Page 60 of On the Bright Side
“Oh!” I exclaim, remembering a very important question. “Could I bring Cheese to the house?”
Shay furrows her brow. “Yeah, you can eat cheese?”
“I mean,” I sign, poking two fingers into my opposite palm, “my cat.”
“Cat!” Alex signs enthusiastically. “You’re not allergic, right?” she asks Shay, who smiles and shakes her head.
“I think we can have pets,” Izzy signs. “I’d love to have a cat there.”
“Perfect.” I’m not sure how Cheese would do with a move, but I’m sure he’d be happier there with me than alone at my parents’ place.
Ha, myparents’ place. That’s how quickly I’ve given up on referring to that house as my home.
I’m the first one at our lunch spot outside the teachers’ lounge on Monday. Usually, Jackson beats me here. I wait to open my lunch.
How will this go? There’s a chance he shows up and pretends like nothing happened. That this weekend changed nothing. Even though everything is different now.
That kisswasn’tnothing.
I don’t want to have a whole discussion about my ex, because I’m closing that chapter. If anything, maybe Cody was an excuse for me to kiss Jackson. It was the wrong place, the wrong time, and totally skewed logic, but that’s it. I wanted to kiss Jackson. And seeingmy ex kissing someone made me want to kiss the new person inmylife, right?
Ugh, I need to pull myself together.That’s not an explanation Jackson’s going to be a fan of. It all looks bad no matter how I try to frame it.
Now it’s halfway through the period, and Jackson hasn’t shown up. I dig into my lunch but don’t feel like eating. Is he avoiding me? Is he back in the cafeteria? He’ll have to be in study hall, though.
Except he isn’t there, either. Okay, so he probably wasn’t avoiding me, then. I stretch my arms out on the desk, looking around, unsure what to do now. I hope Jackson is okay.
Chapter Thirty
Jackson
Yesterday, the doctorand nurses in the emergency room took my vitals, did a lot of bloodwork, asked a ton of questions, and set me up with an IV. The CT scan came back negative, which was a relief because we could rule out a stroke. Or a tumor. Or a whole host of other scary-sounding things.
But that didn’t answer why I can’t feel half my body. I was moved out of the ER and admitted to another floor of the hospital for a longer stay.
I spend much of Monday lying in the bed with my parents hovering nearby. It’s clear I’m not leaving here anytime soon. I couldn’t walk out even if I wanted to. They’re going to do an MRI as soon as it’s available because whatever this is seems to be in my head.
Because everything’s pointing to something wrong with my brain.
An old lady with a walker paces back and forth down the hallway, getting in some exercise. She smiles at me each time she passes my door.
I don’t want to interact with anyone. I want to be home. I won’t be here long. I’m only eighteen.
This can’t be what comes next. I have to be able to play soccer again. Or go to college. Or have a serious girlfriend. Or get my freaking driver’s license. Or be able to live on my own.
I’m not ready for this. Whatever this is.
My parents take turns staying with me. Mom is at home gathering some things, so when Dad gets a call that he needs to swing by the office because there’s a problem at his company’s factory, he has to leave me alone for a few until she gets back.
“Your mom is minutes away, and I’ll be right back,” he says on his way out the door, then pauses at the doorway. “I’m sorry.”
The word is loaded. It’s more than an apology about having to check in on the business. It makes me uncomfortable because I don’t think my father has ever apologized to me like this before. I scrunch my shoulders down, lowering half my face beneath the thin sheet draped over me.
“It’s okay,” I say.
Moments after he leaves, Mom rushes in with a tote full to the brim. “Phone chargers, underwear, a couple outfits if they let you out of that gown, some books…” She continues listing everything she brought, but I notice the golden knit socks in the bag, as well. “You meant these, right?” she asks, following my gaze. Before I can say anything, she’s slipping them on my feet. My toes must be frigid, because she gives them a squeeze. Everything is still so numb.
“What time is it?” I ask.
