head out the front door, I run headlong into my brother, Topher.
“Eeew,”
I exclaim as he reaches sweaty arms out to balance me. “Let go! You’re disgusting.”
“That’s the thanks I get for saving you, huh?” He leans down and rubs his dripping forehead against my own.
“Topher! Stop!” I just took a shower and now I’m covered in boy sweat. And not just any boy sweat. Sixteen-year-old-runner boy sweat. Ugh! “Gross!”
He cackles and wipes his sweaty palms down my arms before stepping back with a wicked grin. “What’s wrong, Tansy? You looked like you needed a bath. I was just trying to help.”
I punch him in the stomach, then immediately regret it when my hand comes away wet. “How far did you run, anyway?”
“Ten miles.”
“Overachiever.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be delicate hothouse flowers who sit around all day looking pretty,” he tells me.
“But I do it so well.” I bat my eyes, fluff my hair.
“Topher!” My dad’s voice rings out. “Apologize to your sister immediately. That’s a terrible thing to say.”
My brother freezes at the coldness in our father’s voice, and he steps back immediately. “Sorry, Tansy.” He moves around me, taking off down the hall without so much as glancing at Dad.
Damn it. “Dad, he was just messing with me. It’s no big deal.”
“Yes, well, you’ve had it rough and he needs to understand that. He shouldn’t be making fun of you for not having the stamina to run ten miles. It’s not okay.”
Ugh. I grit my teeth, count backward from ten. “Yes, Dad. Sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Fine. I’ve got to go. I’m working today.” I head out the still open door into the sticky heat of a Salt Lake summer morning. Double ugh. No wonder Topher was so sweaty. It’s disgusting out here.
“Don’t work too hard,” my dad calls after me. “You need to keep your strength up.”
“Got it,” I tell him, wondering if it’s possible to clench my jaw so tightly that I actually break a tooth. I hope not. If it happens, I’m sure my parents will take it as some sign that the calcium is being leached out of my body by cancer. I’ll end up back at the oncologist undergoingabout a million tests I don’t need.
It takes every ounce of willpower I have to unclench my jaw and my fists as I slide into my car. I pull out my phone, text
Sorry, Dad’s an ass
to my brother. It only takes a minute for him to respond with a happy alien face. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but I’ll take it. It’s more response than I usually get when Topher’s brooding.
The drive to work is uneventful—much like my life—and I’m just pulling into a parking spot when my phone rings. Figuring it’s my mom calling to make sure I made it safely—yes, she still does that and no, she doesn’t care at all that I’m nineteen years old—I pick it up without even looking at the caller ID.
“I’m fine. Just pulled into work.”
“Umm, I’m glad to hear that?” a deep male voice answers.
I pull the phone away from my ear, stare at the screen wildly for a second as I try to figure out who the unfamiliar voice might belong to. But the number is unknown,
of course
. “I’m sorry. Who is this?”
“I’m Alan Montgomery. I’m Ash Lewis’s manager. He asked me to give you a call and see if we could set up a date for Timmy’s Make-A-Wish visit.”
“He’s changed his mind?” I ask as excitement thrums through me. “He wants to do it?”
“Oh, he definitely wants to do it. He asked me to apologize to you for his behavior yesterday. You caught him off guard. But he definitely wants to meet Timmy and help out any way he can.”
“That means what, exactly?” I try to clarify. Just yesterday, Ash was completely dead-set against the snowboarding part of the wish. It’s hard to imagine that he’s changed his tune so quickly.
“Whatever you need it to,” Alan tells me. “He’s willing to spend a day on the
“Eeew,”
I exclaim as he reaches sweaty arms out to balance me. “Let go! You’re disgusting.”
“That’s the thanks I get for saving you, huh?” He leans down and rubs his dripping forehead against my own.
“Topher! Stop!” I just took a shower and now I’m covered in boy sweat. And not just any boy sweat. Sixteen-year-old-runner boy sweat. Ugh! “Gross!”
He cackles and wipes his sweaty palms down my arms before stepping back with a wicked grin. “What’s wrong, Tansy? You looked like you needed a bath. I was just trying to help.”
I punch him in the stomach, then immediately regret it when my hand comes away wet. “How far did you run, anyway?”
“Ten miles.”
“Overachiever.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be delicate hothouse flowers who sit around all day looking pretty,” he tells me.
“But I do it so well.” I bat my eyes, fluff my hair.
“Topher!” My dad’s voice rings out. “Apologize to your sister immediately. That’s a terrible thing to say.”
My brother freezes at the coldness in our father’s voice, and he steps back immediately. “Sorry, Tansy.” He moves around me, taking off down the hall without so much as glancing at Dad.
Damn it. “Dad, he was just messing with me. It’s no big deal.”
“Yes, well, you’ve had it rough and he needs to understand that. He shouldn’t be making fun of you for not having the stamina to run ten miles. It’s not okay.”
Ugh. I grit my teeth, count backward from ten. “Yes, Dad. Sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Fine. I’ve got to go. I’m working today.” I head out the still open door into the sticky heat of a Salt Lake summer morning. Double ugh. No wonder Topher was so sweaty. It’s disgusting out here.
“Don’t work too hard,” my dad calls after me. “You need to keep your strength up.”
“Got it,” I tell him, wondering if it’s possible to clench my jaw so tightly that I actually break a tooth. I hope not. If it happens, I’m sure my parents will take it as some sign that the calcium is being leached out of my body by cancer. I’ll end up back at the oncologist undergoingabout a million tests I don’t need.
It takes every ounce of willpower I have to unclench my jaw and my fists as I slide into my car. I pull out my phone, text
Sorry, Dad’s an ass
to my brother. It only takes a minute for him to respond with a happy alien face. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but I’ll take it. It’s more response than I usually get when Topher’s brooding.
The drive to work is uneventful—much like my life—and I’m just pulling into a parking spot when my phone rings. Figuring it’s my mom calling to make sure I made it safely—yes, she still does that and no, she doesn’t care at all that I’m nineteen years old—I pick it up without even looking at the caller ID.
“I’m fine. Just pulled into work.”
“Umm, I’m glad to hear that?” a deep male voice answers.
I pull the phone away from my ear, stare at the screen wildly for a second as I try to figure out who the unfamiliar voice might belong to. But the number is unknown,
of course
. “I’m sorry. Who is this?”
“I’m Alan Montgomery. I’m Ash Lewis’s manager. He asked me to give you a call and see if we could set up a date for Timmy’s Make-A-Wish visit.”
“He’s changed his mind?” I ask as excitement thrums through me. “He wants to do it?”
“Oh, he definitely wants to do it. He asked me to apologize to you for his behavior yesterday. You caught him off guard. But he definitely wants to meet Timmy and help out any way he can.”
“That means what, exactly?” I try to clarify. Just yesterday, Ash was completely dead-set against the snowboarding part of the wish. It’s hard to imagine that he’s changed his tune so quickly.
“Whatever you need it to,” Alan tells me. “He’s willing to spend a day on the
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