The Problem with Forever(98)

Because I wasn’t going to lose my eyesight. At least as far as I knew.

My hands dropped to my knees as I stilled.

I would most likely never get shot in the back and lose my ability to walk. I would probably, hopefully never again experience what it was like to go to bed hungry at night, my stomach so empty it hurt. I didn’t have to worry about everyone having low expectations of me anymore. I had Carl and Rosa, who cared about me deeply. I had great friends, one who was going through something serious, something that would change her entire life. I had Rider. I had all of these things because of the second chance I’d been given.

I thought about all the people who would never have the privilege of a second chance at anything.

I was lucky.

My life had been hard, but the past... It was a part of me, but it wasn’t me. I had a future, possibly a beautiful one where I wouldn’t be a...a victim, and yet, when I got lost in my head or let what Mr. Henry did shape my decisions, I wasn’t embracing that future.

I wasn’t acknowledging everything I had.

That...that had to change.

And I thought, by realizing just that, becoming aware, I was changing.





Chapter 29

Rider grinned as he eyed the open bedroom door from where he sat on the window seat. I was sitting in the middle of the bed with my speech textbook open in front of me. We were supposed to be working on the next speech, one we were to deliver on someone who was important to us. I’d given my persuasive speech during lunch last week, which hadn’t been hard to write though was still painful to deliver, but this one was giving me fits.

There were so many people I could write about. How could I just pick one? Taking a deep breath, I started writing again.

There are several important people in my life, people who have had a hand in changing who I am.

I stopped, sighing. It seemed obvious that I’d write about Carl or Rosa, but putting why they were important to me into words on paper was harder than I realized. I didn’t want to go too deep into why they were so important even though Mr. Santos probably already knew part of it.

Rider pulled a sheet of notebook paper free, crumpled it up and then tossed it at me. I had no idea who he was writing his speech on. When I’d asked, he’d said he was going to write about Peter Griffin from Family Guy, and I was guessing—hoping—he hadn’t been serious, because I doubted Mr. Santos would appreciate that.

I smiled as it landed among pieces of paper I’d painstakingly straightened. I knew without even opening it, it would be a drawing of some sort. This had become his habit over the last month, whenever we studied together.

I would study.

He would draw.

I would tell him to do his homework.

He would distract me in the best possible ways.

Things had been...different but the same in the weeks following the night of Peter’s party. Ainsley’s field vision test had confirmed what the doctor had diagnosed. She was losing peripheral vision—already lost about thirty percent without realizing it. The doc had told her she would still have several years of functioning vision and that with all the advancements in that medical field, there would likely be a cure.

Likely.

Ainsley didn’t really talk about it. I wished she would, because I knew better than anyone that staying silent wasn’t always the answer. There were some things you needed to talk about, and this was one of them.

Carl really hadn’t warmed up to Rider, not even when he had dinner at our place at least once a week, but at least he hadn’t interrogated Rider again. He’d graduated to silently stuffing his face during those meals while Rosa kept the conversation going. So that was a plus.

And things with Rider had been more than good.

They had been...new and exciting and fresh. Fun. And when I did something kind of crazy two weeks ago, he hadn’t gotten mad or uncomfortable.

As seniors we had to meet with the guidance counselor to discuss colleges and future plans, and while I’d been in the office, I’d picked up an SAT application. Not for me. I’d taken mine already. I’d picked it up for Rider. That same day, after school, I stopped at an art supply store and bought a generic, cheap portfolio. I’d given both things to Rider that night, after dinner, and he’d stared at them for so long, at first I feared I’d made a mistake. But then he’d smiled and thanked me.

I just wanted him to see that there were options for him and that he should be proud of his work. College shouldn’t be off the table if he did want to go.

The next day he had taken me to the art gallery in the city where his painting still hung. And just as I had the day he’d first taken me to the abandoned factory, I found myself transported. Five feet tall and nearly as wide, the painting reminded me of the first one he’d shown me. It was a boy, but this time he wasn’t looking at the sky. He was looking straight out, staring everyone in the face as they walked by, daring them not just to look at him, but to see him. I marveled again at the fact that he’d done this with spray paint.

Like before, it had been hard to look away from the painting, and even after we’d left the gallery, I couldn’t forget the look of...settled hopelessness. The kind of look that said no one expected anything to change.

It stayed with me, even as I picked up the ball of paper Rider had tossed.

The first drawing he’d done while we’d studied was of the Baltimore skyline. I’d made him put it in the portfolio and his face was red the entire time. It was cute. There were at least two more lying on my bed right now that would be perfect for the book—the sketch of a sleeping golden retriever and the one he’d drawn of a mustang.