I arched an eyebrow. “What? But you aren’t done reading it yet.”
“Yeah, but I already know how it ends, and I have two other copies at my house that I can finish reading. I think you should know how it ends, too. Then we can talk about it later on during our lunchtimes. My gut is just telling me that you should read it.”
I picked up the cover and stared at it, reading the title. “The Upside to You,” I said out loud. I narrowed my eyes. “It’s a romance novel?”
“No,” she corrected. “It’s a love story.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No,” she disagreed with a shake to her head. “You see, both types of books have love in them, but a romance novel always has a happily ever after. But a love story? Well, not every love story ends with a happily ever after—no matter how much you wish they would.”
I was confused. “You mean to tell me that your favorite book ever doesn’t even end with a happily ever after?”
“Nope. Not one in sight for the couple.”
“And it’s still your favorite?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
What was the point of love if it didn’t come with happily ever afters?
“Maybe there wasn’t a happy ending...” Mrs.Rivers looked down at the diamond on her ring finger and spun it around with her other hand. “But oh, how the middle of the story was filled with so much love.” She kept staring at the ring on her finger as if she’d lost herself in a memory that felt too private for me to ask about.
She shook herself from her thoughts and then pressed out a smile toward me. “Anyway, if you hate it, you hate it. But if you love it... well... join the club.”
“I’ve never read a romance book. I’m more into scary or horror books.”
“Oh, trust me, Karla. Romance can be horrifyingly scary.”
Before I could reply, the bell rang, bringing an end to our conversation and lunch period.
I gathered my things, thanked Mrs.Rivers, and headed out of the classroom to my next class. Having a safe place to go during the day for lunch was something I really needed. Even though I couldn’t escape school anymore to go spend time with Mom, at least once a day I didn’t worry about being bullied by other students or feeling as if I was being judged and stared at for the way I looked. Mrs.Rivers gave me a break from being me.
Also, Mrs.Rivers didn’t treat me like I was different, which I liked. She treated me like she treated all her students—as if she cared. I had no doubt in my mind that she’d allow any student into her classroom for lunch if they needed her.
That meant more to me than she’d ever know. It meant so much that I was actually considering reading a romance—er, a love story.
As I walked into the hallway, I kept my head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Instead, I studied their shoes and how fast they moved around me as I took my time limping through the hallways. When the accident first happened, I thought I’d be pretty quick to recover. I’d watched a lot of videos of people who were in car crashes and had even worse injuries, and they recovered in remarkable time. I thought my journey would be like that. I thought I’d heal.
Instead, I just stayed... broken. Sure, physical therapyexercises helped, but the constant pain seemed to be my new normal. That was a hard pill to swallow.
Speaking of pills, I forgot my pain medicine in my locker.
Crap.
I paused my footsteps and looked down the hallway in the opposite direction that I’d come from. The bell was going to ring any second for me to be in my biology class, but I knew I couldn’t go the next hour without my pain meds. It would throw off my whole day.
I glanced at the classroom I’d been standing next to. Room210. My locker was downstairs and around two corners.
It would take the average student probably 60 steps if they dashed to their locker from my current location.
It would take me at least 205.
I grumbled to myself as I turned around and started toward the staircase. I held a few of my schoolbooks tightly against my chest as I walked, because I liked to have things in my hands to fidget with. It kept my anxiety at bay sometimes. Maybe Ash was the same way, with whatever he fidgeted with in his pocket. The more I watched him, the more I wondered what it was that he had in his sweatshirt. I didn’t have enough nerve to ask yet. It didn’t seem like any of my business.
As I stepped onto the first step of the stairs, three students came rushing past me, pushing me against the railing and making my books fly out of my grip, landing on the bottom step of the stairs.
