Heroine(18)

“This isn’t so bad,” she says. “Worth reading.”

“Maybe,” I agree. “But I’ve got to decide between that or vocab, and the clock’s ticking.”

“You don’t have to decide between shit,” she says, surprising me. “You do your vocab. I’ll read to you.”

“Are you serious?” I haven’t had anyone read to me since Dad put away “The Night Before Christmas” on December 24 when I was in fifth grade.

“I . . .” Nikki suddenly doesn’t look quite as confident. “I mean, yeah. If you want.”

I glance at the clock. “Yes,” I tell her. “I want.”

We’re deep into chapter seven, me half listening to her while my pencil scratches out definitions, when the bell goes off. Nikki dog-ears a page and hands the book to me while I jam everything else into my backpack.

“Just FYI, Piggy dies,” she tells me.

I take the battered copy, years of other people’s thumbprints marking the edges. “Good tip.”

Nikki and I part ways in the hall as I head to English, my head mostly turning over a different problem altogether from English class. I’ve got to figure out how to space the Oxy I’ve got left in order to get through the day and get to sleep at night. Jamming up my leg on the ice did not do me any favors, and I remember just as I get to the door of the English room—I’ve got physical therapy after school.

Down the hall, Carolina gives Aaron a quick peck and dashes to class before the tardy bell rings, holding the door for me.

“Ready for the quiz?” she asks, slightly breathless.

“Can you believe Piggy died?” I ask.

“Aww . . . ,” Carolina says, pushing my hair out of my face and tucking it behind my ear. “My girl read a book.”

I’m headed out to my car, picking my way around ice patches and analyzing every inch in front of me, when I hear Aaron yelling my name.

“Yo, Mick! Wait up.”

I reach my car and rest against it, envying Aaron’s easy movements as he jogs across the parking lot to me.

“Hey,” he says, a touch out of breath.

“Better get in shape before baseball,” I warn him. “Carolina could outrun you right now.”

“You might be able to outrun me right now,” he admits.

“Doubt it,” I say, kicking my crutches where they rest beside me. “So what’s up?”

Aaron and I are close enough to fist-bump and for him to shorten my name, but it doesn’t go much beyond that. I can’t think of a good reason for him to run me down after school.

“How’s Carolina seem to you?” he asks

It’s a weird question, and I’m immediately on the defensive, searching his face for some indication of what he’s asking me.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, physically,” he says. “I watched you guys lifting the other day.”

“And?”

He runs his hands through his hair, knocking some snowflakes loose. “I don’t know, I just think she’s pushing too hard. She curled ten more pounds with you than she did with me.”

Okay, I get it now.

“So you want me to babysit her? C’mon, nobody tells Carolina Galarza what to do.”

“Not babysit her,” he says. “Maybe just . . . don’t encourage her so much.”

“Don’t encourage her?” I repeat. “Don’t encourage my friend to recover?”

“Not . . . God—that’s not what I meant,” Aaron says. The words aren’t coming out right, and he’s frustrated. Normally I would sympathize.

Not right now.

“Just don’t push her, I guess,” he says.

“I’m not pushing anybody but myself,” I tell him.

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Catalan. She’s not going to let you show her up. She’ll match you in the weight room, even if she shouldn’t.”

“Whatever, man,” I say, opening my car door and tossing my crutches inside. “Carolina’s not stupid.”

“I didn’t say she was,” Aaron argues as I get in, raising his voice to be heard over the engine as I start the car. “Carolina’s not stupid, but she is in pain.”

“That’s not my fault,” I snap at him.

“It’s not?”

I stop moving, hands frozen on the steering wheel. We’re not talking about lifting anymore, or adding weight that we’re not prepared for. We’re talking about ice on the road and wheels in the air, my blood on the ground and Carolina’s voice as she calls for me. I snap the engine off.

“Are you serious?” I ask Aaron. “Do you blame me for that?”

I’m waiting for him to back off, an apologetic retrieval of words he didn’t mean to say. That doesn’t happen. Instead he jams his hands in his pockets, eyes not meeting mine. My throat tightens.

“Does she?”

“Look, I’m not . . . just take it easy on the weights. That’s all I wanted to say.” Aaron shuts my door, the conversation having gone somewhere he never wanted it to.

Somewhere I never expected.

“You are doing amazing, Mickey. That’s awesome. You look so strong.” Kyleigh is a sunburst of positivity behind me as I make my way through the parallel bars. I am flying, there’s no doubt. I wouldn’t be surprised if she yells at me that I’m beautiful and a genius, too.