Crazy For You Alexander, S.B. (ebook reader 8 inch .TXT) 📖

into that category, even though I might be tempted, given the way my belly was doing somersaults.

Nevertheless, I lifted my chin, mentally giving myself a high five for not caving. But the day was still young.

4

I flopped on the bed, relieved that my first day of school was over. After I’d left Colton standing dumbfounded in the hall, I’d had a stomachache for like an hour, analyzing our exchange as if I was figuring out a complicated calculus problem.

The questions I’d formed as he drank me in had plagued me all day. Not only that, but I kicked myself for saying “have a good rest of your day.” I sounded like… I didn’t know.

Georgia and Mia had given me their two cents.

“He likes you,” Georgia had said.

“I agree, but you should test our theory,” Mia had added. “I think you should wear a sexy outfit like a miniskirt or a dress and do up your face.”

“You mean like Amanda?” I’d asked. The girl was a clothes whore, and I didn’t have the money nor the interest for wearing skirts or dresses. My shorts, tank tops, T-shirts, and Vans were it for me. The last time I’d worn a dress was to Mom’s funeral.

Nan poked her head in, severing my thoughts. “Your dad’s awake now if you want to see him.”

I lifted up to rest on my elbows. “I need to use the bathroom first.” I’d checked on Dad when I’d gotten home, and he’d been fast asleep. He didn’t spend much time in his wheelchair anymore. I imagined that before long, he would be in his bed twenty-four-seven.

She stepped deeper into my room, glancing around as she fiddled with some of the wispy brown strands that had fallen out of her hair clip.

My room wasn’t as cluttered with dirty clothes as it used to be. Since Nan moved in, I’d done a better job at picking up after myself. As part of her caregiving role, she did laundry for us twice a week.

She swung her gaze from my desk, which held a stack of my math and English books, to me before she sat on the edge of my bed.

I adjusted myself, hugging my knees to my chest.

Her gaze flicked to my elbow. “What happened?” She sounded deeply concerned, which only served to poke an old wound.

Mom had been just like her, always doting on me or afraid of me getting hurt when she would take me to the park. Mom hated when I went too high on the swings. “Skyler Lawson, you’re going to get hurt,” she would say.

I’d always giggled. “But Mom, it’s so much fun.”

I covered my elbow with my hand. “Fell off my board. It’s fine.”

“You’re going to break a limb one day,” she said.

“Possible. But it comes with the sport.”

She mashed her lips into a thin line. “Do you wear a helmet?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes.” I wasn’t a fan. Dad had ordered me to wear one several times, but it was too confining.

“You should all the time. Can I see? I want to make sure it’s clean.”

I scooted closer to her. “The school nurse took care of me.” But now that I wasn’t obsessing over Colton, a smidge of pain registered.

Gently removing the Band-Aid, she felt along the bone. “It’s swollen but doesn’t seem broken. Does it hurt?”

Nan was super caring and treated me like I was her daughter. She didn’t have any kids. When Dad had interviewed her, she’d told us her patients were her children. Then she’d laughed.

I didn’t doubt it. She had her hands full with Dad. I helped any chance I could. There were some hygiene tasks that Dad refused to let me do. Still, the lift system over Dad’s bed had been the best thing ever. Nan raved about it every time she got Dad ready in the mornings.

“Just a tad. Nan, please don’t tell Dad.”

She gently placed the bandage on. “He’s going to notice.”

She was right. Dad had a keen eye for everything. I made a mental note to swap out the large bandage for a small one before I went in to see him. “I don’t want him to stress.”

“Skye, he worries about you regardless.”

“I know. I hate to add one more thing to his plate. Any new developments with Dad?” It seemed like ALS sapped his physical abilities further and further every day.

“He’s just sleeping a lot more,” she whispered as if trying to keep her emotions tucked away.

“You care for him?” It wasn’t really a question. It wasn’t hard to see that Nan had developed feelings for Dad, and in part for me too.

She gave me a sad smile. “He’s a wonderful man. I wish I would’ve known him before his ALS.”

I grumbled. “ALS sucks the big one. Why can’t they find a cure?” It was a rhetorical question. According to Dad’s neurologist, the medical industry was studying and trialing different drugs. However, expecting a miracle was a tall order. For the time being, Dad was on special meds to slow the progression, which in my book wasn’t doing crap. His journey with ALS was on a bullet train, even with medication.

“Maybe one day they will,” she said.

I didn’t want to be Debbie Downer, but I knew they wouldn’t in Dad’s lifetime. The average life span for a person with ALS was three to five years. But every person’s journey was different. Case in point: Lou Gehrig barely made it to his second year, and others I’d read about died sooner than that.

Nan rubbed my arm. “I’m here for you, Skye.”

My eyes began to fill with angry tears. I didn’t think I could cry anymore. I’d bawled endlessly when Dad first told me he had ALS, and I hadn’t really stopped. Each day was a challenge to stay positive and not get so raging mad or depressed.

“What do you always say to your dad? No-Crying Monday or whatever day it is.” Her voice was light.

Excessive laughing and crying were symptoms of Bulbar ALS, which Dad had