Page 51 of What You Left Me

“Petra’s more help than I can be,” Spencer admits after a while. “I can’t think about this stuff when I wake up. It makes me too sad. But I’m gonna try to be helpful. I’m gonna tell them you’re still in there.”

“What are you gonna say?Excuse me, Doctor, Martin McGee’s brain is fine. He told me so in my dream.”

“I don’t know. Petra pulled off the whole dream thing pretty well.”

“She also pulled off that graduation robe,” Fly jokes.

Spencer nods as Fly tries to find a smile. It’s the best they can do.

“I’ll find a way back to myself,” Fly assures him. “I know I will.”

“But how?” Spencer asks. He notices a black dot behind Fly, growing closer.

They’re driving.

When had that begun?

The black dot looks like a fly. A fly flying at Fly!

No.

It’s a crow.

No.

It’s acar.

Spencer can’t get his mouth to catch up to his mind. The words, “Fly! Look out! Look out!” come out eventually, but it’s far too little and way too late. He presses on the brakes as hard as he can.

Forward and sideways forces combine to slam Spencer into the airbag and door. As his head collides with the heavy pillow of the bag and the glass of the window, breaking his nose and jumbling his brain, he can find only one thought.

I killed my best friend.

Time cannot be stopped.

26

“But how?” Spitty asked. How will I find my way back to myself?

If my brain is bleeding and my bones are broken, how is it even possible?

There’s something to the fact that I’ve always been Marty in the Middle, comfortably lost inside the center of things. Rise to the top of the class or fall too far below, and people take more time to look at you. The only time I’ve ever really pulled apart from the pack is the time I got in a car crash and started to die.

Oof. That’s some truth right there.

So how do people rise to the occasion? They grit their teeth, and they keep moving, in whatever way they can move. A forward step isn’t always physical, but it’s momentum, no matter how far the destination. There’s trust in that process. That if you keep going, you’ll get there. I mean, I’m apparently uniting friend groups. That’s not something I’d ever think myself capable of accomplishing. So Iamdoing something. I think I’m doing all I can.

How do I know if I’m doing all I can if I’ve never done it before? If I’ve always settled for the middle?

• • •

While we wait for Daniel and Cameron to pick us back up, Aminah sits beside me on the curb just beyond my house. She’s painting her nails the same color I’ve chipped off my fingertips all weekend, resting her hand on the stony concrete while balancing the bottle between her thighs.

“That didn’t go well,” I tell her. My body belies the calmness in my voice. I’m shaking.

She lets out a casual laugh, shrugging a piece of hair out of her face as she does it, trying to stay focused on her hand. “I figured as much when we went storming out of your house like we were being chased.”

“I couldn’t stop myself. I called my parents out for caring more about my grades than me.”