The Size of Your Dreams by - (best non fiction books to read .TXT) 📖

Christy showed up at Derek’s funeral in a wheelchair. I wouldn’t have recognized her if it weren’t for Mrs. Mendez pushing her into the church. Christy’s face was swollen and bruised, and her long, black hair had been shaved back on one side to be replaced with stitches and bandages. Her broken leg lay straight out in front of her. Apparently, the doctors hadn’t wanted to release her but gave in when she insisted on attending the funeral.

The pastor talked about what a tragedy it was to lose someone so young, with so much life ahead of him. But no matter what my notecard said about sensitivity, I shed no tears for Derek. He’d been a bully in school and hazed the incoming freshmen as though it were his duty, yet his last act had been by far his worst. The only good thing I could say about him was that he’d only managed to kill himself, though one of the injured from the other car was still in critical condition.

School had been canceled for the day, yet I wouldn’t have come to the funeral if it hadn’t been for Christy. Not that I was feeling too sympathetic toward her either. She bawled her eyes out; whether it was for Derek’s loss or her own injuries, I couldn’t say.

How could she have been so stupid?

It was bad enough hanging out with a jerk like Derek to begin with, but to get into his car when he’d been drinking? After what happened to her coach?

Derek’s mother spoke about what a kindhearted and enthusiastic boy he’d been. It took all my willpower not to groan in disgust as I stomped out the back of the church.

* * *

The next day only Darnell and I showed up to math class. Mr. Griffin told us we wouldn’t speak about Christy, not without her present.

I had no interest in speaking about sensitivity, generosity, or any of those other traits today, so when Mr. Griffin asked for updates, I deferred to Darnell. If he was upset about Christy’s accident, he hid it better than I did, for he cheerfully went on about the progress he’d made. He’d dropped five pounds since Christmas by spending around two hours a day on his treadmill while watching documentaries and YouTube videos on cooking and nutrition.

Of course, it had been Christy’s cooking and her suggestion to get himself an education that led him down this path. She ought to have been there to hear the impact of her feedback and offer suggestions for how he could go farther. And then we could help her figure out how to get her swim team to the state championship. Instead, she was lying bruised and broken, her swim season lost.

I was still thinking about Christy on my way home from school when Jarod’s truck pulled up. “Get in, I’ll give you a ride.”

I climbed into the cab. “Where were you today?”

“Visiting Christy.”

“You ditched school to go see her?”

“Yeah. She’s home now, just lying in her room all day. She’s got plenty of people coming by after school, but both her parents work, and she could use the company during the day. I don’t want to miss too many days in a row, though. You want to take tomorrow?”

“Me? Why not one of her friends?”

Jarod groaned. “This crap again? Kelvin, you are her friend.”

We both knew that wasn’t true. Sure, I’d done her a favor with the swim team video, and she’d paid me back by helping Darnell and I cook, but that was about it. “Trust me, she’d prefer someone else.”

“Actually, I think I’ll trust Christy. I asked her who she wanted to come tomorrow, and she chose you.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Cause I…”

“Cause you’re not Mr. Cool? Come on, Kelvin, grow up. Think about what Christy’s just been through.”

The initial shock wore off, and it all made sense. I was the one who always gave without looking for anything in return. Even when I asked Christy for help, it wasn’t for me, it was for Darnell. Visiting her would mean ditching school, something I never did, but I couldn’t refuse, not to someone in her condition. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“I’ll text you her address. Be there by eight in the morning so her mom can let you in before she goes to work.”

* * *

Mrs. Mendez opened the door immediately after I knocked. All teary-eyed, she wrapped me in a tight hug and said, “Gracias divino, gracias.” She pointed me toward Christy’s bedroom, then slipped past me to get into her car. The house was barely a quarter the size of my own, colorfully decorated, and immaculately clean. I knocked on Christy’s door, and she called out, “Who is it?”

“The White Gringo.”

“Come on in, Kelvin.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I entered a girl’s bedroom, not counting my sister’s. I was expecting a lot more pink. Also absent was any sign of stuffed animals or lace. Instead, I saw turquoise walls adorned with posters of the US Swim team, Shakira, and a curly-haired Latin singer the poster announced was Carlos Vives.

Christy lay in her bed looking even worse than she had at the funeral—her many bruises having turned a greenish-purple. “So glad you’re here,” she said. “You’re just in time for my sponge bath.”

“Uhhh…” was all I managed to say.

“Oh, sit down, I’m just kidding. Man, you blush easily.”

I plopped down on a green pouf on the floor and realized I was going to be here all day yet didn’t know what to say for even the first minute. “So… how are you feeling?”

“Never been better.”

I had taken Christy’s joke about the sponge bath as an indication she was in high spirits, but I’d misread her completely.

“What did our venerable teacher say about me and the accident?”

“He said we shouldn’t talk about you without you in the room.”

“I bet he thinks I screwed up. I did, didn’t I?”

That was an understatement. But how could I say that?

“Come on, Kelvin. Say something.”

I started untying my laces, mainly to buy time to think of a response. Yet, by the time my shoes were off, I’d gotten no further. She no longer wore that smile that welcomed me into the room. Her eyes were bloodshot and sagging, her