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Once I’m done, everyone applauds, their claps booming into my ears. I lift my shoulders higher as I stride off the stage.
On the ride back to SMARTake —I’m texting my mom once we’re there—I tell Nora all about it. She high-fives me at a stoplight.
“Thanks for standing up for me,” I say.
“I got you, girl!” she says.
“I appreciate you.”
“I just want you to win this thing. You’ve been loosening up, and I’m so glad to see it.” The traffic light descends to green, and Nora drives forward. “At least you know what to do after high school. I still don’t have a clue.”
I tilt my head to the side. Nora is the queen of certainty, so hearing that she’s unsure of anything is like hearing a popstar known for upbeat dance songs sing a vulnerable ballad. Something you’ve grown so familiar with suddenly hitting you with a surprise. “Is something wrong?”
She sighs. “I don’t know what I want to do when we graduate. Everyone seems to leave Sunlight after high school. But I can’t decide if I want to go to college somewhere else or stay here.”
Never would I have guessed that Nora is going through this. But I guess you never know what’s going on with someone unless that person chooses to speak up.
“It’s complicated.” We pass by a neighborhood with trees lined along the sidewalk, their branches cottoned with pink peonies. “I know how you feel, actually, about not knowing what to do after we graduate.”
Nora raises an eyebrow.
“Unless I win this competition, I’ll have to apply to the colleges my parents want me to attend.” I look down at my hands. “I want to go to an arts school like Jansen, not the universities they’re recommending to me. But considering how much they’re pushing me to major in bio, I don’t know if that’s possible. So I don’t have a solid plan either. It’s scary, but you and I are in this together.”
Nora looks at me when we stop at another red light. “Always.” Several seconds later, the green light flashes. She drives forwards and adds, “You always want to make your parents happy. But I’m glad you’re finally making yourself happy.”
I lean forward to squeeze her hand. I’m so thankful to have a friend like Nora, who, after so many years, has stuck with me, and despite our differences, still gets me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I hate it here.
It takes all the power in me not to crumple the cup that’s nearly filled to the rim. But I relax my fingers as I hand it to the woman—who kindly requested it, and now thanks me—with a bright smile. I plaster a grin asking everyone if they want any water, my grip on each cup tightening more and more.
I was too hopeful thinking that volunteering at WCH would improve. Grace hasn’t, and probably never will, warm up to me, and unlike Aprilette, I can’t guess anything about any of the volunteers based off their jackets.
The door flaps open, and out comes Eliza, maneuvering a patient in a wheelchair. Black bags sag underneath Eliza’s eyes. She yawns loud enough to fill the waiting room.
Heading to her, I ask, “Want to swap?”
“Yeah, thanks.” She lets go of the rails to let me hold them. “Had a long weekend.”
The patient in the wheelchair is friendly like the other one I helped. After I transport him out, I head back to the waiting room, still feeling just as empty as last time. Why is that?
As soon as I open the door, however, I don’t have time to mull over an answer.
“Who’s Ellen?” Eliza asks Grace.
“The one who’s supposed to hand out water cups,” Grace replies angrily.
Weeks later and she still doesn’t (probably doesn’t want to) remember my name, and though I’m not surprised, I curl my hands into fists.
“You mean, Emilyn?” Eliza clarifies.
“This isn’t your job,” Grace says, ignoring her correction.
If I’m glaring at her, she must not care because she stomps towards me, her stupid hair bun jiggling back and forth.
“You’re supposed to be handing out water cups,” she says firmly.
