Nan shoved a spoonful of yogurt and oatmeal into Dad’s mouth. “I like the outfit, and your new haircut brings out your pretty features.”
I blushed. “Thanks.” I wasn’t wearing anything special—a pair of jean shorts, a new V-neck that I’d gotten at the Jonas Brothers concert on my birthday last month, and my Vans. I’d also chopped off my long, light-brown hair the day before. I needed a change, something to pick me up and make me feel like I wasn’t being weighed down. Anything to change the sour mood I’d been in for the last year. The change was helping so far. I did feel lighter, and I loved my new style, which I’d found on Instagram.
Even Georgia thought my new look fit me perfectly. “That A-line bob is so skater-girl-esque for you.”
Dad’s blue gaze glistened as he gave me an infectious smile. Then he turned to his computer screen, which was attached to a pole on his wheelchair, and typed with his eyes.
He had the coolest gadgets, compliments of his medical insurance. The infrared bar below the screen tracked his eye movement and allowed him to blink once on a letter, and then it would show up on the screen.
I had a love-hate relationship with technology. In one breath, I was glad he had the tools. His high-powered wheelchair got him from room to room and even outside to enjoy the warm Southern sunshine. I had been ecstatic when he received his computer so he could communicate easily. Before that, he’d had to type with his hands, but he’d struggled with his fingers giving out quickly.
Nan set the spoon down and dipped into the pocket of her scrubs. She had just about every color. That day, she was dressed in a flowered top that hung over dark purple bottoms. She pulled out a hair clip, wound her brown hair into a bun, and secured it while Dad typed.
The sound from the TV over the fireplace floated in the room. We’d eliminated the bulky furniture so Dad could get around in his wheelchair. Aside from the TV and the couch, a table lined the window that peeked out to our porch, with a hand-carved wooden lamp on top Dad had made, and that was it.
The newscaster said something Nan didn’t like—she shook her head. I’d learned to tune her and Dad out when the news was on. They were into politics, which was not my jam.
All I needed was my skateboard, the wind, my earbuds, and music, and I was more than happy.
My therapist had said I should find an outlet to take my mind away from my troubles. After Mom died, Dad had bought me the skateboard, and ever since, the sport had been my salvation, at least in those moments when I was catching air or doing acid drops at the local skate park.
“Skye,” Nan said. “Did you hear your dad?”
I blinked once then twice. “I’m sorry.”
Dad briefly looked at his screen before the computer-generated male voice he’d chosen spoke. “You look beautiful. Nan’s right, the new cut makes your big brown eyes pop. Your mom would love it too.”
I gave him a picture-perfect grin. Otherwise, he might start sobbing if we talked about Mom.
Nan resumed feeding Dad. The spoon clinked against the glass bowl. “Are you nervous about your first day of senior year?”
I had no reason to be. “I’m good.” My goal was to graduate, plain and simple. But I had to do a better job than I had the year before. I’d barely passed my classes because my mind had been on Dad, and I knew I was in for another challenge that year with Dad getting worse. I wasn’t planning on attending college, though. All I had to do was listen, do my homework, and study for tests.
Dad typed again, and after a minute, the computer voice spoke. “I want you to have the best year of school, sweetheart.” Dad’s warm expression was thin at best, and deep within, I could see the sadness oozing out. No doubt he was wishing and praying that he would be around to see me graduate.
Don’t cry, girl. Just don’t cry. You don’t want swollen eyes on your first day. I didn’t want to give Grady Dyson a reason to spread another rumor about me. Still, I wasn’t the perfect student and didn’t toe the line. The only rules I followed were given out by Dad.
I mostly kept to myself, except for Georgia and Mia. We were the three amigos when Mia wasn’t spreading her legs for some guy. She had an appetite for sex, which worked for her. I had yet to go down that road. Georgia hadn’t, either. We weren’t as forward as Mia.
I wanted my first time to be with someone I liked, not someone who would drop me for his next conquest with big breasts and long legs. In my opinion, most guys in high school were on the prowl, searching for an easy time.
My phone pinged as I skirted the couch to give Dad a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” Without a backward glance, I answered.
“Where are you?” Georgia screamed. “I’ve been waiting for, like, ever for you to get here.”
Crap. I’d forgotten we were meeting at the local coffee hangout near school. “I’m on my way.”
“Drive. Do not take your skateboard,” she ordered in the high-pitched tone she used when she was frustrated.
“I’ll be there in ten.” Grabbing my backpack and skateboard, I waved to Nan and Dad and walked out into the late-August sunshine.
“Skyler Lawson,” she said. “Drive for Pete’s sake.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Then I hung up, put my earbuds in, turned on my music, and hopped on my skateboard.
Again, I didn’t listen well, and for as much as I loved Georgia, I wasn’t in a hurry to get to the coffee shop. We had plenty of time before school
