Not Your Average Prep

Chapter Five

I don't get my phone back until I graduate.

I was furious when Mom told me this. I'm a senior in high school! I need a phone.

She disagrees. Apparantly I spent way too much time with my friends and I need to focus on what's important-- schoolwork. Is she serious? I haven't been interested in crap like that since sixth grade.

Maybe it was for the best, though. Nobody ended up texting me, anyway.

I sat around the house for two weeks, completely devoid of any social contact-- no phone, no laptop, no iPad. The boredom was so intense, I decided school would be better than this.

I struggle to shove my Uggs on in the morning, still stuck in a wheelchair. According to the doctor, my legs were only getting weaker. Unless there was a miracle, I'd lose all feeling in my lower body, and not even be able to move my legs.

I blink back tears thinking of this. Why was I so stupid? Miranda is still in a coma, I lost all my friends, and now I'm a cripple. I didn't even bother to put a dress on; I was wearing sweatpants. Sweatpants! I'm such a loser.

Mom and Dad are working today, so I have to ride the bus. My car is destroyed, my liscence conficasted, and my legs are too dumb to push a pedal anyway.

I wheel over to the front door and pull it open as the bus rolls up. I push myself to the curb, and out of habit head for the normal entrance.

The bus driver looks at me, frowning. "You planning to walk up them stairs?" Her voice was rough, like a smoker's, and she was huge. She had two chins, and she could barely fit in the driver's seat.

"No," I spat. "What about you? I bet you can't even fit through the door."

She sneered at me, then pointed to the back of the bus. "Get on the wheelchair lift."

I glared at her, then rolled to the back and waited for the lift to slowly hit the ground. I wheeled onto it, and it pulled me up. It was so slow, and so loud, the whole bus stared at me. They whispered and pointed, and I struggled to maintain my composure. I can do this. It's just school-- I rule this place. I'm the most popular kid in town. If that doesn't work, I can at least play the sympathy card.

Finally, I'm on the bus, and I secure the chair so I don't roll around. Some pizza-face with braces stares at me.

"What? Never seen a wheelchair before?" I glare at the kid, but my usual silencing stare has lost its power.

"Yes, but I've never seen a murderer before." He has a huge lisp, and snot trickles out of his nose. What a dork.

"Who said I'm a murderer?" Blood rushed to my cheeks, and my stomach flopped. Did people really think I killed Miranda?

"Everyone."

"She's not dead!" I scream, attracting the attention of everyone who wasn't already staring. A busload of freaks stare at me, and I bite my lip. I don't like this.

"Pretty much is!" Some steriod freak from a seat ahead says. "Her mom's gonna pull the plug."

I take a deep breath, blinking away the tears that have been threatening to spill all day. "No-- no, she wouldn't."

"Yeah, she will! In a month, if she doesn't wake up, they're ending it."

It's no use. A hot tear burns as it falls down my cheek. "That's not true."

"You're lucky you're not in jail."

"It's just 'cause of the chair."

More tears spill down my face, and I wipe them away with a furious hand. "You don't get our sympathy. How could you do that to her?"

"Cripple."

"Freak."

"Killer."

"ENOUGH!" I scream as the bus slams to a stop in front of the school. There's a huge lump in my throat, and rage burns through my veins. I could legitimately kill these kids right now.

They all stare at me again, and I unbuckle myself and rush to the wheelchair lift, wishing it moves faster so I can get out of here.

It hits the ground, and I roll away as fast as I can.

The whispers follow me all through the day. Nobody says anything to my face, but every time I wheel past them, they whisper something to the person beside them. Sometimes I can hear them. Sometimes I can't.

"Drunk-"

"Psycho-"

"Murderer-"

It's more than I can bear. By the time lunch rolls around, I know I can't do it. I'm going home.

I turn around, and slam into Maria and Christina.

"Oh." Maria's voice drops, but she doesn't wear the look of disgust most of the other kids have. "Hi. Are you okay?"

She's the first person to ask me that all day. She's the first person to care about me, instead of what I did on accident. My lip quivers. "No."

Christina nudges her, trying to pull her away, but she stands her ground. "Do you need any help getting around?"

I want to say no. I want to tell her to get away from me, that she is not my friend. Instead, I nod, blinking back tears.

"Okay, where do you need to go?"

"Where are the elevators?" I whisper, and she grins-- not meanly, or rudely, but just an easygoing smile.

"After four years, you'd think you'd know." Her words sound mean, but her tone is so polite. I wish I'm angry at her. I wish I hate her. Instead, I'm falling for her nerdy, friendly charms.

I smile back, and she pushes me to the elevator.

"Thank you," I whisper, wiping a tear away, hopefully before she could see it.

"No problem. I know it was an accident. You would never do that on purpose."

I shake my head, and she smiles. "So, I'll see you around?"

I nod. "Yeah, hopefully."

She gives me one last grin, then waves a goodbye as the elevator takes me to the third floor.