I step off the treadmill, my body a pathetic sack.
“Good work today.” Dylan slaps me on the back. I want to growl at him, but I don’t. I’m going to beat this recovery into the ground then run ten miles over it.
I slip into my mother’s 4Runner and stare mindlessly out the window as she drives away from the rehab center.
“There’s someone coming from school tonight to start tutoring you while you’re home,” she reminds me.
“I didn’t forget.” I roll my eyes. I can’t wait to see who the school designated for this. Probably some nerd from the academics team who’s going to put me back in a coma. My life is so great.
“Good. I’m making spaghetti and meatballs for dinner tonight,” she says, like she’s trying to cheer me up.
“I’d rather have homemade mac and cheese.”
She glances over and smiles a surrendering expression. My mother can never say no to me when I’m sick. Even if those times have been few and far between. I think my last devastating illness was freshman year when I had the flu, and all I wanted to eat was watermelon.
“Fine. I’ll drop you off then go to the store. Spoiled.”
“You made me that way.”
She smirks. “Sometimes you deserve it.”
Chapter Four
I hobble up the stairs.
My mother stands in the foyer until I make it to the top. “I’m fine,” I gripe.
“I know,” she responds. “Just playing it safe.”
“Playing it safe gets you nowhere.”
I hear her sigh. It’s an amused sound. “I’ll be back in a little bit. The door is open for the tutor.”
I throw my hand up over my head in acknowledgement. Tutor. Yay.
I drop down onto my bed. The fun starts soon. I’m going to enjoy my last shred of peace and quiet before I am officially tortured by some scrawny dork quizzing me on Beowulf and International Politics.
The doorbell rings. Here we go. “Come in!” I yell. It’s not terribly cold outside, so the front door being cracked isn’t a big deal.
I hear someone walk up the stairs. “Kam?” a girl’s voice carries down the hall. Oh shit.
“In here.”
A few seconds later, Darla walks into my room. Double shit.
“Hey,” she says with a sugary smile.
“Hey,” I respond flatly. I need this like I need a hole in my head. Ever since I got out of the hospital she has been texting me nonstop. Asking how I am and if I need anything. I tried to be polite and tell her I was fine, and not to worry over me, but that is just not happening. “What are you doing here?”
Please don’t be my tutor. Dear God, please.
“I just wanted to see you. Been missing you, that’s all.” She walks into my room warily, like she isn’t sure if she should be here.
She shouldn’t.
“Oh yeah? Sorry about that. Been a bit preoccupied recovering and all.”
“Well, I thought I could make it a little less painful for you.” She saunters toward my bed.