but I was still pretty banged up. Cuts from the shattered window, two black eyes from a broken nose, swelling from all of the above. It was surreal looking in the mirror; it was like I was looking at someone else entirely. Because besides the injuries, the person in the mirror looked lost. Empty. There was no light in her eyes, no life in her weak smile. If not for my long blond hair and the small scar I’d always had right above my eyebrow from when Amanda’s little brother, Sean, threw a toy truck at my face when we were kids, I’d have never recognized myself in that girl. But what was a swollen, cut-up face and lost-looking eyes when my legs didn’t work? At least this would change with time. At least this would heal.
    Jack smiled a nervous smile and put his hand tentatively on my arm. It was the lightest pressure, but it was comforting. “You look amazing, Kara. Truly.” He let out a small staccato laugh. “Besides, modeling is actually ranked one of the worst jobs for women in America. The average working model only makes like eleven dollars an hour. Looking perfect all the time isn’t even worth it.”
    I rolled my eyes. “How long have you been holding on to that fun fact?”
    “We saw pictures of your car,” Amanda said, changing the subject. She twirled her long braids around in her hand, a sure sign she was as nervous as I was. “It’s a miracle that you survived. When you didn’t wake up right away, God, we were so worried. I’m so glad—”
    “You’re such a rock star for making it out of that accident, Kara. Not everyone would’ve survived that.”
    “I didn’t do anything special,” I mumbled. And I thought, It’s not like I tried to stay alive. And I ended up paralyzed, anyway.
    But it occurred to me suddenly that they might not know about my legs.
    I pulled my arm out from under the light pressure of Jack’s hand. “So, did my parents tell you? About…” I trailed off because I hadn’t said it out loud yet, and I didn’t want to. It was almost like me saying it, admitting it, meant I’d never be able to turn back.
    Amanda’s eyebrows drew together. She gave me a little nod, and we didn’t say anything else. Jack didn’t even jump in with a fun fact about how many paraplegics go on to fly to the moon or cure cancer. They didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about it.
    Silence fell over the room.
    “Oh,” Jack said, and he jumped up from the chair and reached behind him. “We brought you some stuff.”
    Amanda’s sad look fell away, and that big smile was on her face again. “We figured you were probably bored, so we brought you some things to keep you busy.”
    Jack sat down and balanced a bright green tote bag on his lap, looking so proud of