There was the screech. Tire smoke fills the air. The little boy laughs, continuing to play. She tries to call to him, knowing what’s coming but her voice makes no sound. She tries to run to him, but her feet feel nailed in place. The car comes faster, faster. It impacts…..



“MIKE!” I scream, jolting out of my bed. My heart beats quickly and sweat soaks my face. That dream again. The dream I keep having almost every night for the past year.

I curl into a ball, shaking. Slowly my breathing calms. I allow my muscles to relax and I stretch a bit. I glance at my clock. 5:00 a.m. I know I need to get back to sleep since I’m so tired. Tired of waking up every night from nightmares of my little brothers death. I try lying back down for a while, but I still can’t sleep. After a little while I get up and pull on a jacket. I robotically walk to the garage for my bike. I have a sense of deja’vu in the back of my mind from doing this so many other times over the past year. I get on my bike and push off into the cool dark morning air. There are hardly any cars on the road at this time of day but I only ride on the sidewalk instead of the street or bike lane. In my mind every car that passes could be driven by the person who killed my brother. But he’s in jail. I grit my teeth angrily as I pedal on. If he wasn’t…..

Then I see the gates to the graveyard. I pedal in quietly to match the somber mood of the graveyard and park my bike against a fence. I start walking to the small gravestone, the wet, dewy grass cold on my bare feet.










































“Michael Burkett, loved son and brother,” the gravestone says in its plain script. Right next to his grave is a large marble slab with a statue of a goddess-like looking woman on top and a couple of palm trees too. On another marble slab there’s fancy calligraphy engraved into it announcing who the person is. Mike’s grave dwindles much smaller in comparison. He would have wanted it that way though. He hated people making fusses over him, even when mom would plan him birthday parties.
“Hi,” I say to the grave. My voice echoes slightly in the empty air. It sounds strange, thick and shaky.
“Is it any nicer up there?” I want to ask.
I sit next to the grave, not caring that I’m soaking my pants with dew. I rest my head on my knees, letting my memories wash over me.








****
I open my eyes and realize I must have dozed off. Pink tints the sky with a hint of yellow from the sun. I stand up quickly , realizing I should get home and ready for school. The social worker that found me a home assured me that no one thought it was strange if I didn’t go to school for a few days after the accident , but I just couldn’t stay in bed. I tried it for one day. Mikes’ face haunted my dreams all day. I don’t remember crying more than I had that day. No one knew what to do with me, not even my best friend Amanda. Mandy. It had somehow helped going to school the next day though everyone kept giving me pity looks.

I go to my bike and begin to ride home. The sun is hanging about halfway out of the sky. More cars whiz by on the road as I bike back. When I get home, after parking my bike in the garage, I find a note on my dresser. It’s from my foster parents

Had to leave. Emergency call from work. There’s oatmeal on the stove.





Sheryl & Donny

I rip the note and toss it into the trash. They’re always gone for work.

I change out of my dew soaked pajamas into dark jeans and a t-shirt. Mike and mom gave me the shirt a few years ago, before either of them died. I shiver as I change, remembering how Mom died: slowly from her constant stomach problems, which turned out to be cancer. I smell the shirt to see if any comforting scent remains, but all I smell in laundry detergent. I brush out my dark brown hair. It used to be the color of a peach, Mom’s hair. I got compliments all the time. After the accident, I didn’t want anyone to notice me any more than possible, so I dyed my hair.

I head out to the kitchen to eat some bland oatmeal. I’m not at all how I used to be, coating my oatmeal in cinnamon and raisins and sugar. When I’m done, I put my bowl in the sink and get on my bike to ride to school. The ride is mostly uphill. My legs burn, but it’s the good kind, the kind to cut through my numbness and let me know I’m still alive and breathing. The sun is higher in the sky now, warming the air. Eventually I see the school.

When I head inside, I notice people staring and whispering. It’s just like when I first came back from the accident. It’s been over a year. I don’t know why everyone’s doing it again. Then I see Mandy.

“Bree!’’ she calls out in her comforting, smooth, soprano voice.

I smile faintly. She guides me to her locker.

“Did you hear?” she asks quietly.

I shake my head.

“The driver of the car that caused the… accident got out of jail a few days ago,” she says delicately.

I’ve never even wanted to know his or her name. Mandy refers to him as “the driver”.

I give a fake nonchalant smile at her news.

“Oh well, it’s not like I’ll ever even meet him. Remember what the news report said? He lives all the way in Arizona,” I say dismissively though I feel anything but dismissive. She opens her mouth to say something else, but I’m simmering with anger again and don’t want to hear it. I give another fake smile and turn, swinging my backpack over my shoulder to go to my first class.

Get up Alex. No more excuses. You’re going.”

I groan.

“Now.” Suddenly I remember everything.

I open my eyes against the glaring overhead light and sit up. My father stands over me. He’s so different. I still can’t get over it. He’s guarded, a bit more cautious around me. I should have known everything would be different even before he picked me up from jail a few days ago. Instead of taking me home, to the house I’ve known all my life, he drove us to the airport. We’d taken a plane to California. He drove us to a small apartment where mom was. She’d started screaming and crying when she saw me. Then, once she calmed down, she stiffly announced I’d be going to the local high school.

I slip out of bed. After getting dressed, I walk out to the kitchen

“You going to have breakfast?” Mom asks, not even looking at me while whisking some eggs in a bowl together.

“No, thanks. I’ll just head out. Bye Momma.” I say, trying to put together some semblance of normalcy.
I lean over to hug her. She flinches away at my touch.
“Go on, get in the car,” she says quickly.
I sigh and walk down to the car where dad’s waiting. The ride to school is awkward. We used to be able to talk about anything, especially sports and things. Now he doesn’t know what to say to me at all anymore. When we get to the school, he turns and looks at me straight in the eye for the first time since I got out of jail. He gives me a nod, and I nod back, understanding his simple act of respect even though he couldn’t even say goodbye.
A bell rings just as I walk in. everyone scatters to their classes. I just got here and I already feel lost. A few people bump into me in their hurry. I feel my fists clench as though they did it on purpose. They would in jail. My first day there someone did that. It had really fired me up and I shoved him in retaliation. He accidently ran into a guard. That earned me 24 hours in solitary confinement: a pitch black, empty basement of a cell alone. That was when I learned the most important rule: don’t f*** up or you’re screwed.
“Class, this is Alex, be sure to make him feel welcome. And Alex, you take any empty seat,” the teacher says. I notice one in the back, next to a kid who looks young, like he skipped a grade or something.
He has thick glasses and acne. I sit down and mumble a “hey,” to the kid, who can’t be more than 14 or 15. He looks a little nervous.
“Hi,” he whispers back. He’d better not end up in jail. The more scared you look, the more the delinquents in there “toughen you up” which is to say beat your ass. I slouch a little more in my chair, trying not to look as wierded out as I feel watching everyone without bars in front of my face and a scowling guard at the door or being screamed at for stepping an inch out of line as though I was trying to escape.
I glance at my schedule while the teacher, Mr. Greer, drones on and on. I feel like a freshman, not knowing where to go since I’m not chained to a bunch of other guys and guided to cell, workout room, wherever they wanted us to go.
“Class, open your books to page 20,” Mr. Greer says, pushing up his glasses. For the rest of class, I follow along, half expecting a hard slap in the head every time I yawn. Soon the bell rings. Since I can’t find my next class, I reluctantly turn to the kid next to me.
“Uh.. Could you tell me where room 500 is?” I ask.
“I’ll show you. Come on,” the kid says, standing up.
He leads me to a room at the end of the hall.
“Thanks,” I say.
“What’s your name?” I ask to be polite.
“Bryan.”
“Cool. See you tomorrow, I guess,’’ I say.
He reaches out to shake my hand. Even though the guy is a total nerd, his handshake is strong and I haven’t really touched anyone for over a year. I hang on for a second longer than isn’t awkward.
“Sorry,” I mumble, looking away. I turn to go into my next class.



*******
The day passes quickly, so much unlike the mind-numbing routine in jail. And I know I’m going home afterward instead of a small cell, rooming with a creepy, bearded, 300 pound gay guy. I can’t help being relieved the day is almost over though. Everyone keeps looking at me as though they know, though it’s most likely because I’m new.

I look up at the room door. Room 403, Ms. Sachets, History. I open the door. The teacher walks up to me, scanning her clipboard.
“Alex?” she asks, peering at me over her glasses. I nod. She looks around the room. “Take a seat back there for now. I have an announcement for the class,” she says, pointing to a seat in the back. Maybe no one will look at me if I’m back there. Ms. Sachets paces the room, looking like she’s thinking, if her thin pursed lips are any indication.
“Now, I allowed you all to pick your seats at the beginning of the year, but there is a project that I am assigning that requires partnership. Since none of you have really gotten the chance to get to know each other, I’m going to rearrange the seating alphabetically. Please stand in the back of the room,” Ms Sachets finishes. She ignores the groans that erupt as everyone stands.
“Alex Brannon, Breanne Burkett,” Ms. Sachets announces, touching a table in the front. Damn. I didn’t want to be up front with everyone’s eyes on me, watching me, whispering… I shake my head, knowing that I’m being paranoid. No one knows here. Suddenly I realize why we moved. For a fresh start, so no one would know, even though its messed up that my parents are ashamed of me.
As Ms. Sachets calls more names, I turn to the girl next to me. Her long hair covers part of her face as she stares at her desk.
“Hey,” I say, trying to get a look past her hair to see her face.
“Hi,” she says back in a shaky, quiet voice.
She pushes some of her hair back behind her ear and turns to me. Her sharp green eyes pierce into mine.
Oh God. I can suddenly hear my heart pounding in my ears. A small noise escapes the back of my throat. Her startling green eyes stay on me in confusion. I quickly turn away and start to shuffle through my backpack, looking for nothing. It’s her. That girl, Breanne. The one who’s brother is dead because of me, not even counting whatever happened to her dad. Why is she here? I’d thought she lived in Arizona. As Ms. Sachets begins to teach, I can’t help but glance at her one more time. Her eyes flick onto mine. I give her a small smile, the most I can manage at this point. She smiles a little back and I see a faint spark of what she must have been like before the accident, before everything in her life got changed.
“Mr. Brannon? Ms. Burkett? If you would stop flirting and please pay attention” Ms. Sachets says, glancing sternly at us. I hear a few giggles from parts of the room as though we’re in elementary school again. Breanne turns her head forward and the smile disappears. She allows a dark curtain of hair to cover part of her face again. I turn away reluctantly and pull out my textbook.

Chapter 3 Breanne


I hitch my heavy backpack higher onto my shoulder while unlocking my bike.

“Bree,” I hear Mandy’s voice behind me.

I turn with the same fake smile and raise my eyebrows
“You want a ride home instead of going on that awful bike?” she asks, like she does almost everyday
As usual, I shake my head nonchalantly while silently freaking out at the thought of getting in a car, especially if we crashed. Mandy’s annoyed sigh brings me out of my thoughts.
“Bree-“
“I really have to go. Sheryl needs me to help her with some… um…. Laundry. Besides, I like riding my bike,” I lie, pushing my bike away. I pedal faster than usual home to get out all of my nervous energy that just one offer of riding in a car brings me. When I get back, I open the garage. Empty. Sheryl and Donny still aren’t home from their “work emergency”. Not that it’s a big surprise. I let out a sigh, wishing someone, anyone, was here to fill the empty loneliness that fills the house when everyone’s gone. Even when Mike or dad was in the other room I’d hear the soft noises of Dad cooking or Mike playing.
I drop my backpack on the ground and head up to my room. Sheryl and Donny had decorated it the way I’d said to when I first moved in. They were also surprisingly kind when I used to storm off and lock myself in my room for hours when they would say something sympathetic about Dad or Mike.
I turn my music on softly and slip into my bed. I pull the black and white comforter over my head, feeling a familiar calm come. Slowly, concentrating to the music, I drift onto that state of half awake and half asleep. The place where I can almost control my dreams, make them happy. In my half dreaming state I can ignore that Mom and Mike are dead and Dad is in the hospital, paralyzed from the waist down and isn’t able to remember me. The music rollicks along. My dreams fade to blackness.
A bit later, the sharp ringing of the phone jolts me out of my sleep. I groggily get out of my warm bed to grab the phone.
“Hello?” I answer the phone.
“Hello. This is Nurse Worthington from Mercy Hospital. May I speak with Breanne Burkett?” the speaker says in my ear. A slight chill goes up my body. I grip the phone harder.
“This is her. Is my dad ok?” I’m hoping for some good news, anything, though I doubt there is any.
“Well, honey, I’m afraid not. He’s having some pain in the spinal area. If you want to see him today I suggest you see him now before we run any tests,” she says.
My stomach clenches.
“I’ll be there,” I promise, then hang up. My bike sits in the garage taunting me. It’s too damn far to the hospital, further than I have ever ridden before. I figure that I can make it in a half hour if I pedal as fast as I can. Luckily I’m more in shape then I was a year ago from riding my bike everywhere. I get on my bike quickly and ride out. After only a few minutes of fast pedaling uphill, my legs burn and my face is hot and sweaty. I unzip my jacket and tie it to my waist to keep going.
When I get to the hospital my legs feel shaky and weak. I practically run to the doors anyway. The secretary looks like she’s been waiting for me.
“Room 234, sweetie,” she says without me asking.
I go up to the room. The nurses welcome me while they work. Their faces are tight with worry. I walk up to Dads bed. His face is contorted in pain and covered in sweat. I swallow hard. It’s weird seeing him so weak and in pain. He used to be so strong. He used to…
He looks up at me and his face clears a little.
“Hey… you’re that pretty little girl who visits me… I’m not feeling too good this time if you couldn’t tell,” he says trying to smile.
“Hey, Dad.” It’s at the tip of my tongue. I know if I say it he’ll get a confused “who me?” look. I couldn’t handle it.
“Hi Patrick,” I say instead, still feeling strange using his name. He opens his mouth to talk, then winces in pain. Suddenly an alarm goes off on a monitor. A doctor comes over. He looks at the monitor, then, with alarmed eyes, grabs a speaker.
“Get everyone in here now! We have a 4-112 emergency!” he yells into the speaker.
“You have to leave,” the doctor says quickly. He gently but firmly guides me to the door. I glance back once, and then leave.

Chapter 4. Alex. If x is a square root and y is pi…” I mumble to myself, trying to figure out a math problem. I keep trying to get back into a somewhat normal routine like I had before I got arrested. School, chores, homework. Of course, I’d sneak out to parties somewhere and usually get high. Not any sick s*** like meth, but harmless stuff- like weed or ecstasy. Or at least I thought they were harmless until that night. Sometimes I’d go see my girlfriend Hayley and we’d make out or feel each other up. There was a somehow a mutual understanding that we wouldn’t go much further than that. Damn. I’ve forgotten about her until just now, her honey tinted skin and soft brown eyes. She’s probably found some other jackass who doesn’t deserve her by now. “Alex!” A call comes from the living room area. I pull myself off of my bed. Dad is in the kitchen looking at some mail. “Hey,” I say, “What do you need?” Dad hands me a letter. It looks official, like a government letter. I’ve gotten too familiar with these things in the last couple of months. I know it can’t be good. I skim through it, skipping all the parts of the letter that I know is just bullshit, or the government rambling on and on about their power to make my life hell. My eyes stop on the handwritten “300” on a line. I read the whole sentence. “Alex Brannon will need to complete the mandatory 300 community service hours for his sentence to be taken off file.” The letter finishes, with some signatures at the bottom from some government officials. “They called earlier,” Dad says, reading over my shoulder. I suddenly realize who exactly the letter is from. The court who gave me my jail sentence. The letter nags at me for some reason. Irritated, I hand the letter to Dad and go back into my room without a word. I sit on my bed and stare at my math book and grab the stupid thing and try to figure out the math problem. “If x is a square root and y is,’’ the jingle of keys interrupt me. “Hi Honey,” I hear dad say. Mom’s home. “Did we get any mail today?” I hear her tired voice ask. I get up and quickly go back out to the kitchen to hopefully calm her down when she inevitably explodes when she reads the letter. “We got a couple of bills and one letter,” Dad answers. He hands the letter to her. She reads it silently. It’s so quiet I can hear a clock tick in another room. She lowers the letter and clears her throat. “Well,” she says, frighteningly calm, “Looks like you’ll be awfully busy in the next couple of weeks.” She picks up the pile of envelopes on the table and walks calmly to her room. No yelling, no more crying. Dad exhales. “She’s trying to block everything out,” he tells me. “By the way, here are the places where you can complete your community service hours,” he hands me a piece of paper. Senior Care Nursing Home Deb’s Home Diner Mercy Hospital Sunnyside Dry Cleaning “Only four things?” I think aloud. Dad nods, “Yep. They chose places where you’d have adequate supervision. They have to.” I shake my head. “Jesus, these people can’t just leave me alone and give me my damn freedom can they,” I say, thinking aloud again. “I think they should be able to do whatever they want,” Mom says, suddenly appearing, walking briskly by. She stops and turns to me. “You should feel lucky they gave you a choice at all. And anyway, I don’t even think you realize what you’ve done to all of us. You deserve whatever you get.” she walks away. “Go back into your room and finish your homework. I’ll try talking to her,” Dad says, but I’m already on my way feeling kind of pissed off. I sit on my bed and hear the murmurs of Dad and Mom talking. “Lauren, he’s not…. a bad kid, exactly. He’s just made some mistakes and he’s learning from them,” Dad’s voice begins. Even his voice sounds unsure, like he doesn’t quite believe that I’m not that big of a f*up. He starts to say something else but Mom cuts him off. “Can’t either of you see what he’s done? He’s ruined our family with his stupidity! Look at us, Shawn!” She practically yells, “We couldn’t even stay in the same state because everyone would have talked about us or shunned us or… or worse even,” she finishes. Suddenly I can hear her crying while Dad attempts to comfort her. It’s hard not to feel bad for her, but I know that she just cared about our reputation. Damn. Everything keeps reminding me of that night. Especially Breanne. When I saw her smile that contrasted with her blank face I realized that I’d affected her more than I realized. Maybe mom is right. I pull a sheet over myself and turn off the light. ****** Beep, Beep, Beep! My shrill alarm clock rings, the sharp sound piercing through my tired head. I pull myself up and pull on some clothes, then walk down to the car where dad’s waiting. “You drive yourself today,” dad says, tossing me the keys. Confused, I get into the drivers’ side. “I know your license is suspended for two more years… but I pulled a few strings and now if you take a drivers’ test at school you can get your license a few months earlier… if you pass. And I thought you could use some practice,” Dad says to the confused look on my face. I turn the car on and pull out of the apartment lot. It feels strange, but familiar and comfortable. A few drops of rain fall out of the already cloudy sky. I smoothly turn on the windshield wipers without taking my eyes off of the road. It’s such a small accomplishment but it’s good that I even remember how. In class, Mr. Greer looks out across the room. His eyes stop on me. “Mr. Brannon, right?” he asks. I nod. “Okay. I was told that you’re supposed to take your driver’s test….” He trails off and looks at me questioningly. I nod. I could understand why he’d be confused. Most sophomores take the test or class for a license, not juniors like me. “So, um, anyway you will take it during your last class of the day,” he says. I nod and slump back into my seat. “So class, yesterday we were studying how to convert variables into….” I sit through my classes all day, waiting for the drivers’ test. I’m slightly uncertain but also anxious to take it since it has been almost two years since I’ve had a license. Then, finally, it hits the last class of the day. Instead of going into my history class, I walk out to the track with the bright orange cones. I’d been given directions earlier but I don’t know anyone could miss the giant neon cones. “Alex, right?” the driving instructor asks, smiling. When I nod, she opens the driver’s side door for me and I get in. Despite me having not driven in a while, everything is so familiar. By the last test-parallel parking- I’m completely confident. “How’d I do?” I ask when I stop the car. She looks at her clipboard. “Well… actually, very well,” she says, looking surprised. “In fact, you’ll most likely be getting your license much sooner than you would have.” “Thanks. Really,” I answer, getting out of the car. I’m kind of proud of myself but I know even if my license suspension is shortened I still won’t be driving anytime soon if mom has anything to do with it. I suddenly remember my 300 community service hours. Crap. I know I have to start them soon. I shove my hands into my pockets as I walk quickly to the front of the school as if to magically take away my sudden frustration. Dad picks me up as usual. Most of the other juniors are driving themselves home. A girl unlocking her bike stands out. No one else is riding a bike home. She stands up when she’s finished and pulls on a jacket as the rain starts to sprinkle. It’s Breanne. She won’t even get into a damn car. Watching her, I have a feeling she has hardly ever gotten into one since the accident. As I watch her push off on her bike as the rain becomes heavier, I’m hit with a load of guilt. I try to shake it off as we get further and further away. “So Alex,” Dad says, too casually. I tense up a little. He always starts telling me something I don’t want to hear like that. I go with it. “Huh?” I mumble. “You have to start your community service hours today,” Dad announces, somewhat cautiously. What does he think I’m going to do, start punching the car door or something? I actually almost laugh at the image of myself throwing a fit, but the laugh doesn’t even make it halfway out. “Okay,” I answer, seemingly indifferent. “Have you actually chosen which you’re going to do?” he asks. Right. Forgot about that. I think of the list and shrug, picking out the only one I can remember. “The hospital, I guess,’’ I say. Dad nods, almost as though he approves. I doubt it. We sit in silence for a second before he asks, “How’d you do on your driver’s test?” “Good. She said I might be able to drive in only a few months instead of two years,’’ I tell him. The court had given a two year license suspension, the only reason it wasn’t three being that the accident wasn’t, at least, a hit and run. Dad doesn’t answer for a second. I look over. He’s thinking about something. “Tonight your mom and I are both busy, so I thought maybe you could…. Drive yourself to the hospital and back tonight?’’ he asks, again acting all calm and casual even thought I know it’s not at all a casual offer. We pull into the apartment lot with the question still hanging in the air. “Sure,” I answer quickly. “Don’t tell your mom, though. She wouldn’t understand,” he says seriously. I nod even though I don’t completely understand why he’s letting me drive yet either. It’s still definitely not legal yet but whatever. I know what he means about not telling mom though. One wrong word and she’ll explode. I jog upstairs to our apartment just as I hear Dad ask Mom, “Ready to go?” Then I hear the jingle of keys and spritz of perfume. Dad guides her out the door without a word from either of them to me. I grab the keys to the old minivan, the type that moms use to haul a bunch of kids around in. Its definitely not the coolest car but by now I really couldn’t give a s***. I hop quickly into the car to drive to the hospital.

After school, I go home as usual. When I open the garage door to get in though, Sheryl and Donny’s car is parked in it. I walk into the house, somewhat uplifted knowing that I won’t be alone tonight.
“Hi Breanne,” Sheryl says as I walk in. She reaches out and lightly hugs me.
“Hey. Where’s Donny?” I ask.
“He’s up in the office. We might just be getting to a real breakthrough!” Sheryl says excitedly. I nod and try to smile. Sheryl and Donny are the head directors at some news office. Lately they’ve been trying to find a big story.
“Any calls?” I ask. Sheryl’s shoulders sag a little and her blue eyes droop some.
“Yes. I was trying to put off telling you- anyway, the hospital called,” she says sympathetically. She knows what’s going on with my dad, that I visit him every day and that he doesn’t remember me. She doesn’t know about the trouble he was having yesterday though. If the hospital called again, who knows what could have happened. I give Sheryl a grateful look for telling me.
She continues cutting carrots for dinner. I dump my backpack on the floor and go to my bike so I can ride to the hospital. Sheryl already knows my opinion about going in cars, though she doesn’t like it.
When I get to the hospital, the secretary tells me a different room this time. I walk down the white hall. It’s quieter, but a bit more tension is in the air. It’s as though the people in this ward want to believe that they’ll get better, but are resigned to whatever will happen to them. The halls smell like bleach and soap. The new room is number 127.
I push open the door. It squeaks a little too loudly for the quiet halls. A nurse notices me.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Shhhh,” she whispers. “He’s asleep, he must be exhausted after the whole ordeal.”
“Wait… what happened?” I ask frantically.
“We tried to help- but it’s too late. He’s paralyzed from the neck down,” She says bluntly. Her face portrays no emotion, but I can tell she’s seen lots of things like this happen, maybe too much.
I hear a small choked gasp escape out of my throat and I run to the side of his bed. His face is ashen and he looks even thinner than just yesterday. His skinny, useless arms lay on top of the white blanket. I put my head in my hands, trying not to let tears fall out of my eyes. As I take a deep breath, I dimly hear voices cutting through the silence of the room.
“Ok, Alex just finish putting these glasses away and you’ll be finished for the day,” Nurse Amy says.
“Ok, see ya,” a low voice answers. I stand to leave and cough a little. Alex looks up, his chocolate eyes piercing into mine. Before I can get too flustered, he talks to me.
“Bree.. right?” he asks.
“Um, yeah. Breanne actually,’’ I answer. Why is he here? I ask myself.
“So, why are you here?” he asks. I nod towards my dad.
“Him. It’s my father,” I say. Alex looks like he’s been hit for some reason. He turns away to leave.
“You ok?” I ask. He closes his eyes and when he opens them he looks different. He nods.
“I got to put some stuff away but, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he mumbles, pushing a cart with a few things in it away out the door.
I walk down the stairs into a hospital lobby. I’d thought I’d start crying again, but I just feel numb inside. As I push open the door, I feel a cold blast of wind. It’s started raining again. I’ll have to ride extra quickly home.
I get on my bike and start pedaling against the wind. I get out of the parking lot when I feel a slight crunch under me. I ignore it and then my bike suddenly stops. The chain is dangling down, broken and useless. Annoyed, I grab the handlebars to walk the bike home.
The rain soaks my hair and clothes as I trudge along. I shiver in my wet sweatshirt. A white car creeps into the corner of my eye. It’s going a little too slowly for comfort. I walk alittle faster, wishing my bike would work.
The car is level with me when I hear, “Need a ride?”
I turn, a little startled. It’s Alex. I keep walking despite the cold, shoving my numb hands into my wet pockets of my sweatshirt.
“N-no thanks,” I answer. I continue walking, a little faster this time. I hope he doesn’t ask why, it’s not his business. Nothing is.
“Breanne, come on. Just get in the car,” he calls out his window, still following at my pace.