Read Online Positively Beautiful by Wendy Mills - Free Book Online Page B

support.
    The flashlight falls from my fingers and goes out when it hits the ground.
    It’s dark. Pitch-dark.
    I try not to scream.
    Then I do.
    Even with my eyes squeezed shut, I can sense the flashlight beam sweep over me, then I hear footsteps.
    I stop screaming, but only because I’ve stuffed my fist in my mouth.
    â€œHey,” Michael says. “Hey, what’s up? Are you okay?”
    He crouches down near me, but not touching. I open my eyes, and I’m looking at an ant making its laborious way across a stretch of wall that must seem like a thousand miles to it. I stare at it, willing myself to calm down.
    â€œBreathe,” he says. “In and out.”
    I concentrate on breathing, in and out, and my heart begins to slow.
    Michael sits down on the step below me, stretching his legs out in front of him. He studies me in the gloom.
    â€œIt’s the dark?”
    I nod, just barely.
    He touches my hand lightly, a quick stroke of his fingers on my palm, and I somehow sense he gets it, what the dark feels like to me.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Chaz and Trina appear at the bottom of the stairs.
    â€œI thought she was right behind me, so I went on. I think she dropped the flashlight,” Michael says.
    â€œOh
no
.” Trina comes thundering up the stairs and kneels beside me, throwing her arms around me. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay.”
    I feel better, and stupid. I feel like a little kid, scared of the dark, but I’ve been like this since I was six. I sleep with the lights on, and even then it’s hard, because I know the darkness is pressing hungrily against the windows. I do a lot of reading at night. It gets me through.
    But this has never happened to me in front of other people, and my whole body is hot with embarrassment. I force myself to my feet, feeling Trina’s arm around me like a protective cloak.
    â€œI’m okay.” I try to laugh. Hollow and fake. “Sorry about that. I’m okay.”
    But I’m not. And I haven’t been for a long time.

Chapter Eleven
    â€œThis must really suck for you,” Mr. Jarad says.
    â€œUh … okay?” I say.
    â€œWow. Hey, are you into baseball at all?”
    I stare at him. My first session with the school counselor is not going at
all
the way I thought it would. I was expecting a woman in a sensible pantsuit and glasses taking lots of cryptic notes as she said profound things like,
And how did that make you feel?
Mr. Jarad, however, looks like he just came in from coaching football or baseball or something else sporty, and would rather have me do jumping jacks than talk.
    He reaches over, grabs a baseball, and swings his legs up onto the coffee table between us. He throws the ball up and down. I watch, fascinated.
    â€œNo? Not into baseball? Okay, this kid, fresh from the minors, comes up to the big leagues. And to teach him a lesson,the pitcher throws one at him. Hits him square in the arm. So the kid, he takes his walk to first, and then makes it all the way around to score one for the team. Then he passes out, because the ball shattered his elbow.”
    Mr. Jarad stares at me expectantly. “Uh … bummer?”
What a waste of freaking time
is what I’m thinking but I try to look interested. This is getting me out of trig and I promised Mom.
    â€œWhat I’m thinking is you might be feeling a little like that kid.” He tosses the baseball up and down, concentrating on it, not me. “Not a lot of time under your belt, and here comes this pitch out of nowhere that knocks you into next Wednesday. But you don’t have much choice, do you? You have to keep on going, even though you’re hurting bad inside.”
    He stops.
    I am quiet for a minute, and then the words spill out, like verbal vomit.
    â€œTomorrow is Mom’s appointment to find out how bad the cancer is. Mom won’t let me go with her to the appointment, and I don’t understand