Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Do you know my mom?”
She still doesn’t answer me.
“What about my dad? He’s famous, ya know. I bet if you ask him, he’ll give you his autograph.”
She still doesn’t respond. I wave my hand in front of her face, but she’s focused on my body that lies in the bed being kept alive by the machines that beep incessantly. She continues to talk, telling my body about her family and how she doesn’t have any children but wants to have a daughter with brown hair.
“What color eyes do you have, sweetie?” she asks.
“Noah says I have blue eyes like the ocean, but sometimes they change when I’m angry,” I tell her but she doesn’t acknowledge me.
A man enters my room and opens the binder that rests on the counter near my bed. “How’s she doing?”
“I think she’s waiting for her parents to get here. I don’t know how she’s alive,” she says.
I look from her to my body and wonder the same thing. If I die, I can be with my father. I miss him, he has missed so much of my life that I would love to talk to him, to tell him everything.
But I would miss my sister. She’s my best friend even though she’s living in California I talk to her every day. Except I didn’t tell her about Kyle and I need to. Elle would like him. He’s cute, seems smart and was very polite when he escorted me out of the stadium.
And I’d miss my mom. She’s already been through so much but has Harrison to take care of her. He sure does love her and us. He’s always treated Elle and I like his daughters. It was like he was meant to come into our lives after my father passed away. He and Quinn saved us, made us whole.
“Does anyone know what time her parents will be here?” the doctor asks.
“They’re flying in from California. I don’t know if anyone knows what time they got a flight.”
“I’ll stay until they arrive so I can talk to them,” he says before writing something down in the book. I try to see what it is, but the words are blurry.
“I’m not leaving her,” the nurse says. “I want to be here with her, just in case… so I can tell her mom that she didn’t die alone.”
Wait, I am dying? What if I don’t want to? I mean I want to see my father, but I don’t want to leave my mom. And there are things that I want to do, like be on television and be there when Noah wins the Super Bowl. That’s his dream, and mine for him. We’ve spent countless hours talking about what it’ll be like for his family to run onto the field and for him to raise the Lombardi trophy for all the fans of the Portland Pioneers to see. I plan to be there as a broadcaster even though I’d be biased during my reporting. Maybe that would have to be a game I skip so I can yell at him from the fifty-yard line. Either way, Noah will want me there, so I can’t die.
The doctor leaves and another nurse walks in and stands by my other side. “Jenna, do you want me to sit with her while you eat?”
Jenna? I have an aunt named Jenna. She has beautiful red hair and looks nothing like the nurse who is holding my hand.
“No, I’m not leaving her.”
“I’ll bring you something then.”
Jenna nods but keeps her eyes focused on my body. It’s weird. Usually I can tell when someone is staring at me, but I can’t seem to make my eyes open.
She leaves my side and goes to the sink, wetting a towel and filling another pan with water. When she returns, she picks up my hand and starts cleaning the blood that has dried around my nails and along my arm, cleaning around the cuts carefully. Every so often she dips the cloth into the water and it turns light pink. When Jenna has finished both arms, she starts on my hair, careful not to touch the area where my scalp is missing.
Jenna pulls a brush out of a bag and runs its bristles under the faucet. She runs it through the ends of my hair, working her way up until almost every strand is wet and then she braids what she can.
I wait for her to move the blanket that covers my chest so I can see what they did to my chest, but she never does.
“Your mom should be here soon, sweetheart. Then you can go and you won’t be in pain anymore,” she says, but she doesn’t realize that I don’t want to go, at least not yet. And I’m not in pain.
“I feel great,” I say as I look down at my body. I’m still in the outfit that I wore the game. My arms aren’t cut up, my hair is still perfectly styled and I’m happy.