Belief in Miracles (completed)

Chapter 8: Sebastian

8

Sebastian

Summer was a much better driver than I was, but that went without saying when I was forced to operate a car with a metal rod connected to a fleshy stump. Doctors kept telling me I'd get used to it, but over a year later I still felt itching in the foot that no longer existed, and had definitely not gotten the hang of driving. It was why I preferred not to most of the time. Maybe I should have just cut my losses and sold the car like my Dad kept encouraging me to, but for some reason, doing so felt too final, and I'd been putting it off. Without the car, I'd be forced to own the fact that my leg was really gone, and I was slowly dying.

I mean, it wasn't as if I didn't have to face it every morning when I put the prosthetic on, or took a chemo pill, but there was something that seemed over about making the decision to sell the car and move on. Maybe it was stubborn pride, maybe it was some measure of desperation, but I couldn't convince myself to do it. Not yet.

My fingers absently caressed the handle of the passenger door as I pushed the thoughts away and glanced at Summer. She drove with both hands on the wheel in an awkward position of eleven-and-seven, so that both her hands seemed angled toward the left side. I hadn't noticed that she did that when we'd been out before, but I hadn't been paying attention either. It was peculiar, and I found myself smiling at the unusual quirk.

"What?" She asked suddenly, and I blinked out of my stare to look at her.

"Nothing."

"You were smiling."

I shrugged. "I'm happy."

Her eyes narrowed on me for just a moment before she smiled as well. "Me too. I'm glad we decided to do this."

"Even with the tag-along?" I teased, and her smile widened.

"Even with the tag-along."

At that, Chelsea's head appeared between the seats again. "What about a tag-along?"

Laughing softly, I shook my head. "Nothing. So, what grade are you in, Chelsea?"

Folding her arms across the center storage console, she grimaced. "Sixth."

"Middle school. You like it?"

"No. It sucks balls."

"Chelsea!" Summer chastised, and Chelsea leaned up to shrug.

"Well, it does. The whole school consists of two parties: bullies, or little fat kids that get beat up, and here I am, fifteen pounds shy of popular girl and twenty pounds under the kids that get beat up. You know what that makes me?"

"The one who sticks up for those getting bullied?" I offered, and though she had the decency to look momentarily guilty, she shook her head.

"It makes me an outcast." She corrected. "The only friends I have anymore are the two from last year, and they both went to a different school."

Smiling, I shrugged. "It'll improve. As you grow up, and ease your way off the low end of the Middle School totem pole, things will get better. You'll see."

"I hope so. I keep asking my Dad to let me do homeschool, but he says that neither of them can give up their career to stay home with me, and they can't afford to hire a private tutor. But, I know how much my Dad makes, and I know he's full of crap. He's just being a jerk about it." She let out an aggravated huff. "It's not fair."

"Tell you what," I said, and she looked at me as I shifted in my seat to better face her. "You want an opportunity to make some more friends?"

Chelsea shrugged. "How?"