Sincerely, Emily ✓

11 • Wake Up

Oliver was quiet. Ironically, I was expecting him to be the first one to greet me — not that I cared or anything. He was in the back, and I got the feeling that he was trying not to look at me.

All of us were pretty much aware of Oliver's unusual behavior. Mrs. Grant muttered, "We'll be outside," and practically dragged everybody else out. Jake was protesting but shut his mouth when Raph and Jessie smacked him in the head.

Silence.

I cleared my throat. "Don't tell me you're having trouble speaking, too?"

Oliver mouth turned up a bit, holding a smile — which disappeared as he looked at me. His face was furious. Was he mad at me? 

"Oliver — "

"Are you okay?" he interrupted, coming closer and sitting on the edge of the bed.

I fumbled with the sheets. "Yeah."

"Are you injured anywhere?"

I hadn't checked the injury on my head. I touched it lightly but the pain was fading. "Nope."

"Have you got your hands checked? Because Dr. Green might not — "

"Oliver, I'm alright!" I didn't even bother correcting him.

"You can't walk," he spat out. So Dr. Grey did told him, which meant Mom knew that he knew. I didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

"I know," I said quietly. He either ignored or didn't seem to hear me, because his infuriated expression was still present. His mood got me on edge. "What did you expect, Oliver?"

"Not this!" he said loudly, his veins popping. I flinched. I'd never seen him like this before. "Just not this! The rest of them — they think it's some stupid leg condition. Dr. Grey talked them out of it. Honestly, I didn't think they'd believe it. But they did." He laughed bitterly. "I used to think that it was all a misunderstanding. That you weren't really having this. Now, it seems real."

I stared at him, at a loss of words. Why was he freaking out now? And who was he mad at? Me, Dr. Grey? Or himself?

"Oliver," I said shakily. "Ollie, calm down."

"How can you calm down on a matter like this?" he asked in disbelief. "Your legs are only the beginning. You're going to die — "

"You don't think I know that?" I snapped. "I do, Oliver. But everyone dies in the end."

"Not when they're seventeen," he whispered.

At the sound of his voice changing, I looked up. He was gripping the sheets like his life was depending on it, and he was staring at me with an intensity that was hard enough to knock me down.

I sighed. "I'm not going die at seventeen. Eighteen, probably." That earned me an award-winning glare. "Okay, okay! Look, I know things are looking bad right now, but we can't think like this. If we do, we're going nowhere."

He shifted his gaze to the walls. "So what do you want me to do, knowing my best friend is going to die?"

Best friend? I wondered. He thinks of me as his best friend?

I tried not to show how happy and giddy I was. "I want you to forget about the whole dying thing. You gotta see as if I'm going to keep living, okay? I don't need this depressing mumbo jumbo. I'm sick and tired of it. Promise?"

He swallowed, and in these rare moments, Oliver Grant was speechless. "I — I promise."

"Good." I tried to move into a better sitting position, but since my legs were useless, I did a hard time wiggling my butt. It didn't do any lasting effect. "Now I gotta talk to you about this other thing I've been thinking about. It's an idea."

________

"Homeschooling?" Mom gaped, staring at me.

"Well, it's a better option than public school," Dr. Grey spoke up. "With homeschooling, you'd need less body movement, therefore decreasing the risks and generally giving you an easier time to cope."

The three of us in the end agreed that I would be homeschooled, but there was a question buried under all those smiles — who was going to teach me?

Mom had work all day and all night. And I had no other parent.

I was just about to voice out my own opinion of hiring tutors when Mom thought of a (horrible!) plan.

"Why don't Jessie, Raphael and Jacob teach you?"

I stared at her. "They're twenty!"

"Twenty turning twenty-one in a few months," she reminded me. "Plus, all it matters is that they graduated high school and have gotten diplomas. As far as I know, they all have."

Was she really suggesting this? I looked over to Dr. Grey, who was quiet ever since Mom brought out the idea. Clearly, he was aware that this was a family-strict zone. After he noticed that he was pretty much pointless, he offered to fetch the Grants. The day was almost wrapping up — I could see the sunset coming — but they were still here.

Oliver, Tom, Jake, Jessie, Raph, and Mr. and Mrs. Grant came in with startled expressions. Without sparing another second, Mom began explaining.

As always, the universe seemed to hate me.

"That's a perfect idea!" Mrs. Grant squealed. "Raph and Jessie don't really have much to do except wait for their university results, and they're in no rush. Plus, Jake's not going to college at all, so that makes him free."

"Also," Mr. Grant added. "It'll look good in their resumes."

At that point, Jessie was the first one to agree. Raph took some time to convince because he was quite eager to start college, but he complied, agreeing with his father. Jake was the hardest to get through because he didn't want any work, but when Mom mentioned the money she was going to pay them, his eyes basically brightened with happy tears.

Classic Jacob Grant.

But I think they were forgetting someone's approval. Oh, right.

Me!

"No" was an understatement. I mean, a bunch of twenty-year-olds being my high school teachers? That sounded more ridiculous than me surviving the Thing. It wasn't that I doubted their intelligence, but it was the fact that our age gap was way too close. And I'd still prefer my teachers to be more experienced, thank you very much.

When I voiced my opinion, Jake only snorted. "And who's more experienced than us?"

I glanced at Mom, pleading for her to change her mind, but she only smiled at me.

Wheelchairs. Talking devices. Shower chairs. Medication. Homeschooling. And now, a trio of twenty-year-olds being my high school teachers.

How did I end up here again?

So I was wondering, if you were Emily, what would you do about the homeschooling? I certainly don't wanna be taught by 20-year-olds. I mean, seriously. I wouldn't have learned at all. 

But let's have a little faith in the Three Stooges - Jake, Jessie and Raph - shall we?