Seeds of Time by K. C. Dyer Page B

sent Darrell spinning sideways out of the path of the oncoming vehicle that took his life. She flew through the air with sickening speed and landed on her feet, improbably upright, at the side of the road. Her left foot was driven eight inches into the soft dirt that edged the highway.Her right foot landed squarely on the asphalt at thirty-five kilometres an hour. Her ankle, broken once when she was six, shattered a second time, more permanently. The pain had been so pure, clear, and exquisite that Darrell, mercifully, had fainted immediately.
    In the hours after the accident, the doctors (not including Darrell’s mother, who found herself to be more shattered than Darrell’s ankle) worked long and hard to try to save the foot. They thought about re-building the ankle, replacing the joint, microsurgery, and more. But Darrell’s ankle, in spite of the indomitable spirit of its owner, refused to participate in the healing process. Infection set in and a further surgery was performed, removing the shattered bone, skin, sinew, and flesh below the knee. Pain, physiotherapy, and prosthesis — the three terrible P’s — had followed.
    Brodie looked horrified. “It’s amazing you’re alive!”
    Darrell nodded. “It is, I guess. I never really thought of it that way. I lost my dad and my leg — well, part of it anyway — and for a long time I felt like I had lost my life, too. Things just aren’t the same anymore.”
    Brodie put his head into his hands, and they sat in silence for a few moments.
    â€œI’m really sorry,” he said quietly. “Does your leg still hurt?”
    Darrell smiled. “Just my ankle,” she said ruefully. “It really kills me on rainy nights.”

    Brodie looked baffled. He looked more closely at the prosthetic leg. “Your ankle?” he said slowly. “But, you lost your leg below the knee.”
    Darrell shrugged and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Tell that to my ankle,” she said. “I can always tell when the rain is coming.”
    A buzzer sounded in the distance. Darrell and Brodie looked up. They could see Kate running across the sand, waving.
    â€œI guess it’s time to go back,” said Brodie.
    Darrell jumped up. “Come on, I’ll race you!” She took off like a bullet in the characteristic hop-skip running style that was all her own. Caught by surprise, it took Brodie a minute to realize what was happening. He was about to be creamed by a girl with one leg.
    He scooped up his pack and ran after Darrell. “Wait up!” he called without thinking. He and Darrell reached Kate together, Delaney right at their heels. Gasping for breath, they looked at each other and burst out laughing at Kate’s shocked expression. They turned and headed up the winding path toward the school.

C HAPTER F IVE
    Since the accident, Darrell had never cried in public. Much like her daily sessions standing on cold concrete, not crying was a point of pride, a way to prove something to herself. She was surprised that the talk with Brodie and even breaking down and crying did not make her feel angry at her own weakness. Instead, for some reason, things felt better. Their short walk left Darrell feeling lighter in spirit than she had for a long time. Things had also improved with Kate. Darrell still wasn’t sure she was ready to trust anyone, but she might try to discuss her lingering questions about the crab trappers, if she could manage to do it without alienating Kate and Brodie again.
    Darrell tried to draw on these positive feelings, and she approached her self-portrait with a new vigour. In the weeks since Mr. Gill had given the assignment, shehad struggled to find a direction to take. Every class, she had walked from easel to easel, looking at the choices the other students had made. One portrait took on the formal tones of a Rembrandt while the next had a distinct Andy Warhol feel.
    The