Page 38 of The Life and (Medieval) Times of Kit Sweetly

“Tell me it’s not the same thing.”

“It’s totally not the same thing. That was years ago. I was just a kid!”

“It wasn’t that long ago and you’re still that same kid.”

Two years ago, Layla, Chris, and I went to an ice-skating rink where Olympic figure skaters train. I was fifteen, and fresh off CPR classes at school. Needless to say, I was feeling super confident in my lifesaving abilities. It was a family skate day, and the ice was busy with kids, parents, and couples. Somehow I ended up in the fast-skate lane. I was wobbling my way toward the edges when a teen girl wearing a fuzzy pink hat crashed into this mom who was tentatively making her way off the ice with a toddler. The mom flopped backward, hitting her head on the ice. She fell right at my feet and passed out. I dropped to my knees.

I could do something about this!

I KNEW CPR!

I checked the woman’s pulse. I reassured the toddler. I had things under control.

Layla and Chris skated up to me.

“Oh my God, Kit!” said Layla. “What happened? Is she okay?”

Chris looked around, trying to see where the closest exit was. “I’m going to get some help. Stay here.”

“NO!” I shouted. “Don’t go get anyone. I KNOW CPR!”

Layla and Chris looked at each other. Their feet were moving before the look was done.

“We need help over here!” shouted Layla as she raced toward the exit.

“Don’t move her, Kit!” Chris called over his shoulder.

Of course I didn’t move her. I held the toddler’s hand as a medic helped the now-awake and dazed woman to her feet. My cheeks were brighter than my red jacket as I handed the child off to a staff member.

“You know CPR?” muttered Chris as we left the rink and got into his car. “What were you thinking?”

I was thinking that I could save someone. That I could do it on my own. That I didn’t need anyone else.

Which of course was ridiculous.

Beside him in the front seat, Layla cracked up.

“Let us never mention this again.” I crawled into the back seat and pulled my scarf up to my nose.

Much to my undying shame, the CPR incident still comes up with regularity.

“Hey, Earth to Kit,” says Layla, poking me in my very bruised arm. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Nope.” I shake my head and take an apple out of the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. “I was lost in memories of my ‘I know CPR’ shame.”

Layla laughs and points to the screen of her laptop. “Okay, so as part of phase one, we made some swag to sell. I printed T-shirts and stickers, and I put ads on your site. Plus, we’re charging people to use your content when they write articles about you.”

“What does all that mean?” I ask through a bite of apple.

“It means that you’re making money. You’ve already generated more than a thousand dollars in revenue.”

“You’re shitting me.” The apple falls from my hand. “It’s only been a few days.”

Layla shakes her head. “The Internet is a mighty capitalist tool. Look.”

She walks me through numbers, profits, and a bunch of other things I don’t fully understand. But what it all boils down to is that I now have money coming in. And I can use it for school or to help Mom catch up on the mortgage.

Save the day or follow my dreams?