Page 13 of The Heiress
It’s what Jaylin had done. Jaylin was fifteen and had been paralyzed from the chest down after a rollover crash where he was pinned under the four wheeler ATV he’d been driving. It was highly improbable that Jaylin would walk again, but he had been working hard at getting movement back in his arms. His goals were simple: Move his fingers, hold a pen, feed himself, close the door.
He’d been at Alban Grove four months already when I arrived, and was an inspiration—the type who chose to see the glass as half full, not half empty. I was envious of his large family who were there to support him, but still, it was his decision every day to find the strength, the hope, the way to carry on.
Spurred on by Jaylin’s eternal optimism and the knowledge that I was climbing Kilimanjaro to his Everest, I set my goals with confidence. The thing is, I’d never been a quitter. And certainly not when playing tennis—because it was a sport where you could be one point away from defeat, but you were never actually out of the game until the final score was called. Yes, you could be on the verge of losing, but you could claw your way back to victory—if you didn’t give up.
Mental strengthhad been my strength,the ability to pull myself out of tight situations in a tennis match, to out think my opponent, to believe in myself and have a never-say-die attitude.
I had to apply that to rehab. Sure, in those early days straight after the accident, my head was all over the place, the pain, the grief, the acceptance tough to deal with. But with my medical team constantly motivating me, with the inspiration of people like Jaylin, there really was no option to give up. Not to mention Mom, who was willing to move heaven and earth for me.
She’d had our house remodeled to give me a bedroom downstairs. And she bought me a new car. The Audi Sportback was more practical than my old BMW coupe and virtually drove itself. And though there was excitement that I could tick another thing off of my list, at getting my independence back, it came with a degree of shame.
You see, Mom was shrinking before my very eyes. Turning into a stick. She’d always been slim, but now she was on the brink of being skeletal. I only noticed when I came home from rehab. I’d made a passing comment about how we’d both lost weight since the accident. We’d laughed and joked that car crashes might become the next diet fad.
But while I was gaining weight steadily, Mom’s weight was continuing to drop, and now I was blaming myself. I’d been too hard on her, filled her with guilt. She made excuses about her small dinner plate or the meager amount on it, said her medication upset her stomach. She had stopped wearing pants and jeans and had taken to wearing loose dresses, coats and boots.
But it wasn’t something I could just dive in and talk to her about—I didn’t know how to mention it.
When I started driving myself to school, Max still waited in the parking lot for me every morning, walked me to the gym before going off on his laps around the track. Probably scared I’d get trampled by the football team. And he’d meet me back in the locker room afterward. Pretty sure he would have tied my shoe laces if I asked.
I thought that now he was dating Taylor I might get some respite from his company, but no, the three of us ended up hanging out together. Though I didn’t mind, because Taylor was helping me get back into tennis and she was like my kindred spirit—we lived and breathed tennis in all its forms—stats, videos, matches, commentary. We had opinions on every player and loved analyzing games.
My will to return to the tennis court was utmost in my mind.
And then Elisha nearly rammed me down.
She already had a reputation by the time I’d started at school. She was aloof, a snob, an introvert. And after my first encounter with her, I believed it. Someone said she came from the east coast, someone from the west coast, someone from Switzerland. Her long blondish hair made her a stand out, but it was her eyes, the darkest shade of brown, that made me look twice. Or maybe more than twice.
I still remembered how she’d joined us at the balloon arch activity in Homecoming Week. Max, in all his wisdom thought threading balloons was the only job I was capable of. In hindsight, he was right. After trying to blow up a few balloons, my lungs protested and I’d resorted to stringing balloons together like a middle schooler. Totally uncool—until Elisha joined me.
It had been a heart-stopping moment as we stood alongside each other, separated by my walking frame. A surge of adrenaline, heat flooding my cheeks, a nervous twitch as I eyed the blond beauty. My head had been swarming with that first introduction:Hi, I’m Phoenix. Hi, you’re the new girl? Hi, you just started at Covington? Hi, how do you like boarding?
Yeah, for a moment I thought I might check off another of the goals on my list—to go to a school dance. I had a fleeting daydream of an insta-connection with Elisha, asking her to the Homecoming Dance... but it was all redundant. Because before I had summoned the courage to speak, she’d left. Of course, I blamed the walking frame. What girl would be interested in a boy who couldn’t stand on his own two feet unaided, let alone go to a dance with one. That goal could wait—of course I never did go to the Homecoming Dance. With Max taking Taylor, I definitely did not want to be a third wheel, and visiting Dad was a brilliant and legitimate reason not to attend.
The second encounter was equally jolting—but in a different kind of way. Literally, she nearly took me and my crutches out, walking straight into me when she wasn’t looking.
Yeah, I’d gotten a fright, scared that if I fell the screws and plates that held my pelvis in place would shatter and leave me broken. I had a visual in my mind from one of my childhood story books—the one where Humpty Dumpty had fallen off the wall and cracked into many pieces.
I did not want to be Humpty Dumpty.
As unnerved as I was by my almost-fall, it was the mortification in Elisha’s eyes that tore at me. Pools of distress that caught me off-guard, like she was genuinely upset by her action and not as cold and heartless as she’d been painted to be. Though I didn’t get the chance to react or respond, because Taylor whisked me away to safety, my personal minder in Max’s absence. Needing to wrap me in cotton wool.
Ever since, there had been a stabbing pain in my chest, not like when I had pneumonia at the rehab center and every breath hurt. No, this was something that resonated deep, something intangible, affecting me in a way that was different, that left an ache that wasn’t associated with pain.
Something was piercing me but I couldn’t explain it.
And later that day, it got worse in photography class.
Mr. Norman’s absence meant we had a substitute teacher. Mrs. Jabeur read through the instructions left by Mr. Norman, organizing us to do a mini-project which was to tie in with our current photography assignment. I tried to listen but Max had taken my phone and was scrolling under the desk...well, it was typical kids didn’t pay full attention with a teaching sub.
We were to form groups of six, Mrs. Jabeur was saying as Max continued to check my social media accounts. He wouldn’t find much—I mainly followed tennis accounts and kids I’d met in the rehab center, but I still didn’t like him going through it. Our assignment was to make a poster from a collage of photos. We should think of a theme that was action-based and could use our own photos or ones in the resource boxes.
I nudged Max’s elbow, hissing through gritted teeth that I wanted my phone back. He laughed and punched my shoulder.
“Relax, Phoe,” he said.
I winced from his not so gentle jab, but I didn’t mind. I wanted Max to treat me how we used to be, constant banter and jibes and...less treating me like a precious Versace champagne flute. Which, by the way, Mom once had to source for a seventieth birthday party—supplying a dozen meant for a hefty, and I meanheftyinvoice for that party. Apparently money was no object.
Millie had quickly come over to join Taylor, so along with our table of Max, Weston and me, we needed one more person. I looked up to see Millie and Taylor whispering, the next minute they were signaling over Elisha. Strange, I thought, especially after the way Taylor had called her out for almost knocking me over, but maybe she’d been sitting alone, or highly likely she was the only one without a group. For some reason, my heart went boom-boom-boom.
