“But the photo you want doesn’t show who won king and queen!”
Rennie spins to face the girl. “Are you kidding me? The picture you want is going to make everyone remember the accident, okay? It’s going to be a trigger.” For the first time, I agree with Rennie. Actually, I wish they’d skip that page all together. “Not to mention that it’s completely disrespectful to Reeve.”
Defiant, the girl says, “We’ve always featured at least one picture of just the king and queen in the yearbook.”
Rennie shoots her a nasty look and then softens her tone. She crooks her finger at the girl, wanting her to lean in close. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything because it’s on the DL, but the homecoming queen title is still somewhat in dispute. Coach Christy is considering a possible recount. So let’s not settle on a photo until we know for sure, all right?”
The girl nods, her eyes wide. “Okay,” she whispers back. “That’s a different story.”
I get a squeeze in my chest. Could Coach Christy somehow figure out that Kat and I snuck into her office to mess with the homecoming ballots? I shake my head. Nope. No way. We were careful. We didn’t leave a trace.
I take a seat near a group of students voting over which superlatives categories to include this year. Best-looking, most popular, nicest eyes, most athletic. I force myself to think of a different boy, a boy who isn’t Reeve, for each one.
After the meeting, I’m heading home when I hear a shrill whistle coming from the school pool. Is Reeve is still there? Even though I know it’s probably not the best idea, I can’t help but be curious. How much is Reeve improving? Is there a chance for him to maybe get those football scholarships after all?
I sneak in and watch him. Reeve’s in the water in his swim trunks. His big black soft cast is up on the bleachers. The man is sitting up on the side of the pool, his legs dangling in the water. He’s not in a swimsuit. He has his track pants rolled up to his knees.
“All right, Reeve, now I want you to hold on to the side here and kick your legs frog-style for fifteen-second intervals for the next three minutes.” He puts his coaching whistle back in his mouth. “Set . . .”
Reeve lets out a groan.
“Unless you can’t do it,” the man adds, teasingly. And Reeve loses it. He snaps, “Of course I can do it. That’s
not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
Reeve seethes, “The issue is, I can do it for sixty-second
intervals.”
“So?”
“So why aren’t we in the gym, putting me on the treadmill?” The man blinks a few times. “You’re not ready for the gym
yet, buddy. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard as it is. That’s why you’re in a soft cast, not a walking cast.” “You don’t know that. You haven’t even tried to push me. Trust me. I can be doing so much more than I am right now.”
The man shakes his head. “Son, you need to accept your injury, not fight it. It’s going to take time to heal.”
Reeve pulls himself half out of the water. Even though he’s dripping wet and shivering, his cheeks are bright, fiery red. “I found this article online about a guy who broke his fibula and five weeks after, he was back running seven-minute miles. That’s the kind of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ I need you to have. That’s the level I want you to push me.”
The man sighs. “Reeve, look. There’s no way you’re getting back on the football field this season. I want you to get that out of your head.”
Reeve tightens every single muscle. “I know that! I know I’m not playing this season. But college camps start in February, man. I need to be able to hold my own. If I can’t, do you understand what that means for me? If I don’t play football, then I don’t go to college. End of story. It’s a wrap.”
Instead of getting riled up, the guy calmly puts his clipboard down and folds his hands in his lap. “It’s a process, Reeve. One step at a time. If you get there, you get there. But you need to prepare yourself for the if.”
Reeve recoils at the word, and then shakes his head, like he’s trying to forget he ever heard it. “You know what? I’m going to do this on my own.”
“Reeve—”
“Did you not hear me? You’re fired. Your services aren’t needed.” Reeve hoists himself out of the water. He tries to put a little weight on his leg, but can’t. So he ends up hopping over to his towel. Under his breath he mutters a few curse words.
The physical therapist shakes his head and packs up his stuff. He walks out of the pool, right past me in the hallway.
Reeve sits on the bench a while longer, dripping puddles of water on the concrete floor. I’m thinking he’ll pack it in and head home, but instead he slides back into the water and assumes the position at the shallow end. He does the exercise he was told to do, the frog kicks, but without stopping for a full minute. And then he does that five more times.
It’s crazy, how similar we are. Here’s both of us, working through our stuff, trying to make something positive out of something really bad.
CHAPTER NINE
Trick-or-treating on the island isn’t really a thing; there are too many dead spots—vacation houses that are empty all fall and winter. So the elementary school has an “alternative Halloween” that they call Fall Fest. After school, the kids go home, change into their costumes, and come back to find the entire school decked out all spookily. There are a bunch of fun Halloweeny activities, like apple bobbing and face painting and a candy scavenger hunt. Officially, the elementary school PTA runs it, but there’s always a senior liaison who is basically in charge of finding high schoolers to man booths and drum up support. This year it’s me. Rennie was supposed to cochair with me, but once actual planning meetings started, she bailed.
It’s Friday, and we’re at the lunch table, and Ashlin’s begging Rennie to tell her what her costume is. “Come on, Ren! Ash wheedles. I told you mine.”
Rennie shakes her head smugly. “You have to wait and see.” I stir my frozen yogurt around with a spoon. I’m too stressed out about organizing Fall Fest to be hungry. I’ve got my to-do list out, and there are still a bunch of to-dos not ticked off. I have today, the weekend, and then two days next week to get everything set. I’m still waiting to hear back on how many cupcakes Milky Morning is going to donate. And Sutton’s might not donate as much candy this year, so I need a backup plan if they don’t come through.
