Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“I’ve got my hands full,” I replied with a sigh. “Where are you off to?”
“The junkyard. Gotta help my uncle fix one of the cranes so he can attach the scrap magnet.” That was another interesting machine Star loved to watch. A giant magnet that picked up heaps of metals to be sorted. I’d done my share of that work this past summer and had the sore muscles to prove it. I still helped some weekends and during my breaks from school.
We headed on the path toward the junkyard, Star stopping every few minutes to pick a wildflower. Mom had taught us early on how to spot poison ivy and oak, but I still kept a lookout for us both.
“Are your classes tough?” Pete asked.
“My math skills are pathetic, but I need to pass pre-calc to meet the college requirements.” I certainly didn’t want to complain too much. “But that would be the case in any college.”
“You’ll figure it out.” He patted my shoulder. “Nothing has kept you from your goal yet.”
“True. Thanks.” Star ran up ahead to walk across a small log. She knew better than to try the larger ones without my help. “But outside of the students in the dance program, I don’t really fit in.”
Pete frowned. “Story of our lives. Well, fuck ’em.”
“Star, wait up,” I called as she roamed too far out of my line of sight. She immediately stopped in her tracks so we could catch up. “Remember when I told you I was really sick as a kid?”
I hadn’t known Pete back then. And at the time, I had to skip a ton of school that I made up for with help from kind teachers. But I missed dance classes most of all those eighteen months.
“Uh-huh.” He picked up a stick and twirled it in his fingers.
“Well, there was this kid in the same cancer ward. Henry Albrecht.”
He smirked. “Fancy name.”
“Tell me about it,” I muttered. “He’s definitely from a wealthy family, but at the hospital it was hard to tell who had money and who didn’t.” Unless you struggled to pay for treatment, of course. My stepdad had crappy health insurance through his job, so they’d opted for a payment plan to foot the bill. “We were just sick kids trying to survive.”
“Makes sense,” Pete said. “Same idea as when I attended that kids’ grief group after my mom died. We were all just sad and trying to make it through.”
“Exactly.”
I wouldn’t bring up the other story I thought about sometimes…how I was so sick one night, I wasn’t sure I’d make it to morning. Henry was worried and had come into my room to try and comfort me. He’d rubbed my back, placed a cool cloth on my forehead, then fell asleep beside me in bed. I remember being aware of how warm and safe he made me feel that night, and I’d wished the nurse hadn’t caught him and shooed him back to his room.
The accidental goodbye kiss between us likely solidified the notion that I did, in fact, like boys and always had. Not that there was anything between us during our hospital stay other than comfort and friendship. But thinking of him over the years certainly made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
“So where are you going with this?” Pete asked as we caught up to Star, who ran ahead again to inspect a fallen branch. He must’ve noticed my grimace because he blurted, “Wait, don’t tell me this guy is at the university too?”
“Yep, big football star, and his family’s name will probably be on one of the buildings someday because he’s, like, third generation or something.”
“Holy shit.” Pete was silent a beat before he asked, “So what’s the issue? Though I can certainly guess.”
“When we first saw each other, he acted like…like he didn’t know me. And I mean, it’s possible because several years have passed, but I definitely remembered him.”
“Ouch.”
“Turns out, he’s in my pre-calc review period, and after our first class, he caught up with me to talk, so I guess he did know who I was.”
“How kind,” Pete said sarcastically.
Star showed me a shiny stone she had picked up before tottering off again.
“Anyway…he claimed no one knew about his past, so he was nervous I would give him away.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Why wouldn’t anyone know?”
“He tried to explain, and the best I could understand is his parents didn’t want him to be stereotyped as the sick kid, so they pulled strings at the school to keep it quiet.”
He scoffed. “How cliché.”
“Right?” I smirked. “His parents do seem self-important. I remember that about them.”
One time Henry’s mom was snacking on a package of these biscuit cookies the hospital provided, and when the nurse offered to send some home with her, Henry’s father intervened, saying, “We can perfectly well buy some ourselves,” as if he couldn’t bear to take a handout.