The Running Dream Read Free Page B

It’s a nervous laugh, mixed with relief.
    “I know,” I tell him. “What can you say, huh?”
    “Yeah,” he says, with another nervous laugh. “Everyone feels terrible about what happened.”
    “Not as bad as me,” I quip.
    He laughs again, and this time it’s not so nervous. “Hey. I’m doing an article for the
Liberty Bell
and—”
    “About the accident?”
    “Right. There are a lot of rumors flying around and—”
    All of a sudden my body flashes hot. “Look. I’m not up to reliving that nightmare for the school paper, okay?”
    “No! I’m sorry. I’m just wondering … well,
everyone’s
wondering when you’re going to be back at school.”
    I’m still feeling hot.
    And shaky.
    “I’m not sure,” I say quietly. “Not for a while.” And even though this is Gavin Vance, I really want to hang up on him. So I say, “I need to get back to my physical therapy,” and end the conversation.
    Fiona is completely bowled over. “Gavin Vance called you!”
    “A dream come true,” I grumble, because really, if it took losing a leg to get him to notice me, I’d rather be ignored.

 
    M Y MOTHER COMES IN with a to-go bag from Angelo’s.
    “Lasagna?” I ask.
    She beams as she opens the sack. “What else?”
    It smells heavenly, and for the first time since I got rushed into Mercy Hospital, I’m hungry.
    Really, truly hungry.
    “Oh, thank you,” I say, scooting up in bed so she can wheel the tray across my lap. It takes a few scoots because the stump is very tender. Still mad at the world.
    Hospital regulations say that I have to wear a gown, so when I’m situated, my mother shakes out a napkin, tucks it in my gown collar, and fusses until everything’s arranged and I’m digging in.
    “Mmm,” I tell her with a contented smile. “It’s wonderful.”
    She’s relieved, I know, and I’m happy to not be pretending. Angelo’s lasagna is amazing on any ordinary day, but at this moment it is the best thing I have ever tasted.
    I close my eyes and just savor it.
    And then an excruciating pain shoots up my leg.
    My eyes fly open and I scream, “Get off my leg!” Onlymy mother is nowhere near my leg. She’s standing right beside me.
    “Something’s on my leg!” I cry. “Get it off!”
    “There’s nothing on your leg,” she says, looking from me to the covers, back to me. “Absolutely nothing!”
    I’m at a slant and I can’t really see what’s past the hospital tray, but I know she’s crazy. The pain is so real. So strong. There’s something on my shin, twisting my foot!
    I shove the tray aside before I remember that I don’t have a shin.
    Or a foot.
    “Another phantom pain?” my mother asks quietly.
    I nod and stare at the flat covers where my foot should be. Every time I have a phantom pain, it freaks me out. They’re unpredictable. And always different. Sometimes the missing part of my leg burns. Sometimes it stabs. Sometimes it feels twisted. Sometimes it’s a combination. The nerves are cut, but they’re still connected to my brain.
    “Do you want me to get the nurse?” my mother asks, and her glowing face has been replaced by a pale, worried one.
    “No,” I tell her. “It’s going away.”
    But I’m panting.
    Sweating.
    Her mouth quivers uncertainly. “Are you sure?”
    I nod and pull the tray back toward me. And after a minute I pretend to be hungry, but really I’m not. The pain has made me nauseous, and on the other side of the tray I can still feel my leg.
    It may be gone, but that’s not stopping it from insisting it’s still there.

 
    I HAVE THE DREAM AGAIN:
    Dawn is breaking.
    Sherlock’s whole body is wagging as he dances in a circle by the front door.
    We ease out of the house, then bound down the porch steps, turning right when we hit the street to head toward the river.
    The world is quiet.
    No cars.
    No people.
    No hustle and bustle.
    Just the rhythmic padding of our feet against pavement.
    Sherlock is happy beside me. His white fur seems to