Like everything’s just fine.

15

Shake It Off

Needless to say, Dad and I do not talk about what happened beside the stage when we get home. I take off my costume and makeup and undecorate my chair. We make dinner; then Dad heads across the yard to the shop with a textbook in his hand.

“Fun day, Emms,” he says, dropping a kiss on my head as he leaves.

After he’s gone, I try to focus on project brainstorming, organizing my supply boxes, and even cleaning the bathroom. I come up with zero project ideas, discover stink bugs in three of my Spanish moss packets, and vow to make Dad buy a shower curtain that’s not a total disgrace.

Not even a brand-new WCMX video keeps my attention long—if anything, it makes my own wheelchair goal seem further away than ever. Am I kidding myself? Even if I do earn the money for that new chair, how much good is it going to do me if I can’t so much as move between my classes at school without my Dawn shadow?

Also, how am I going to practice at all if Dad doesn’t change his mind about the ramp in the field, and I have to keep sneaking around? All those cool videos I watch, and I’ve never seen one shot anyplace like where I live. It’s all smooth concrete, curved wood, sleek cityscapes, and high-tech indoor arenas. Not one single ramp cobbled together from junk and plunked in a scrubby old field.

This isn’t helping. I text Ale. How’s the ankle?

Lots better. Doesn’t even hurt much anymore, but Mom’s been making my brothers wait on me since I got home, so they don’t have to know that . I’m reading up on reverse hive splits while they burn dinner.

Then:

You going to keep being weird around Devontae tomorrow?

We’ll see, I reply. Text SOS if I need to race over with the fire extinguisher.

Then I log on and see my shop’s been busy today. All three of the slightly snarky bags have sold, and a new review’s gone up from AK_SalmonGranny. Five stars, but I’m a little disappointed she didn’t leave a comment. I was half expecting something outrageous. I’m glad she liked her bag, though. I imagine her pulling some monster fish off a hook or sitting by a mountain or something, with my little bag tied onto her chair, flashing a metaphorical middle finger at anyone who stares at her wheels. Maybe one day I’ll be that fearless.

I don’t write customers after they’ve gotten their orders, unless there’s a complaint, so I’m not sure why I send AK_SalmonGranny a short follow-up. Maybe leftover frustration that I never manage to talk to Dad about some of the bigger things. Maybe I don’t want to think about the inevitable awkwardness with Devontae tomorrow, or another day with Dawn on my tail.

Whatever makes me do it, the message is nothing special. I thank her for the five-star review and ask if the bag was a good fit. She messages back almost immediately.