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Back Scars Like Wings Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. Acknowledgments
  54. About the Author
  55. What’s next onyour reading list?

But then I look next to the words at the profile pics of my old friends, the faces I used to know so well, and a thought hits me: Do they feel like I do with Piper, helpless and unsure what to say or do? How long did they sit with their fingers hovering over the keyboard, waiting for the right words to come? How many times did they type, erase, type, erase before hitting send?

I scroll through the comments again. The girls from drama who tried to be there for me after the fire. I pushed them away, afraid they couldn’t handle the new me. Afraid they would find I was unfixable.

Like me, they don’t know the perfect thing to say, but here they are, saying something anyway.

Maybe it’s never been about the words.

Maybe my therapy group was right: it’s about being there—reaching out—even if there’s no way in hell to fix it.

I type a quick reply at the top of the thread.

dramagrrl Thanks! Miss you all, too! I’ll come visit soon.

To my surprise, I mean every word.

I lie back on my bed and listen to Piper’s “Phoenix in a Flame” anthem. While the girl sings about wings, I pick up the burn-camp brochure next to me. On the cover, a man with a hole for an ear like mine carries a laughing little boy. Scars blur both their faces under the words, “Nothing heals people like other people.” The pink phoenix symbol soars above the words.

I turn off the Fire Mix and text Asad.

Remember the tattoo parlor where you took Piper?

Yeah. Why?

Because you’re taking me.

47

Asad drives while I clutch the letter from Cora saying I can deface my body to my heart’s content. Cora wasn’t crazy about the idea at first. Okay, truth: she said it was the craziest idea she’d ever heard.

“Why would you want to add scars to your body?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

I reminded her that it is, in fact, my body and that up until now, I’ve had zero say in my scars.

“But with a tattoo, I get to decide what I look like,” I said. “For once.”

That got her pretty good.

My announcement that I’m going to burn camp also put her in an especially agreeable mood. So after a quick phone consult with Dr. Sharp, who gave me his medical-degree blessing to ink any nongrafted skin, she signed the form. She also put this in big letters at the top: SOMETHING SMALL! TASTEFUL! THAT WON’T HORRIFY HER GRANDCHILDREN!