Made for You Read Free

another reason.
    “I’m right here,” Grace says from somewhere nearby. I can’t see her, but I’d know her voice anywhere.
    “Grace?” With far too much effort, I try to focus on the shape in the chair that is apparently my usually hyper friend.
    “Rest. You’re safe, sweetie. We’re here,” Mrs. Yeung says, and I realize that Grace’s mother is somewhere beside her. “You just came out of surgery.”
    Grace hurries over to stand beside the bed. “You’re going to be okay, though, and I’m here with you.”
    “Don’t leave me, Gracie.”
    “I won’t,” she promises, and I am relieved. There’s no one in this world I trust more than Grace Yeung.
    “Everything is okay now,” Grace says. She reaches out one hand as if she’s going to brush it over my face, but she doesn’t actually touch me. It’s only the shadow of her hand that lands on me.
    “You’re going to be okay,” Mrs. Yeung repeats.
    I glance at her and then look back at Grace. She nods in agreement, and then I’m out again.
    This time my dreams are a strange mix that may be a series of wakeful moments and unconsciousness. If not, I’m dreaming about nurses and Grace sliding a chair near the bed with a horrible screeching noise—which seems a bit unlikely.
    “Why am I here?” I ask, possibly again, possibly for the first time. I don’t remember if I’ve asked, but it’s the most reasonable question after “where am I?”
    As promised, Grace is still here. Mrs. Yeung isn’t with her now, but that doesn’t matter. The chair is beside the bed, and her voice is quiet as she answers, “They had to bring you to Durham. You’re in Mercy Hospital. You were unconscious; ‘head trauma,’ they said, but you woke up late last night. This morning, you had surgery on your leg for a broken femur.”
    I nod.
    “They had to delay the surgery a day, but they operated today. It went well,” Grace says. “You’re in a new room now. You were in ICU.”
    “Hazy.”
    “You’re still coming out of the anesthesia. Plus, they gave you sedatives,” she explains.
    Time passes, and eventually, my head feels clearer. I swallow, trying to speak with a tongue that feels too thick and a mouth that feels too dry, before repeating, “ Why am I here?”
    Grace doesn’t answer for a moment, so I watch her face for answers. People are more transparent than they think. Even with whatever medicines pump through the IV tubes, I have enough clarity of mind to see the worry and the anger in Grace’s face. Whatever happened to land me in this bed sent my best friend into a mix of emotions that she’s trying to hide.
    “Your parents really should be here to tell you this,” Grace starts. Her lips press together in a judgmental way that’s very familiar when my parents are mentioned. She’s far more judgmental about my parents than I am. I like the independence I have because of their travel and work schedule.
    I glance at the giant vase of flowers in the room and know that it’s from them. There are other smaller arrangements, but the big one is orchids, my favorite flower. It’s huge and overflowing. “They sent those.”
    “These were waiting when we got to your new room,” Grace says, but she scowls again. Orchids don’t make up for their absence in her book, but I’m sure they have a reason for being away. They always do. Most of the reasons boil down to them forgetting that I’m not actually an adult yet—not that I’m complaining.
    “Why did I need surgery?”
    “There was an accident,” Grace says, her expression going from angry to gentle in a blink.
    I grab her hand and tug.
    She straightens her arm so our clasped hands rest on the edge of the hospital bed. She looks almost as tired as I feel. She squeezes my hand and stares at me. Her eyes are red and puffy, and I can tell she’s been crying a lot and sleeping only a little. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispers. “I was so scared. You must’ve been terrified.”
    “I