Harting, and Seth still goes here. It’s far-fetched, and I’ve known it since the start, but I’ve made it this far, so who knows. Maybe my plan will actually work. Maybe I’ll actually be able to get to know Seth Ashbury, and he’ll help me figure out what kept his family from crumbling, and how I can fix mine.
But it’s definitely going to require talking to him a lot and fishing for information, which so far, I’m failing miserably at.
Brie opens her mouth, and I think she’s fishing for something encouraging to say to me. But then she just shakes her head. “I’m so sorry,” she says softly. “I can’t even imagine how terrible that must be.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, because I think she’s right. Comas had always sounded creepy to me, but I never understood how truly horrifying they are until the first time I visited Camille in the hospital.
Seeing her bruised and broken body hooked up to half a dozen machines was worse than any nightmare I’d ever had. For years, Camille had been using her tiny, slender build as an advantage when she competed in gymnastics, and she’d won dozens of medals for her local team. I’d always loved how she’d shock people with her abilities, despite being smaller than most girls her age. But after the accident, her shortness stopped being cute. It was just another part of my living nightmare, a realization that ninety-pound girls have no chance of walking away from a car accident unscathed.
“My sister’s going to be okay,” I say, realizing an awkward silence has settled over the room.
Brie smiles hesitantly. “I’m glad.”
But she doesn’t sound convinced, and I don’t have the energy to protest her skepticism. In my head, all I can see is the conclusion from the report written by the latest specialist who examined Camille’s case: “ Due to the patient’s lack of regular brain function and the persistence of a comatose state without change, termination of life support is recommended.”
I shove myself to the edge of my bed and untangle my legs from the blankets. “I’m going to go get ready for bed,” I say.
“Yeah,” Brie says. “I should probably head to sleep, too. Don’t want to be tired on the first day of the semester, right?”
For a single, bizarre moment, I consider telling her the truth: that I’ll inevitably be tired, because even if the flashbacks don’t keep me awake, they’ll haunt me in my dreams. But I shake away the urge and force a small smile.
“Yeah. Right.”
Chapter Eight
As soon as I wake up, I notice the difference in the atmosphere. Outside, the wind blows wispy clouds across the pale morning sky, and branches skim against the dorm windows with frail creaks. But inside, I can hear the other girls in the dorm chatting and giggling, muffled snippets of their excited conversations floating through the walls as they get ready for the first day of the semester. Laughter breaks out from the shared bathrooms down the hall, and I recognize Brie’s high, ringing tones. Of course. She’s definitely not the type to sleep in if there’s anything remotely exciting going on.
If Harting is anything like my previous school, the early-semester enthusiasm will last about three days before it dissolves into eagerness for summer break. But, for now, the excitement is really not helping my nerves. A bunch more students returned to the campus over the weekend, and while I’ve managed to use my sudden case of the “flu” as an excuse to avoid socializing, today that’s going to have to end.
I drag myself out of bed and check my phone. Two new messages from Dad, which I don’t bother reading, and nothing from Jeremy. I sigh and toss it back on my nightstand, running a hand through my hair as I examine the clock. I have plenty of time to complete the physical therapy exercises I’m supposed to do every morning for my legs, but I decide to skip it again. Today is going to be painful enough without stretching out
But it’s definitely going to require talking to him a lot and fishing for information, which so far, I’m failing miserably at.
Brie opens her mouth, and I think she’s fishing for something encouraging to say to me. But then she just shakes her head. “I’m so sorry,” she says softly. “I can’t even imagine how terrible that must be.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, because I think she’s right. Comas had always sounded creepy to me, but I never understood how truly horrifying they are until the first time I visited Camille in the hospital.
Seeing her bruised and broken body hooked up to half a dozen machines was worse than any nightmare I’d ever had. For years, Camille had been using her tiny, slender build as an advantage when she competed in gymnastics, and she’d won dozens of medals for her local team. I’d always loved how she’d shock people with her abilities, despite being smaller than most girls her age. But after the accident, her shortness stopped being cute. It was just another part of my living nightmare, a realization that ninety-pound girls have no chance of walking away from a car accident unscathed.
“My sister’s going to be okay,” I say, realizing an awkward silence has settled over the room.
Brie smiles hesitantly. “I’m glad.”
But she doesn’t sound convinced, and I don’t have the energy to protest her skepticism. In my head, all I can see is the conclusion from the report written by the latest specialist who examined Camille’s case: “ Due to the patient’s lack of regular brain function and the persistence of a comatose state without change, termination of life support is recommended.”
I shove myself to the edge of my bed and untangle my legs from the blankets. “I’m going to go get ready for bed,” I say.
“Yeah,” Brie says. “I should probably head to sleep, too. Don’t want to be tired on the first day of the semester, right?”
For a single, bizarre moment, I consider telling her the truth: that I’ll inevitably be tired, because even if the flashbacks don’t keep me awake, they’ll haunt me in my dreams. But I shake away the urge and force a small smile.
“Yeah. Right.”
Chapter Eight
As soon as I wake up, I notice the difference in the atmosphere. Outside, the wind blows wispy clouds across the pale morning sky, and branches skim against the dorm windows with frail creaks. But inside, I can hear the other girls in the dorm chatting and giggling, muffled snippets of their excited conversations floating through the walls as they get ready for the first day of the semester. Laughter breaks out from the shared bathrooms down the hall, and I recognize Brie’s high, ringing tones. Of course. She’s definitely not the type to sleep in if there’s anything remotely exciting going on.
If Harting is anything like my previous school, the early-semester enthusiasm will last about three days before it dissolves into eagerness for summer break. But, for now, the excitement is really not helping my nerves. A bunch more students returned to the campus over the weekend, and while I’ve managed to use my sudden case of the “flu” as an excuse to avoid socializing, today that’s going to have to end.
I drag myself out of bed and check my phone. Two new messages from Dad, which I don’t bother reading, and nothing from Jeremy. I sigh and toss it back on my nightstand, running a hand through my hair as I examine the clock. I have plenty of time to complete the physical therapy exercises I’m supposed to do every morning for my legs, but I decide to skip it again. Today is going to be painful enough without stretching out
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