The longer I think about it, the madder I feel.

We’re supposed to be a team. I’m holding up my end of the deal. Keeping dinner made, laundry done. Dealing with the whole aide-at-school thing all on my own so I don’t give Dad one more thing to worry over.

Heck, I’m holding up more than my end of the deal here lately.

So why the heck can’t he?

25

Rules Don’t Change

I’m supposed to make a speech.

Just thinking about it makes me want to barf.

It would be so much simpler if the school could just send a check to my dad, or transfer money into a bank account, or send it directly to the wheelchair company when it’s time to place my order. No, they want to present it to me. At school. Onstage. In front of the whole town. With newspeople. Cameras.

What a nightmare.

“God, I’m glad it’s not me,” Tina says with a shiver. We’re all gathered around the lunch table on Tuesday, me trying not to think about it while everybody else can’t seem to talk about much else. Dawn’s sitting two tables away, since there’s no room for her at ours with Logan here, so we can talk openly for a change.

“I mean, public speaking terrifies me!” she adds when I don’t reply.

“Not helpful,” I tell her.

“What are you going to say?” she persists.

I have no clue.

Logan, who’s sitting next to Tina, throws in his two cents. “How come they’re doing a ceremony only for the money?” he asks. “Will they do it again when you actually get the chair? So you can show it to everyone?”

Ale tosses him an annoyed look, then goes right back to the bee book she’s been studying frantically since last week. She’s been a bit quiet the last day or so, probably getting extra test jitters.

“Don’t give them any ideas,” I grumble, tearing a bite off my soggy pizza and trying to think of anything else to talk about. “Wish I knew why they want me to do all this nonsense.”

Tina chews on her straw, thinking. “It actually seems on brand for Fish,” she says. “My mom says he was always into some mission trip or another—loves helping the needy and all.”

“I’m not needy!” I point out. “Besides, what’s that have to do with me making some speech?”

Devontae winks at me across the table. “Not stressing over this, are you? I’ve never known you to be short on a comeback when you need one.”

Easy for him to say. Besides, a quick zinger is nothing like an entire speech. I finish gulping down my lunch, trying not to think about how torn I still feel about his parents donating that much money to the … cause. It was incredibly generous … but I’m also starting to wonder if Devontae would even understand why I feel so edgy if I told him.

“Just itchy, I guess,” I say finally. “Been too long since I cut loose a bit.”