Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Shrugging, Molly moves the tray back in front of herself and picks up her spoon, scooping some up and into her mouth.
I smother a satisfied smile and ignore the jolt of excitement. I know firsthand how hard it is to make yourself eat, but convincing Molly to do it now makes me feel almost superhuman.
“Mmm,” she moans, putting a hand to her mouth frantically when a little bit of broth slips out. We both laugh, and when she goes in for another scoop, I have to fight the urge to pump my fist.
Molly and I babble for nearly an hour about celebrity news and Taylor Swift and nurse gossip while she eats, and as more light returns to her eyes, I feel more and more in tune with myself.
Not the Scottie who cheered or the Scottie who walked—but the Scottie who loved to help people even more than she loved to help herself.
I feel purpose and strength and, most of all…hope.
My life isn’t what it once was, but if I let go of all the rage and hurt and stubbornness, it can still be good. Not having cheerleading on my schedule frees me up to do all the things I didn’t have time for. One of Finn’s many messages mentioned getting a different scholarship from some grant, which gives me freedom to succeed in school. And hell, I don’t know, not being able to run away might make me face some of my problems so head on that I actually solve them.
As crazy as it sounds, the new Scottie isn’t like the old Scottie…but she might be better. Stronger. Ready to save the world.
Wednesday May 14th
Scottie
I flex my stomach again, working at the core muscles I’ve been trying so hard to build up in PT, and drag myself up in the bed. I grab my notebook from the side table and jot down some of the other ideas I had for making Dickson’s campus more ADA-friendly. It follows regulations already—it has to—but now that I’m thinking of things from a renewed perspective, I know there’s a lot more that can be done to help students like me. Future students like Molly.
My phone buzzes with a text, so I drop the notebook back on the table and pick up my phone instead.
The message on the screen brings a smile to my face, so I quickly type out a reply.
Kayla: Remember how I was telling you about Sheila having the baby?? She sent a picture, and I think she looks like me!
Me: OMG, KAYYY. Your niece is adorable! Which, yes, she looks just like you, so that isn’t a shock! Her eyes are such a stunning color!
Kayla: Thanks, girl! Julia and I have all the trashy magazines ready for tomorrow! See you then!
A soft sigh escapes my lungs, the relief of letting the two of them come for a proper visit lightening the weight on my chest.
After I finish my exchange with her, I find myself scrolling my phone, looking through all the missed text messages and phone calls I’ve received over the past several weeks. It’s hard to believe it’s been over a month since I got hurt. A month since everything changed.
I have no idea what my mom is up to—I haven’t spoken to her since I made her leave my hospital room in Daytona—but she still texts me often.
I don’t know why, but it feels like I’m ready to read through some of them now, so I do.
I’m so sorry, Scottie. For everything. I know I don’t have any right to ask for your forgiveness. But I just want you to know that you’re always on my mind.
Thinking about you today. Hope you’re doing okay.
Wren told me you’re doing really well with physical therapy. And before you get mad at her, just know that I’m the one who asked about you. She didn’t offer up any information easily, but I felt relief in knowing rehabilitation is going well.
I love you. And I want you to know that I will spend the rest of my life taking accountability for everything I’ve put you through over the years. You didn’t deserve any of it. It wasn’t your fault, and it all falls on me. I was the one with the problem. I was the one who wasn’t the mother that you deserved. That will always be the biggest regret of my life.
All these years, I honestly think this is the first time she’s ever said anything that resembles accountability or acknowledging the past.
I lift my fingers toward the screen and let them hover over the keypad. For the first time in what feels like forever, a part of me actually wants to text her back.
Thank you, I type the two words out. The only words that feel right in this moment. I stare at them for a long time before I end up hitting send, but eventually, I do.