While You Closed Your Eyes

Chapter 8

I haven't done a lot on my phone since the accident. People from school have tagged me in a bunch of Instagram photos wishing us well, this shouldn't have happened to such good people, blah blah blah, and a bunch of Facebook posts too. Now, I've only got an hour before I'm home, and all I decide to do is scroll through Instagram. It passes the time until we pull into the driveway.

I'm home, West Point, I'm home.

Mom assists me with the wheelchair, I grab the things I want with me before I get in.

"Who added the ramp?" I ask.

"Oh, I had Dylan add it the first time he came home from the hospital," Mom says.

Marissa came home with us as well, she didn't want to wait at home in case something happened. Mom gets the rest of my things from the car as Marissa pushes me up the ramp to our front door.

"Riss?" I say. It's so quiet I can barely hear myself say it.

"Yeah, Lee?" Marissa says right as she's about to open the screen door. It's summer. Any other time, I'd be at the lake with my friends screwing around.

"Thank you," I whisper before I have tears running down my face.

Marissa just smiles at me and opens the screen door.

We have a large scale house. As soon as you go through the front door, its a large living room which is open to the kitchen and dining room. There's a closed off family room from the dining room. To the right of the doorway is the main floor bathroom and a guest bedroom down the short hallway.The point is, our main floor can hold a lot of people.

And and soon as Marissa pushes me into the house, I am met by a load of people.

I am surprised. They are all shouting something at me, it's all too much, but I sit there quietly until they're all done. Eventually a few people I'm close to come up to me and actually try to have a conversation.

"It's so good to see you home again," my best friend Hannah says crying.

"Thanks for the magazines," I say with a weak smile.

And she's in for the hug. If you didn't know how awkward it is to hug a person in a wheelchair, the answer? Very awkward.

"I'm glad you're alive."

It's a voice I'd always recognize: Coach Sarah Dillon.

"Coach," I say. "Nice to see you outside of the hospital."

"I was hoping I still had you for another year," Coach Dillon says smiling.

"Uhm, yeah," I say. "About that..."

I pull away my favorite dark blue blanket that's covering up my leg and a half. I had no idea so many people were watching, but the second I do, I hear many people gasp.

"Didn't you know?" I ask quietly.

Coach Dillon is mortified. "No, I stopped by to see you, but they didn't..."

"I knew," Hannah says.

The room is very loud with others taking among themselves, but we are quiet.

"I knew and I didn't say anything because I figured you knew," Hannah says quietly. "I should've figured that they wouldn't have told you. But I figured it was best that Leah told you even if you didn't."

Coach turns to me after Hannah is done. "There are other things we can do. They make prosthetics specifically for running you know."

"They're too expensive..." I say.

"We can do fundraising."

It's Emma, now, piping in. I can't lie, I'm about to hop right to her and punch her in the face.

"That's a great idea!" Hannah says excitedly. "Coach, Emma and I will be in charge of everything."

I glare at Hannah. She knows how much I hate Emma.

Emma Rylee Watts moved to West Point in forth grade. (She dressed like a slut then, too). At the time, I had two best friends: Hannah and a girl named Nora. We did everything together. And here comes slutty little miss Emma Watts with her fancy Hannah Montana lunch box and cool rich people clothes, and she sees Nora with a brown paper bag and raggedy old clothes (her mom struggled to find a job) and starts making fun of her. And I mean MAKING FUN. It was almost as hurtful as serious high school drama. Right in front of me, Nora starts crying. Nora doesn't cry. Emma starts laughing at her and walks away with a smirk on her face. I stand up and tap her on the shoulder, then give her a good punch in her "perfect" little face. To this day, she has a small scar on her cheek. However, the bullying from Emma continues for years and Nora had enough, so she moved to Washington in 6th grade, away from Emma and me.

"No, no, Emma is a marketing prodigy and I'm creative, we'll have donations pouring in in no time!" Hannah says.

"That sounds like a great idea!" Coach says.

I look up at my mom thinking, what did I just get myself into?