How We Roll Read online

  “I’m really sorry, Carmen,” Quinn said. “I know what it’s like … well, not the ‘good to go’ part, but the rest of it.”

  Lissa and Ivy peeled themselves off Carmen. Now everyone was looking at Quinn.

  For a moment, she hesitated. She wanted to tell the story, to make Carmen feel better, but she wasn’t ready to tell the whole thing. So she settled on a version of the truth. “Last year, back in Boulder? I was at this Valentine’s party, and we were playing Seven Minutes in Heaven. You know that game?”

  Three heads nodded.

  “I went in the bathroom with this kid Ethan, and basically nothing happened. I mean he tried, but I wouldn’t let him. He was being kind of … you know … handsy. So I told him to back off. But then, when we came out of the bathroom, he told everyone at the party I did something I didn’t do.”

  “What?” Ivy said.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes,” Carmen said, sitting up straight. “We do.”

  “Involving my mouth and his … you know.”

  “Ew,” Lissa said.

  “I know.”

  “You didn’t, right?” Ivy said.

  “I didn’t,” Quinn said. “And I told everyone at the party I didn’t. I said Ethan was lying. But it didn’t matter because no one believed me. They all believed him.”

  “That’s awful,” Ivy said.

  “It was. It ruined my whole year.” Quinn turned to Carmen. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make this about me. Just … you’re not alone, okay?”

  Carmen nodded, wiping her nose on a crumpled-up paper towel she’d been holding in her lap. “Thanks, Quinn. I appreciate that.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Suddenly, the door to the locker room opened and one of the Emmas poked her head in. “Fenner told me to come get you guys. He said, and I quote, ‘I’m in the mood to give out some detentions.’”

  “Tell him Lissa’s having a female emergency,” Ivy said. “Tell him she can’t find a tampon and she’s wearing white jeans.”

  “Me?” Lissa pointed to her chest. “Why me?”

  “Because you nevah have a tampon when you need one. You’re always stealing mine. And you’re wearing white jeans.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You’re saying your jeans aren’t white?”

  “No, my jeans are white, but I don’t—”

  “You guys,” Carmen said, cutting them off. “I’m fine now. You can go back to gym.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Ivy said. To Emma, who was standing uncertainly in the doorway, Ivy said, “I’m serious. Tell him we’re searching for tampons, and if he wants to give out detention to someone for being a good friend, then he can give it to all of us.”

  *   *   *

  When Nick didn’t show up to study hall, Quinn sent him a text. Where r u? I’m starting to think ur avoiding me, LOL.

  It took a few minutes, but Nick texted back. PT appt went long.

  Quinn: Everything ok?

  Nick: Yeah. Out to lunch w/ my mom. Chili’s.

  Quinn: Cool.

  A minute passed, and then Nick texted again. This time it was a picture, dark and kind of blurry. Look what I’m wearing.

  Quinn squinted at her screen. Squinted and squinted, and then it hit her. OMG, she texted. The oompa-loompas r out to lunch?

  Nick: Not by choice. It’s PT homework.

  Quinn: How do u feel???

  Nick: Idk yet.

  Quinn: Not to sound cheesy but I’m proud of u.

  Nick: Thx. Gtg. My mom hates texting @ the table.

  Quinn: Mine too. Ttyl?

  Nick: ☺

  CHAPTER

  14

  THE FIRST CHANCE QUINN GOT, she went on her dad’s computer and searched “double leg amputation.” After she discovered the correct medical term, she searched “bilateral transfemoral amputation.”

  She found articles, blogs, photo galleries, Facebook pages, and Twitter feeds. She learned that most new amputees are overwhelmed by how difficult it is to learn to walk on prostheses. She learned that achieving stability and balance is particularly challenging, and that, even after months of hard work and physical therapy, patients can lose hope that they will ever be able to walk again. She learned that many of them, like Nick, default to wheelchair use just because it’s easier. She learned that the legs Nick had left were called residual limbs. She learned that those white stocking thingies he wore were called stump socks. She learned that there was a whole “stump care regimen” that Nick had to follow so his skin wouldn’t break down. She learned that the metal legs she’d seen him using at the Shoreline North Medical Center were called short prosthetics with training feet. She learned that finding a comfortable sleep position is nearly impossible. Nick couldn’t sleep with his residual limbs resting on a pillow because this would shorten his hip flexors. Nick couldn’t sleep with a pillow between his legs because this would lengthen the inner thigh muscles that kept his legs together and shorten the outer thigh muscles that kept his legs apart, both of which would make walking even more difficult. She learned—and this was the worst thing of all—that Nick could still feel pain in his feet and calves and knees, even though they were gone. Phantom pain, it was called.

  Quinn didn’t know what to do with any of this information. So she just sat there, staring at the computer, letting it all sink in.

  “Q?”

  Quinn jolted in the chair. “You scared me!”

  “Sorry,” her mom said. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just have to grab some paper.” She reached past Quinn to a stack on the desk. “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing.”

  Quinn tried to cover the screen, but Mo was already leaning in. “‘Spouses, family members, and friends play a significant role in helping the amputee adjust to the disability—’”

  “Mom,” Quinn said. “Come on.”

  “Are you searching for ways to help Nick?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Quinn felt her face go warm.

  “Honey, that is so … I am so proud to have you for a daughter. Do I tell you that enough? How proud I am?”

  Quinn rolled her eyes. “Mom. Relax.”

  “I’m just saying … Nick’s lucky to have you for a friend.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Would you like to have him over for dinner some night this week? I could make lasagna.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Well,” her mom said. “Think about it. He’s welcome anytime.”

  *   *   *

  When Quinn came downstairs later, there was a big glass jar of M&M’s on the kitchen counter.

  “What’s this?” she said.

  “That,” Mo said, looking up from the onions she was chopping, “is a behavioral incentive for Julius. When he meets one of his goals, he gets a reward.”

  “Candy?”

  “Sometimes candy, sometimes a nonfood incentive like extra TV time or a trip to the bookstore.”

  “So basically you’re bribing him.”

  “We’re not bribing him,” Mo said, sweeping the onions into a pot. “We’re offering him positive reinforcement.”

  “I thought Julius wasn’t supposed to eat sugar. Or Red 40.”

  “He shouldn’t have a lot of it, but a little—”

  “Those were my concerns, too,” Quinn’s dad said, strolling into the kitchen with a carrot in his hand. He planted a kiss on top of Quinn’s head, tickling her scalp with his beard. “Salve, filia.”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “If either of you has a better idea,” Mo said, turning on the stove, “have at it. But I’m the one going to Julius’s team meetings at the Cove. I’m the one talking with his teachers on a daily basis. I’m the one—”

  “M&M’s, Mo,” Julius said, shuffling into the kitchen with one hand in the air. “M&M’s Monday.”

  “That’s right, bud,” Quinn’s mom said, turning around
and wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Today is Monday. And those are M&M’s in that jar. After you wash up for dinner, you may have an M&M.”

  Quinn’s dad opened his mouth to say something, but Mo stopped him. “Phil,” she said. “Don’t. You haven’t been to a single one of his meetings. Until you do, just … don’t.”

  “I have a job, Maureen. A job that allows Julius to go to that school and you to go to those meetings. If I don’t show up for my job—”

  “Too loud,” Julius said, clapping his hands over his ears. “Too loud, Phil.”

  “Phil,” Quinn’s mom said quietly, shooting him a look.

  Quinn’s dad opened his mouth again. This time he took a bite of carrot.

  *   *   *

  Does ur dad ever take u to PT? Quinn sent the text to Nick and then she pulled down the shades in her room. She turned out the lights. She sat on her bed and, inch by inch, she ran her fingers over her scalp. Anything there? No. Anything there? No. Anything there—

  Her phone pinged.

  Nick: Where did that come from?

  Quinn: Sorry. Weird night here. Parents arguing abt whose job it is to take Julius to his appts.

  Nick: Drop and give me 10.

  He had her. She got down on the rug and banged out ten push-ups in the dark. Then she hopped back on her bed and texted, Bam.

  Nick: My dad never takes me to PT. Just my mom.

  Quinn: Y?

  Nick: Not his thing.

  Quinn: What’s not?

  Nick: IDK. Hospitals. Weakness.

  Quinn: Ur not weak.

  Nick: Wtv.

  Quinn: Ur not. What ur going thru, learning to walk agn. That takes srs strength.

  Nick texted a string of emojis she didn’t recognize.

  Quinn: What r those?

  Nick: Cheeseballs. B/c ur being a cheeseball.

  Quinn: Speaking of cheese, my mom wants to know if u want to come over for lasagna.

  Nick: When?

  Quinn: Whenev. Some night this wk.

  Nick: OK.

  Quinn scrolled back through their old texts until she found the photo Nick had sent earlier, of his Oompa-Loompa legs under the table at Chilis. She retexted the photo with a new comment. These guys r invited too.

  Nick didn’t respond right away, making Quinn wonder if she’d made a mistake. But finally her phone pinged. I’ll think abt it.

  She texted back three smiley faces, which may have been overkill, but she didn’t care.

  CHAPTER

  15

  ON TUESDAY MORNING, MO WAS STANDING at the kitchen counter. Just standing there, staring out the window at the backyard. She was wearing her flannel PJ bottoms and a green silky blouse.

  Quinn stopped in the doorway. “Mom?”

  Mo turned around. She was wearing one gold hoop earring. There was toothpaste in the corner of her mouth. “Hi.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Mo squeezed her eyes shut for a second. When she opened them she said, “Did you hear the phone ring in the middle of the night?”

  “No. Why?”

  “It was Grandma Gigi’s nursing home. She fell on her way to the bathroom and broke her hip.”

  “Oh my God.” Quinn felt her eyes prickle.

  “She’ll be okay. She’s scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning. I need to fly to Phoenix for a few days.”

  “Okay.” Quinn nodded slowly, processing. “Are you bringing Julius?”

  “I have to.”

  “Right.” Quinn couldn’t picture Julius without Mo, even for twenty-four hours. Had she ever gone away? Quinn couldn’t remember a time.

  “But Julius in an airport?” Mo shook her head. “Julius on a plane all the way to Arizona?”

  “Right,” Quinn said. She pictured Julius melting down at 35,000 feet. She pictured mini bags of pretzels flying.

  “He needs his routine,” Mo said. “He’s just beginning to feel settled here. This is just … horrible timing.”

  There were sounds from upstairs. Footsteps. The low rumble of voices. Now would have been a good opportunity for Quinn to say, Don’t worry about Julius, Mom. He can stay. Dad and I know what to do. But she couldn’t make the words come out.

  “What about Uncle Andrew?” Quinn said. Uncle Andrew was Mo’s younger brother. They never saw him.

  “He’s in Australia.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since he took a teaching position at University of Sydney.”

  “Okay…,” Quinn said. Nobody ever told her anything. That much was clear.

  “I’ve been making lists.” Quinn’s mom shuffled some papers on the counter. “School times. Meals and snacks. Transitional aids. Positive reinforcements. Phone numbers for all of his teachers and therapists—”

  “Wait—so you’re not bringing Julius?”

  “Yes,” her mom said. “No.” She shook her head so the single gold hoop earring swung. “I don’t know.”

  Quinn thought: My mother is having a breakdown.

  Quinn thought: I need to say something.

  “Mom. It’ll be okay.”

  “Will it?”

  “Yes,” Quinn said. Then, “Geege needs you right now.”

  “I know.”

  “If you bring Julius, you won’t really be there for her.”

  Quinn’s mom huffed out a breath. “I know.”

  “Leave him here,” Quinn said. “He’ll be fine. We know what to do.”

  Mo smiled a little. “That’s just what your father said.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  There was no reason to assume that Quinn and her dad couldn’t handle the job. They’d known Julius as long as Mo had.

  “Listen,” Quinn said. From upstairs came Phil’s deep voice singing. You put your right foot in, you put your left foot in. “Julius is putting on his pants. And when he comes downstairs, I will make him breakfast tacos. Because it’s Tuesday.” Breakfast tacos weren’t hard to make. They were just scrambled eggs and bacon wrapped in little tortilla sleeping bags. “Okay?”

  Quinn’s mom nodded. “Okay.”

  “Why don’t you go put on some pants?”

  Mo looked at her PJ bottoms.

  “And your other earring.”

  Mo reached up to touch her empty earlobe. “Yes.” She started to walk out of the kitchen. Then she stopped in the doorway and turned around. “You and Dad can call me anytime, you know, with questions. You just won’t be able to reach me when I’m on the plane.” She frowned. “Maybe not at the hospital, either. In certain rooms they make you turn off your cell because the signal interferes with the medical equipment … but you can always leave me a message and I’ll call you right back.”

  “Mom. We’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Quinn wasn’t sure, but she nodded. “Yes.”

  Mo took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. “Thank you, honey.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  *   *   *

  Quinn let her parents drive her to school. This seemed to be what Quinn’s mom needed before she went to the airport. “I want to see you off properly,” Mo said, which didn’t sound like her. See you off properly? Since when had their family done anything properly? When Quinn thought of proper, she thought of Queen Elizabeth serving crumpets from a silver-plated tea service, not Phil riding shotgun with his white-framed sunglasses from the 1980s or Mo with her messy ponytail and crooked red lipstick, shooting manic smiles in the rearview mirror. Quinn’s mom never wore lipstick. Quinn had no idea why she was wearing it now.

  “This is going to be an adventure,” Mo said, for the fourth or fifth time. “Right, bud?”

  Julius wasn’t even listening. He had his headphones on. He was muttering to himself and staring out the window.

  Quinn wanted to tell her mother to relax. She wanted to say, He’s fine. See? He doesn’t need you as much as you think he does. But Quinn didn’t want to say anything that would make her mo
m act any crazier than she already was.

  *   *   *

  “You can still come over,” Quinn told Nick in study hall, after she’d explained about Grandma Gigi. “My mom just won’t be there, so … you know … no lasagna. But we could still hang out.”

  “Okay.”

  “My dad won’t get home from picking up Julius until at least four o’clock … just for timing purposes, with the stairs, if you need help.”

  “Okay.”

  “If your dad drops you off, probably the two of us could do it. Or your mom. She’s used to lifting your chair, right?”

  “Quinn,” Nick said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut up.”

  Quinn nodded. “Right.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “Okay … are you still coming over?”

  “Yes, weirdo,” Nick said. “I’m still coming over.”

  *   *   *

  When Nick’s car pulled into Quinn’s driveway, Quinn was already there, working on some of her skateboarding tricks. The ollie, the nollie, the no comply, and this new one she’d been trying to master called the disco flip, where you ollie and pop and kick the front foot for the heelflip. Then you turn your shoulders backside while you make the flip and continue to rotate your body. You only need to rotate ninety degrees, and you can throw your feet on the board in reverse, catch it, and roll away. Quinn was doing the roll-away when she saw Nick’s car pull in. She hopped off her board and waved.

  When Quinn saw Nick get out of the passenger seat on his short metal legs, she tried not to smile. She made her face completely neutral as she walked over.

  “Hi, Mrs. Strout,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Quinn.”

  Nick’s mom had dark, wavy hair and a square jaw like Tommy’s. She was shorter than Quinn by a few inches, and her hands were small, but her grip was strong. “Nice to meet you, Quinn.”

  “You, too.”

  “Wow. You can really skateboard.”

  “Thanks.” Quinn smiled. Then she turned to Nick. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he said gruffly. He didn’t meet Quinn’s eye. She wanted to tell him not to feel self-conscious. She didn’t care how short his legs were.

  “Nicky,” his mom said. “Do you want some help getting up those stairs?”