Push Girl (5 page)

I was halfway through the intersection when there was a crash and an impact.

Glass shattered.

Metal crunched.

And something slammed.

A car. A car, out of control and coming from the other direction, plowed right into the side of my car. Impact. Full force. It didn’t stop until it hit me.

I jerked forward, I screamed, I smelled smoke and heard a crash and felt pain shooting through my body.

But before I could make sense of anything that happened, everything went black.

CHAPTER 5

The sounds caused a pull, a tugging sensation from somewhere inside me that told me to open my eyes. They seemed to poke at me from far away, sometimes loud, sometimes quiet. Voices in hushed tones, a consistent beeping, the scraping of metal against metal, a shrill squeak.

Then, piled on top of the sounds, there were the smells. The smell of clean. Something medicine-y. Other scents, familiar, but out of context, and something inside me told me to look around and see where I was. I didn’t want to open my eyes. It didn’t feel like the natural thing to do, and when my eyelids tried to separate, it felt like prying an electric garage door open with my bare hands.

Waking up shouldn’t be this difficult,
I thought, so I gave up and decided to keep sleeping. Sleep was good. But there was light now, flooding the other sides of my eyelids, bright and welcoming. And the voices started making sense, sounds formed into words, and I knew I had to open my eyes, even though it took so much effort, and I was still so, so tired.

I pried my eyes open and the light was brighter, harsh now, and overwhelming. Squinting, I tried to focus on what was in front of me. I blinked and blinked and blinked in an attempt to focus, trying to make sense of the light and the shapes and the sounds and the smells.

And it slowly started to come together. My parents. It was my parents next to me, saying my name, leaning in close. They seemed excited, clutching each other and sort of freaking out. As all this processed in my head, I wondered,
What the heck are they doing in my bedroom, watching me sleep like this?
The awkwardness made my face crinkle up, and I wanted them gone. But as I blinked more, the rest of the room came into focus. Instead of my dresser and my closet, I saw machines and curtains and plants and ugly wallpaper—all things that told me I wasn’t in my bedroom at all.

Where was I?

Mom leaned close and clutched my arm with ferocity, like she needed to make sure I was real. “Kara,” she whispered in a soft tone that didn’t match her iron grip. “Sweetie. You’re awake.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but words seemed stuck in my throat. My tongue was dry, and all I could manage was a thick, garbled “heknjd” that scraped on the way out. I wasn’t even sure what the word was supposed to be, so I tried again. “Mom.” There. At least that was a word. What was wrong with me?

“Oh, thank God,” Dad said, and he leaned forward and grabbed my arm, too. “How are you, honey?”

Blinking, I tried again to focus on the room. Nope, definitely not my bedroom. My eyes started to uncloud, but my mind wasn’t there yet.

“Where am I?” I finally squeaked out in something that sounded more like a cartoon mouse than my own voice.

“You’re in the hospital, sweetie.” Mom’s voice also sounded nothing like her. She was never this quiet and tentative unless she knew I wouldn’t like what she was going to say.

I blinked and blinked and blinked again, trying to break through the thick fog in my brain and my mouth. “Hospital?” My voice sounded a little more solid the more I used it, so I kept going. “Why?”

Dad cleared his own throat and tightened his grip on my arm. “Can you tell us what you remember?” Dad asked. “What’s the last thing you remember doing?”

“Sleep,” I said. All I could get a handle on was the deep sleep I had just come out of.

From their faces, I sensed that this was the wrong answer, so I closed my eyes and struggled to focus on a memory, something concrete. Something before the sounds and smells and yanking my eyes open to this strange room with my crying parents. After a moment, something flashed through my head.

“Party. Rob Chang’s party.” It occurred to me as soon as I said it that I never actually told them about the party. Mom thought I had been at the movies with Amanda. I couldn’t remember why I was in the hospital, but I could remember that I’d lied to my parents.

“Good,” Mom said, and I was relieved she didn’t bring up the lie or even look mad about it. “Anything else? Do you remember what happened?”

“Curt. Um, we fought,” I said slowly. The memory of our argument danced around the edge of my mind. I couldn’t place what we fought about, but I knew I desperately wanted to talk to him. Had he been here, waiting for me? Was he out in the waiting room or getting coffee? Hopefully he’d be in here soon. And hopefully, like with my mom, the argument wouldn’t even really matter anymore, since I was okay now after … whatever had happened to me. “I left alone.”

“Okay, good,” Dad said. “I’m glad you remember all of this.”

“Hungry,” I said. Cobwebs cleared my head one by one, and details crept in. “Curt and I fought. I left alone. I was hungry. Wanted Taco Bell.” A fact popped into my head, one that I felt was very important to tell my parents. “Wasn’t drinking,” I said. “Only water at the party. Not—”

“We know, sweetie.”

“How?” Now that my eyes and my brain were cooperating, I really noticed how haggard my parents looked. Mom was always put together, even for a run to the store, but today her hair was pulled up in a sloppy topknot, her hoodie had a coffee stain on the chest, and dark circles pooled under her eyes. And Dad, in an old UCLA T-shirt and a baseball cap, neither of which had ever been worn outside the backyard, looked as if he hadn’t shaved or even slept in days.

Waking up in the hospital was enough of a red flag, but the disheveled state of my parents was the truly alarming thing. My dad loved to tell me how my mom did her whole beauty routine—Velcro rollers in her hair, blow-out, full face of makeup—while in labor with me, contractions and all, because she didn’t want to look bedraggled in the “I just had a baby!” photos. Mom didn’t do unkempt, so seeing her like this sent a severe sense of dread pulsing through my body. Something was really wrong here.

“The doctors ran a blood test,” Dad said. His lips pressed together in a line, like he was attempting to smile, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. “You’re fine. We know you weren’t drinking.”

I tried to let out a long sigh, but it caused more discomfort than relief. Thanks to the uneasy dread I was feeling, my body wasn’t able to relax enough to sigh the way I wanted to. “That’s all I remember.” The words came more easily now. “Can’t remember after I left Rob’s house for food. Not a single thing after that.” Disappointment crept into my voice; why couldn’t I come up with anything useful? Something obviously got me from my car to this hospital room, and it was annoying not to be able to make a single connection between the two. “Tell me what happened.”

“Kara, honey.” Dad took off his hat, ran his hand through his thinning hair, and returned the hat to his head and his hand to my arm. “The doctor is going to be in here in just a second to explain all of this to you, okay?”

“But I want to know now. Can’t you just tell me now?

Dad sighed, and looked at the door. When the doctor didn’t magically appear to field this question, he stood up, sat back down again, then stared intently at his knees. “There was an accident. You were in a very bad car accident.”

“Accident?”

Dad cleared his throat. “A drunk driver ran a red light and hit your car.”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Mom said. She patted my arm and stared at me, probably waiting for some sort of reaction. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to react, though. This whole situation was so over-the-top and ABC Family; I had no idea how real-life people reacted to this sort of news.

“Was anyone else in the car?” I thought I remembered leaving the party alone, but my memory was so shaky that anything could have happened. Was that it? The dread? Did someone die? Curt? One of my friends? “Is everyone okay?”

“You were by yourself in the car,” Mom said.

Dad cleared his throat again and his voice got tight. Angry. “And the driver who hit you, he didn’t make it.”

Process, process, process. A drunk guy ran a red light and hit me while I was driving alone. He died. I’m lucky to be alive. I heard the words, but none of them clicked in my brain. None of them eased the wrongness hanging thick in the air.

“I don’t understand,” I finally said. I was still blinking repeatedly, waiting for this to make sense. Why didn’t I remember being in an accident?

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Mom said. “The doctor said you probably wouldn’t remember everything right away. Your body went into shock to protect itself. It’s totally normal.”

“We’re just so glad you’re awake, honey. We’ve been so worried about you.”

“Have I been asleep long?” I didn’t feel rested at all. In fact, just talking to my parents was exhausting me, and I couldn’t deny that closing my eyes and dozing off sounded more appealing than anything else. I could find out these details later, and maybe after a nap, the dread would ease and this would all make more sense.

Mom and Dad both took their hands off my arm, and through my fluttering eyes I noticed them shifting around on their chairs. I was so sleepy, I didn’t even remember exactly what I’d just asked them, but it obviously made them squirm.

“How are you feeling?” Dad asked. “You look tired. You should go back to sleep.”

“I don’t know.” It was all I could think to answer as I struggled to keep my eyes open. Other than tired and confused, I honestly couldn’t get a handle on how I was feeling. Was “let me think about it” an acceptable answer to that question? I was in an accident that almost killed me. I felt like something was terribly wrong, but I didn’t know what it was. Shouldn’t I be in more pain? Or was that what all these IVs were for? Pumping me full of painkillers?

“I’m going to get the doctor,” Dad said, standing up.

“The doctor will be here in a minute.” Mom’s voice was strained. “You should stay here with your daughter.”

“I’ll stay with my daughter as soon as I get the doctor,” Dad said. “I’ll be right back.”

Oh, yeah. All this focus on what I could remember had shifted my attention from what I wished I could forget. My parents getting a divorce. The constant fighting. They’d managed to keep it reined in for an entire ten minutes to worry about me as a team, but that didn’t last long. Was that why I felt like something huge was wrong?

“Fine. I’ll just wait here while you—”

“Stop it. Please.” I barely squeaked the words out, but with how quickly my voice silenced the room, you’d think I screamed at full volume.

“Sorry, honey,” Dad said, looking at me sheepishly. “I’m just going to run and get the doctor, okay? Then I’ll be right back.”

Mom watched him go, her eyebrows pulled together so tightly, a deep crease formed above her nose. Then, just like that, her face was back to normal again. “Everybody’s been worried about you, honey,” she said, obviously desperate to move us both away from the lingering tension of their argument. She leaned forward and brushed my hair from my face with her fingers, a tired smile on her face. “Can you see all the flowers in here?” She cocked her head toward the colorful floral arrangements, small balloons poking out of plants, and cheerful stuffed animals that filled the room. “They’re all from your friends at school and the studio. Everyone’s going to be so happy to hear that you’re awake. Everyone’s been praying for you, sweetie.”

“Wow,” I said, my voice small and quiet.

“See those sunflowers?” Mom said, pointing at a large arrangement by the window. “Those are from the dance studio. And that big one there with the gerbera daisies is from Jack and Amanda. Isn’t that sweet of them?”

“Which flowers are from Curt?” Ever since I’d remembered our fight, it was one of the only things my brain managed to focus on. I needed to talk to him. I couldn’t stand this feeling of things being unresolved between us.

“Well, sweetie,” Mom said, patting my arm again. “Curt has, uh … he’s been very busy with school and water polo.”

“What? How long have I been here?” The dread came to life under my skin. That sinking feeling plus the talking had me more awake, and I remembered my question from earlier. “How long have I been sleeping?”

Mom’s eyes darted to the door of my room, as if she hoped someone would come in and keep her from having to answer this question. Too bad she already drove Dad out the door. “It’s been about two weeks now.”

Her words slammed into me at full force. “What? Two weeks? I’ve been…” My mind reeled again, and I couldn’t even seem to form a coherent sentence. I thought I’d been asleep for one night, maybe two. But two
weeks
? I lost the last two weeks of my life?

Two weeks of dance rehearsal gone, and now I’d be behind all the other girls for the recital routine. And what was going to happen to my hip-hop duet? There was no way we could pull it together now with the recital so close. Curt was supposed to take me out to a fancy dinner at the beach to celebrate our nine-month anniversary, but we didn’t even get to celebrate. And missing two weeks of school? That was so much homework. So many tests, right at the beginning of the school year. I’d be so far behind. The thoughts of everything I’d missed made the beeping on the machine beside my bed speed up.

And I still had that feeling. The feeling that this wasn’t even the worst of it. But something kept me from verbalizing it. I didn’t want Mom to confirm that I was right.

“We’ve been here every day, Kara,” Mom said, shooting glances between the monitor and my anxiety-ridden face. “Your dad and I have been sitting right here, praying for you to wake up. It took some time, but your body was healing. And so was your brain.”

Dad walked back in the room and cleared his throat once more. “The doctor is coming,” he said, and he took his place next to my mom at my bedside. Mom leaned over and whispered in his ear, and this time he was the one with the forehead wrinkle. They both turned to look at me, faces serious and scared, and didn’t say anything.