Hidden Truths, page 6
I texted Eric to visit, but he said he can’t but he’ll be here tomorrow.
I texted back a sad face and tried to ignore the pain bouncing across my body.
Then I hear the familiar sound of the Red Sox game coming from somewhere outside my room. Fans are cheering like everything’s normal.
But nothing’s normal.
Earlier today I met Gretchen, the occupational therapist, who showed me how to grip a fork with fat foam around it to make it easier to hold. Spoiler: I still couldn’t do it. She also gave me a reacher—a metal stick with a claw thing on the end. It’s like a longer version of the one in the arcades that Eric and I used to play to win cute stuffed animals. Just a lot less fun.
I press the giant white clicker attached to my bed to put the game on the TV in my room. I want to flood my world with baseball.
The game ends with a Red Sox win, 9–4. When I turn it off, the silence is deafening. I look around and know I need to do something. I can’t just evaporate in this hospital.
“Mom, will you roll me down the hall?”
She pops up. “Sure. Where to?”
I don’t want to tell her in case my plan doesn’t work. “Just down the hall.”
We buzz the nurse to help me stand and get into the wheelchair. It hurts, which feels equal parts embarrassing and frustrating.
Once I’m in the wheelchair, Mom rolls me past the kid in the room next to me who sneezes really loudly and the person two doors down who likes jazz. I sometimes hear their music floating down the hall.
I notice the door to room 401 is open and ask Mom to slow down. As we pass the room, I see Meadow sitting on the end of her sister’s bed.
Hoping this isn’t a dumb idea, I motion for Mom to stop, and knock.
Meadow turns toward the door and waves.
“Hi,” I say.
Meadow puts her finger to her lips and points to her sleeping sister. She and her mom come out of their room, which looks exactly like mine except for the Get Well sign and rainbow hearts all over the walls.
The moms talk and I turn to Meadow. “Nurse Reed told me about a sunroom at the end of the hall. Want to go?” I ask.
She nods.
Mom gives me instructions on what I can and can’t do from another list she’s got on her phone, and tells me that she’ll meet me back in our room.
Meadow pushes me to the end of the hall, and the sun pours into the space. It’s less a room and more a corner with a few chairs, an ugly rust carpet, and a painting of the dunes along the beach. But there are no beeping machines. Just the bag with clear fluid that Mom hooked onto the back of my wheelchair. So immediately I love it.
Meadow drags over one of the chrome chairs. “You’re lucky your mom gives you space.”
“I guess. She spends a lot of time making lists for me and doing marketing for the company she works for. They make pickles and relish and stuff like that.”
“That’s cool. Not the lists, but you must get lots of free pickles.”
I nod and try to ignore the tingling in my right hand.
“My mom’s glued to my little sister,” Meadow continues. “I mean, she barely even notices I’m in the room.”
“Oh,” I say. Mostly because I don’t think the space between me and Mom is lucky, but also because I feel sad for Meadow.
“Whatever. It’s fine. She’s just being a mom, I get it.” She slides back her headband. “Anyway, isn’t Waylan totally hot?”
I laugh. Which feels good. And nod, because she’s right.
“How did your physical therapy go?”
“Torture. But it’s what I need to get back to baseball, and he promised it wouldn’t always be like this.”
“He’s right,” she says. “It gets better.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
She looks at her sneakers with the pink stars, then back at me. “He’s really helped my little sister.”
“Why’s she here?”
She bites her lip. “Her hand got slammed in the car door. It crushed some of her fingers.”
“Wow, that’s scary. How did it happen?”
She pauses, then says, “My older brother, Remi, did it.”
“Yikes.”
“It was a total freak accident. He thought she was getting out of the car on the other side.” She pauses. “It wasn’t his fault. I mean, it was, but it wasn’t.”
“Is she mad?”
“She knows he didn’t do it on purpose.”
Then she moves closer to me, and I smell the strawberry candy floating around her mouth. “But just between us, he feels horrible.” She shows me a photo of her sister’s hand. The top parts of three of her fingers are totally crushed by the nails. Her eyes fill with tears. “And then it got infected, which is why she’s still in the hospital.” She takes a deep breath. “It was his fault. So I’d get it if she hates him forever.”
“Totally,” I say. “I mean, she’s stuck with messed-up fingers whether it was an accident or not.”
“What about you? Are you mad?” she asks.
“Burning mad.” I inhale all the stale hospital air around me. “I’m mad I worked so hard to make the team and I’m not out there pitching. I’m mad I can’t walk or shower or do anything on my own. I’m mad I’m stuck here. I’m mad the right side of my body hurts all the time. And I’m mad that my mom and Dr. Jeffries and Nurse Reed keep talking like I’m not going to play baseball this season.”
The words pour out of me. I’m surprised how easy it is to talk to Meadow. I guess I thought I would have told Eric all this stuff, but he’s not here and there’s no emoji for all the things I’m mad about.
“You’ll definitely be out there,” Meadow says.
“Right?” I stare at Meadow, thankful she gets it and surprised she gets me.
“Totally. Girl power. You didn’t fight to be on the boys’ team just to fade away.”
“Exactly!”
“You know, tomorrow’s the first day of school,” Meadow says.
“Yep. Mad about that, too. I hate being in the hospital.” My voice grows louder. “This is my third day here, and I want to do something crazy, but I can’t even do that. I mean, look at me!”
Meadow’s quiet for a while. Then says, “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”
I slowly nod.
She leaves the room for a minute and comes back with scissors.
“What are those for?” I ask.
“You said you wanted to do something crazy,” she says. “And I just saw a video where someone did this with a friend and it was amazing and got, like, so many views.”
I think she just called me her friend.
She pulls out her phone. “So let’s make a TikTok.”
“Okay,” I say nervously, not sure where this is headed and why she needs scissors.
“We can call it Say It or Do It.”
“Isn’t that just Truth or Dare?”
Meadow smiles. “I guess, but we can’t be TikTok famous with something that’s been done a bazillion times before.” She winks, then hits Record. “Hey, it’s Meadow and Dani, straight from Harlow Hospital.”
She looks at me and smiles, and for the first time since getting to this stupid place, I feel something good.
“Time to liven things up around here. We’re starting things off with a Do It,” Meadow says. “Dani, are you ready?”
“Wait, why am I first?” My eyes widen.
“Because you said you wanted to do something crazy.”
She’s right, I did say that.
“So, do you?” she asks me. Then she turns back to the camera. “Or was that just something you said?”
My stomach drops. This feels like a trick question, but I don’t want to say that with the camera staring at me, so I don’t respond.
Then Meadow props the phone on the windowsill, grabs the scissors, and turns toward me. “Eyes closed, Dani. You don’t get to see it until I’m done.”
I shut my eyes and hope this wasn’t a huge mistake.
17
A Dozen Donuts and a Nap
“Morning,” Zoe sings, hopping onto the edge of my bed. “Look! I lost a tooth.” She smiles big, revealing a new gap in her teeth.
“Way to go, Peanut.”
“And it’s the first day of school!” She twirls in her Sleeping Beauty dress and then picks up Dani’s glove. “Why are you sleeping with this? It’s not even cuddly.”
“I’m not sleeping with it. I threw it at the end of my bed and then fell asleep.”
“So you did sleep with it.” She dances around my room with the glove.
“No, I fell asleep with it on my bed. There’s a difference. Anyway, it’s Dani’s. I’m keeping it for her.”
She stops. “Until when?”
“Not sure.” I have no idea when I’m giving it to Dani. If I’m giving it to Dani. “I’ll take the glove and meet you in the kitchen in a few.” I roll out of bed and drag my desk chair across the wooden floor to the closet. I climb onto the chair and set Dani’s glove next to the unfinished superhero comic I started writing when Dani left for baseball camp this summer.
My phone pings, a new text from Dani. I assume it’s about my visit after school today. I’m still scared—petrified, really—but I know that I can’t hide from her forever. So my new plan: tell her the whole truth and pray she doesn’t hate me.
But the text isn’t about my visit. It’s a TikTok link. I click on it and watch. It’s called Say It or Do It, and it’s of Meadow Riggs cutting Dani’s hair. Then I watch again. I’m not sure if I’m more shocked that Dani’s doing this with Meadow or that Dani doesn’t really look like Dani. Her hair is still brown and wavy, but now it hangs above her shoulders and swings when she moves her head.
I show the video to Casey, who looks equally confused. I watch it a few more times and text back a thumbs-up. I mean, her hair looks good, I guess, if I ignore the Meadow part. It just doesn’t look like Dani.
I get dressed and go downstairs.
I pass on Dad’s waffles, wave to Zoe, who’s watching Big Bird sing the recycling song, endure a don’t-worry-I’ll-love-you-even-if-you’re-a-terrible-person look from Mom, and head out to my first day of sixth grade.
Alone.
The air’s misty and it feels strange walking to school by myself. When Dani and I were little, we walked with our moms. Then last year when we started middle school, we walked by ourselves after enduring our parents’ safety speech. This morning there’s no speech. And no Dani.
When I get to school, I scan for any sign of Leo and exhale when I don’t see him. But as I walk through the halls, my stomach feels like a vat of flies is having a dance party. Kids stare and point. Everyone seems to know about the explosion.
Kiki Brown taps my shoulder. “How’s Dani?” she asks. I spin around to answer, but the words are trapped.
As I turn the corner, I hear someone say, “Hey, man, heard about Dani.” It’s Matías, another sixth grader from my neighborhood. “Also heard that you, like, totally saved her. Very cool.”
“Thanks,” I say, hoping my face isn’t as red as it feels.
I tell Matías I’ll catch up with him later at the Speak Out! meeting after school and run smack into Coach Levi. “Hey, Eric. Please tell Dani that the team is thinking of her.”
I nod.
“I’m glad you’re both okay. And what you did was quite brave.”
My cheeks feel even hotter now. “Um, thanks,” I say and head to Ms. Brattle’s science class.
As I slip into a seat in the back row, my guilt finds me. People think I did something great. I mean, I guess I did. Which is cool. But I’m pretty sure I also did something not so great. Which is less cool.
Ms. Brattle begins her introduction to sixth-grade science, and I realize I forgot to bring in my hypothesis for this experiment we’re doing. She emailed the class two weeks ago, introducing herself and giving us the assignment. I stare out the window and think about all the other things I may have forgotten. Then I think about Dani saying she wanted to go to sleep that night at the campsite. Dani lying on the floor of the trailer, pinned under the kitchen cabinets.
Somewhere during my train of thought, class ends. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, grab my books, and go to English.
I don’t pay much attention in the rest of my classes. I feel like I need a dozen glazed donuts and a nap. All I can think about is the accident and my stupid, forgetful brain.
But in the halls around me, everyone’s lives seem normal. Unfazed. It’s weird. Carlton can’t stop talking about the Red Sox win. Willow wants to know if AJ likes her or Bethany. And Max shaved his head at band camp. I don’t care about any of that stuff.
All I want is for things to be the way they were.
Before.
The.
Accident.
The bell rings. School’s over and the first meeting for Speak Out! is about to start. I sit down and Rachel walks in. She looks like goddess meets mermaid—minus the fins—and smells like honeysuckle.
She smiles at a person who is not me, and I pray she can’t tell I’m a horrible human just by looking at me.
Ms. Suarez shares how glad she is to see everyone and how much she looks forward to working together this school year. She rambles on about submission ideas, cell phone numbers, contact information, deadlines, and causes to work on. Then she tosses our names into a gray fedora and all the categories into the plastic bowl on her desk.
“Okay, people to my right. Pick a name from the hat and a topic from the bowl. You’ll be working in pairs. We need your ideas in the next few weeks. Any thoughts or questions, just let me know.”
Quinn picks Jason and climate change, Omar gets Andrew and politics, Callie gets Keegan and education. Next, it’s Rachel’s turn. She pushes her long blond hair behind her ear, stretches her fingers with the purple nail polish into the hat, looks at the slip of paper in her hand, and says, “Eric, we’re partners.” She smiles.
I swallow and pray there are no hives splattered on my neck.
Her hand goes into the bowl. “And we’ll be focusing on safety.”
When the meeting ends, Rachel finds me at my locker, and all intelligible thoughts leach out of my brain.
“H-hi,” I stammer.
Not the best start.
“Hey,” she says. “I’m sorry about Dani. How’s she doing?”
“She’s had better days.” My mind spins, but nothing more coherent surfaces, so I shove my hands into my pockets and stop talking.
Behind her I see Leo coming down the hall. My insides tighten, but I don’t move. I’m hoping he’ll ignore me and keep walking. But he doesn’t. He stops at my locker and slams the door shut.
Fear worms across my chest.
“Heard about Dani,” he says, sticking his face in mine. His breath smells like roadkill. “What did you do, man?”
I dodge the spit flying out of his mouth. It feels like all the air is seeping out of my lungs. I say, “You’re an idiot.” Not clever but accurate.
“Whoa!” Leo says. “I was just joking. Aren’t you supposed to be, like, her friend or something?”
My body folds in.
“Knock it off, Leo,” Rachel says. “Did you know that Eric saved Dani? He pulled her out of a camper that was on fire. He’s a total hero.” Rachel shoos Leo away like an annoying gnat.
I’m the furthest thing from a hero.
Rachel turns back to me. “Ignore him.”
I nod, like every fiber in my body isn’t looking for a place to hide.
“You walking home?” she asks. Rachel lives a few streets over from me.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Want company?” Rachel says.
It takes me a minute to realize that she wants to walk home with me. Talk to me. “Sure,” I say, trying to sound casual. Like I haven’t been wishing for this since fourth grade.
“Nice shirt.” She points to my Iron Man T-shirt.
“Thanks.” I turn around and show her the picture of Tony Stark in all his gear on the back.
“Cool.”
“About what Leo said.” I crack my knuckles, exhale too loudly, and stare at the concrete sidewalk.
“He’s an idiot.”
I nod and hide the truth.
She walks over to the stone wall in front of the house with the angel statue in the yard and hops up. I follow.
“So what causes do you think we should work on?” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger.
“Maybe we could do something on the new Iron Man movie.” I smile.
“It has to be about safety stuff,” she says.
“Well, Iron Man has to be careful. Those jetpacks are dangerous.”
She laughs. “Maybe,” she says. “Or we could do something about all the potholes on the hardtop at school. Principal James talked about being careful out there in his morning announcements.”
“Yeah, that’s true. That’s when he mentioned the band uniforms.”
“They’re really nice.” Rachel’s dad donated the new band uniforms. She swings her legs back and forth against the stone wall. I notice the silver polish with white dots on her toenails, and my mind fogs.
“Let’s each make a list of three things we could work on and then swap,” she says.
“Sounds good.”
“Is that today’s crossword puzzle?” She points to the paper sticking out of the front pocket of my backpack.
“Yeah. It’s the one from The Clippings. My parents are old school. Still get the newspaper delivered.”
We fill in most of the puzzle with her purple pen.
Her hand grazes mine, and I decide that purple is my new favorite color.
A while later we leave the wall. She turns down her street, and I head home.
