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brave.”
    He takes a step back and speaks softly, like I’m a rabid bobcat or something. “Lisa…Lisa…look…”
    My heart pounds so wildly I can hardly speak, but I have to do this. I have his attention. This is my chance. I stand tall, feeling the steel snap into my spine. “I know it’s a crazy idea, but I think it can work. We could help each other out.”
    His gaze narrows. “How could you help me ?
    I lift my chin. “You have your own company. I have money to invest.”
    “Into the Wild is employee owned. It doesn’t work like that.”
    “I thought you were adding a charitable donation facet,” I counter, unable to give up. “I thought that’s why we’re in the same non-profit classes.”
    Jack raises a brow.
    Holy bravado, Batman! I think I’ve made a point he’s considering!
    “Into the Wild doesn’t need your Burger Barn money.”
    His voice is so flat and unyielding that my temper flares, on principle. “Are you mad at me for getting money because their drive-thru fell on me?” I demand.
    His jaw tightens. I actually see the muscles clench and wonder if I should warn him about TMJ. But he’s looking at me with this blistering intensity, so I don’t say anything.
    “Into the Wild doesn’t operate on corporate money.”
    His tone sends chills down my back, but I manage to speak. “My money isn’t corporate money. Yes, I got it from a corporation, but it’s mine now, and I’m not a company. I’m a person .”
    He looks at me. “It doesn’t matter anyway. We aren’t going to take donations. We’re going to make them.”
    “Then why didn’t you just say that?” I shout. “Or did you feel that you just had to make a point about how my money is from Burger Barn and I was just an out-of-control fattie who got what she deserved because she wasn’t slim and petite enough to fit into a wedding dress?”
    I can tell from the way he looks away that he knows what I’m talking about. He saw the tabloids—he read the stories. Comfort Food Almost Kills Her: Burger Barn’s hayloft-style drive-thru nearly crushes a distressed bride-to-be on a binge . Once I woke up from the coma, the articles had a raucous good time calling me a cow. At least that’s what Maggie and Mom were always laughing about. They said one even called me a heifer.
    I can feel all of my frustration and fury rumbling like an avalanche ready to go. “Well, guess what?” I cry. “It doesn’t matter how much you make fun of me or how bad you and all of America make me feel because I don’t need the stupid dress anyway because Keith didn’t really want to marry me and he couldn’t wait for me to wake up so he could tell me! So there!” I huff and puff, furious tears pushing into my eyes.
    But I can see that he’s looking at me again.
    “Jack,” I say, with a little more control, “I chased you up this mountain because when I woke up in the hospital, it was clear to me like never before that I have a life , a life I almost lost. So I need to get a backbone and do something with this life. Make my life count .”
    When I finally shut up, the woods are quiet. I look at Jack. He looks surprised and confused, and something more, but I can’t place it. He looks me over then, from head to toe. He must see the one thigh-high that’s come loose from its garter and fallen around my ankle. The stocking sags there, irrevocably stretched out by my gargantuan thigh.
    “What?” I ask, not able to stand him looking at me for one second longer.
    “You have good legs.”
    I tip my head, as might Benji in a similar situation. Good legs ?
    But Jack backpedals so fast I think he leaves skid marks. “Not good good,” he splutters. “Not sexy good. I just meant, they look strong.”
    Oh, God, he’s actually talking about how thunderous my thighs are. I mean, God forbid he was saying I could possibly look tempting with RoboCop’s quadriceps. After all, for my whole life, guys and my mother have commented on my big thighs. Like