Push Girl: A Novel

by Chelsie Hill

  I would have just given a little nod, but I knew he couldn’t see me with the lights still off. “It’s not like I have a choice, right?”

  Dad reached up and patted my arm. “You’re so strong, kiddo. I’m so proud of you.”

  “People keep saying I’m strong,” I said. “But I don’t get it. I’m not strong. I’m just doing what I have to do. What other choice do I have?”

  “That attitude of yours is exactly what makes you strong. There are some people who just give up, Kara. They don’t try.”

  “I can’t imagine giving up.”

  “I know it’s hard to see it right now, honey, but this happened to you for a reason. And there’s a reason it happened to you and not someone else.”

  I’m glad he couldn’t see me roll my eyes. If I heard that everything happened for a reason one more time, I swear, I was going to wheel myself off a cliff.

  “I can tell you’re rolling your eyes at me. Just because it’s dark doesn’t mean I don’t know what you’re doing.” Dad scooted himself around on my bed so that he was able to lean his back against the wall, and Logan, disturbed again by all the movement, walked back up the bed and settled next to Dad with an exasperated grunt. Dad absently stroked his fur. “I know this is nowhere near the same as what you’re going through, but do you remember when I told you about tearing my ACL?”

  I nodded onto his shoulder; I’d heard this story many times over the years. My dad had a full scholarship to UCLA to play soccer, and he tore his ACL the summer before his freshman year while messing around playing rugby with his buddies in the park. He lost his scholarship and never played soccer competitively again, all because of a random pickup game.

  “But even though I lost my scholarship, I still went to UCLA. I didn’t give up and stay at home, even though I wanted to. I still got a great education, and I met your mom in a class I would never have taken as a soccer player. If I played soccer, I’d have a different job now, and I wouldn’t have you. There’s no way I would go back and change what happened to me, even if it meant I’d never been hurt.”

  “But you could still walk, Dad. You still had a normal life. This isn’t the same. What good things can possibly happen for me like this?”

  He let out a long sigh and reached over to pat my arm. “It’s too soon to tell just yet, sweetie. But I promise, good things can and will happen to you. Maybe you’ll never walk again, maybe you will. But no matter what, you’re still the same Kara Moore. You have awesome things ahead of you.”

  “I don’t feel the same,” I said. “Dr. Nguyen has me on so many drugs, my head feels like a cotton ball.” I’d been handed a long list of pills to take, to manage things like chronic pain, muscle spasticity, and even depression, which the psychiatrist who’d visited me a couple of times in the hospital thought I might be showing signs of. It was quite the powerful cocktail, and they said they’d adjust the dosages as we went along, depending on my reaction to everything, but I couldn’t imagine how I could feel like myself again when I was pumped full of so many meds.

  “That feeling will fade with time,” Dad said. “You’ll be feeling like yourself again soon. I promise.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said. I scooted myself as close to him as I could get without crushing Logan and let out a sigh. I didn’t know if I believed him or not, but I appreciated him trying. “I still don’t want to go to school tomorrow, though.”

  “Oh, I don’t blame you,” he said, and laughed. “Every day in college I had to go to campus knowing I should be playing soccer, and seeing all my friends on the team and knowing they had what I should have. It sucked, but I did it. And some people probably would have said I was strong. But it didn’t feel like strength to me. It just felt like survival.”

  I smiled at my dad in the darkness, glad I had someone who understood me a little bit, and I reached over and grabbed his hand. He squeezed my fingers and I squeezed back.

  He leaned over and kissed me on my cheek. “This is the toughest thing you’ll ever have to go through, sweetie. But your true character comes out during hard times like this. These trials that the universe throws our way, well, they show who we really are.”

  I was quiet for several long seconds. “What is it showing about me?” I whispered.

  “It’s showing me that you aren’t going to give up. Not for anything. And you know your mother and I are here for you, no matter what.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes as he gave me another kiss on the cheek and stood up.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said quietly as he reached for the door. “Are you and Mom going to get a divorce?”

  They hadn’t said anything more about it after that night, and Dad’s stuff was still in the house. There were no more nights at Uncle Kevin’s, but I noticed a few extra blankets folded next to the couch that were never there before, and I could tell there was something more than my wheelchair that wasn’t here before my accident.

  Dad was silent for a long time, and even in the dark of my room I could see his hand hovering over my doorknob. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “I don’t know, sweetie.”

  I’d been expecting a more definitive answer, but the fact that he didn’t say yes filled me with so much relief that I relaxed back into my pillow. Since we were on the topic, I considered bringing up Mom’s odd, distant behavior, but I didn’t want to drag any more drama into our father–daughter time. “Okay,” I said. “Good night, Dad.”

  He walked back to me and kissed me on the forehead, then scratched Logan again. “Tomorrow is going to be tough, but you’re so strong, you don’t even realize how strong you are. Strength just feels normal to you. You can do this.” He walked back to the door, then turned around, facing me in the dark one more time. “Good night, honey. I love you.”

  Dad’s words turned over in my head as I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep. I didn’t feel strong. I felt scared and lost and very, very uncertain about what life was going to be like for me. But maybe simply getting up in the morning was an act of strength. Maybe showing up for school tomorrow, knowing everyone would stare at me, knowing I’d rather be at home in bed, was the strongest act in the world.

  CHAPTER 9

  For the first time since the accident, I dreamed about dancing. I stood alone on a stage, and the auditorium was completely packed with people. Unfamiliar music played, softly at first and then it grew louder, and I was frozen. I didn’t know a routine to this song, that changed from slow to fast and back to slow again, and I wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to be doing. I was about to sneak off the stage, but someone in the crowd clapped. The clapping was slow at first, but it picked up speed and spread until the whole audience was applauding for me, cheering and screaming. Prompted by the enthusiastic crowd, somehow, my body knew what to do. I started dancing to the music, and every move was perfect. I didn’t remember learning the routine, but I knew it like I knew my name and my family. I danced it like I’d been dancing it my entire life. It made me feel full. Happy. When I was done, the crowd stood up and yelled for me, and I took a bow.

  Then I woke up.

  The memory of the dream, of being on my feet, dancing across the stage, filled me with a joy and a sense of who I was that felt unfamiliar as I opened my eyes, and for a second I couldn’t remember why. But somewhere in that murky place between asleep and awake, reality hit.

  I’d never dance like that again. It was just a dream.

  The dream stayed with me as I went through my morning routine. Getting around the house in my chair was still a cumbersome and clumsy task, but I managed to take care of everything I needed to do to get ready for school with minimal help from Mom. I even had the time to curl my hair and put on makeup, which I hadn’t bothered to do since the night of the accident. I wasn’t feeling totally like my old self, like the Kara of my dream, but it was amazing what a little lip gloss and mascara could do.

  Once I wheeled out into the kitchen, ready to go, Mom was waiting there for me with a breakfast smoothie
.

  “Breakfast of champions?” She placed the smoothie on the edge of the kitchen table next to my morning pills and, without really looking at me, went back to whatever else she had going on in the kitchen.

  “Thanks,” I said. I’d been craving a bowl of Lucky Charms, but I wasn’t going to complain. I grabbed the smoothie, popped the pills in my mouth, and washed them down with a big, icy gulp. “Not like I’m in a hurry or anything, but when are we leaving?”

  She stopped her cleaning and turned around, a hesitant smile on her face. “So, I have a surprise for you. I’m not taking you to school today.”

  “Let me guess. I’m driving myself?” I snorted into my smoothie at my own joke. I’d give anything to be able to be behind the wheel again, and I could use a good drive around the neighborhood right now to calm these back-to-school nerves.

  “Jack is coming to get you in about ten minutes.”

  I watched her face as she said this, bracing herself for impact as she said Jack’s name. Yes, Jack and I were doing a great job at the whole “friends” thing, and I’d seen more of him in the past few weeks than I had in the past year, but he was also my ex-boyfriend. And my mom making plans for my ex to drive me to school was more than a little awkward.

  “Is that okay with you? He called the house earlier, and I figured it would probably feel less weird for him to drive you.”

  It was fine. Really, it was. But I guess some part of me had been looking forward to the time in the car with my mom. Why didn’t she want to talk to me, really talk to me, the way Dad did? Last night I’d drifted off, giving myself a pep talk, promising I’d ask Mom about why she was being so distant and what was going on with her and Dad. But another chance to talk was gone. Again. It looked like she’d jumped at any available opportunity to avoid me.

  So, yeah, even though my mom had been distant and detached and acting like direct eye contact would shatter me like a porcelain doll since I came home from the hospital, she practically crawled out of her skin when Jack came to the door to take me to school. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was actually her who called him instead of the other way around.

  There was a time that Jack was as constant a feature in my house as my mom’s famous Chicken Parmesan. He ate dinner with us almost every night, he played video games with my dad, he helped my mom clip coupons, he even came over and walked Logan when the three of us went on family outings. My parents were definitely more upset than I was about our breakup. I could tell they wanted to be supportive toward me and take my side, but it was obvious how much they would miss Jack around the house every day. I’d almost been tempted to tell them some horrible lie about him—he kicked puppies, he set fire to the school, he stole from the offering plate at church, anything to taint the golden-boy image they had in their minds. I didn’t, of course, but I’d so wanted to.

  “Why did you ring the doorbell?” Mom said, ushering Jack into the house when he arrived. “The doorbell is for strangers.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know if that was still okay,” he said. “It’s not like—”

  “That doesn’t matter. You’re always family here.”

  I rolled out to the front room, Logan trotting along next to my chair. “Want me to find another ride to school so you two can be alone?”

  “Good morning to you, too,” Jack said. To his credit, he didn’t look through me like he didn’t know me or stare at me like I was a circus animal or freeze up. He was acting more normal about this whole wheelchair thing than my own mother. Score one for the ex. “You look really great.”

  “Yeah, except for this whole—”

  “Stop it, Kara,” Mom snapped. “Jack was being nice to you. Just say thank you and leave it at that.”

  I’d never been the best at taking compliments. I loved getting attention onstage when I was dancing, but personal, one-on-one attention made me feel all squicky. And now, getting compliments while I was in this wheelchair, how would that work? How would I even know people were being sincere and not just feeling sorry for me?

  I doubted anyone else besides Jack would be complimenting me anyway.

  “Thanks, Jack,” I said, staring at my legs.

  He leaned down to pet Logan and looked up at me. “You ready to go? We still have to go back and pick up Amanda.”

  I brightened at the mention of her name. “Amanda’s coming with us?”

  “Yeah. She wanted to be with you on your first day back. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course it is.” We were all just standing around awkwardly in the front room—well, they were standing, anyway—and Mom was gawking and not saying anything, and I wanted to get the hell out of there. “Let’s go.”

  Jack walked around my chair and started to push me, but I snapped at him. “I can do it myself.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Sorry, just trying to help.”

  “I’ll let you know if I need it. How about that?”

  “Why don’t you grab Kara’s book bag? It’s right there by the door.” Mom’s voice was sticky sweet, like she wanted to make sure Jack wouldn’t change his mind about driving me after I snapped at him, forcing her to actually deal with me. Oh, the horror.

  “Bye, Little Lo. Bye, Mom,” I said, not even looking at her. I knew I was having more attitude than I should, but she’d started it by acting so weird. I was supposed to be able to count on my parents to treat me like a normal person. But I also should have been able to count on my boyfriend, and look at where that left me.

  “I have your backpack,” Jack said, and he opened the door. “Bye, Mrs. Moore.”

  “Bye, Jack,” Mom said. “Bye, Kara. Have a great day.”

  “Doubtful,” I mumbled as I pushed myself out of the house, down Dad’s rickety makeshift ramp, and down to the driveway.

  Jack tossed my backpack in his trunk, and he stopped to look at me as I sat there next to his Civic. “Oh,” he said. He swung the passenger door open and, before I even knew what was happening, he leaned down to wrap his arms around my shoulders and under my legs, our foreheads bonking together.

  “Ouch! Jack! What are you—?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  I thought he was backing up, but instead he moved his head to the other side and leaned over again, and this time as he reached around me, his hand grazed my boob. Then he yanked it back like he’d touched an open flame.

  “Ack!” I screeched.

  “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “What on God’s green earth are you doing?”

  He straightened himself up and looked at me, his face red. “I was trying to lift you into the car.”

  I didn’t mean to laugh so hard. I really didn’t. But the whole situation was so ridiculous, I couldn’t help it. When I could finally look at him with a straight face, I managed to say, “Do I look helpless? I can get in the car myself, you dork. You don’t have to do that.” Was my life now going to be filled with people trying to help me all the time?

  Jack seemed honestly surprised. “You can?”

  “God, just ask, okay? Now, out of the way. Let me show you how this is done.” Just as I had done on my way home from the hospital, I used my arms to lift myself up from the chair and plop myself down in the seat. “Voilà!”

  Jack let out an impressed whistle.

  “I’m not as helpless as I look,” I told him. “But you can go ahead and fold up my chair and toss it in the backseat if you want to feel useful.”

  He looked from one side of my chair to the other, then sort of flipped himself over and looked at the bottom of it. “How do you—?”

  “Right there,” I said, pointing at the lever he needed to grab to collapse it. It was a relief to be the one telling people how to use the chair instead of the other way around. “So, were you seriously planning on lifting me, Chicken Arms?”

  “Look, I know I don’t play water polo or anything, but that doesn’t mean I’m totally useless when it comes to acts of brute strength.” He winked as he
leaned over my chair and folded it up. “Playing Halo really works the ol’ biceps, you know?”

  Jack stowed my collapsed chair in the back of his car with my bag, slammed the trunk, and hopped in the driver’s side of his car. “Off to get Amanda,” he said, backing out of my driveway. “I texted her before I left and she was still in pajamas, so hopefully she’s had ample time to get herself ready.”

  We drove in silence for a minute or two with only the morning team on the radio as noise between us. Finally, I said, “Thank you.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem,” he said. “You know your house isn’t out of the way or anything, so I might as well—”

  “No, I mean … well, yeah, thanks for the ride. But thanks for being…” I couldn’t figure out exactly how to say what I wanted to say. Thanks for being there when I was in the hospital. Thanks for bringing me movies and trashy magazines and my favorite flowers. Thanks for collapsing my wheelchair like it’s no big deal. “Thanks for being normal.” I let out a long sigh. “I have a feeling I’m not going to be getting a lot of that today.”

  “I doubt people will be as weird as you think they’re going to be.”

  “Of course they are. Didn’t you see my mom?”

  He gave an uncomfortable, humorless laugh. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I thought she was just being strange because I was there.”

  “Nope. It’s because I was there. She’s been all distant and not herself ever since I got home from the hospital. And she’s my mother. If my own mom can’t be normal around me, how are all the randoms at school going to be?”

  We pulled up in Amanda’s driveway, and she bounded out the front door, her long braids flapping behind her, and she jumped into the backseat of Jack’s car. “Good morning, friends! You ready for school, Kara?” Amanda had always been a morning person, and it used to piss me off because I could never muster this much enthusiasm before the clock hit double digits. Today, though, I welcomed her chirpiness as a distraction from my overwhelming dread.