As my eyes adjust to the darkness inside, I find Mrs. Pembrooke waiting for me at the circular desk in the center of the room.
Her eyes widen when she sees my disheveled look. “What on earth happened to you?”
“A run in with a football player,” I reply with a wince, setting my backpack under the desk. I grab a tissue and carefully try to wipe the dirt from my scraped palm. “Sorry I’m late.”
In response, she jerks open a drawer and pulls out the first aid kit. “Go to the bathroom and clean up. I’ll man the desk until you return.” With a frown, she turns to the girl hovering at the counter. “How can I help you?”
While the girl stammers out her reply, I take the kit and make my way to the bathroom.
Lexie, another graduate student, sidles up to me along the way. “Good thing you look so bad. She was livid you were late again.”
“I’m sure. If she would just let me shift my hours by thirty minutes, I’d never be late,” I grumble, pushing open the door to the restroom. “I didn’t even get coffee today. My advisor held a mandatory meeting for all the DPT graduate students. It’s not like I could skip it.”
Lexie gives me a commiserating nod and walks away. “I hear you. I’d better get these books shelved before she hunts me down.”
Thank goodness this is my last semester on campus. The DPT, or Doctorate of Physical Therapy, program is no joke with its mixture of classwork and clinical rotations. Between this job, the tutoring, and sheer number of class hours I’m taking in order to finish early, I’m stretched to the max. But I keep reminding myself how close I am to finishing. The only thing I have next semester is a clinical rotation. Then I’m done.
Weary, I turn on the cold water and thrust my hand under it. Gritting my teeth, I clean out the debris and smear some antibiotic ointment on it, then stick a couple of Band-Aids across the wound. Finished, I turn my attention to the rest of me. The gruesome vision in the mirror has me twisting my lips. Tired forest-green eyes surrounded by pale dirt-smudged skin is only the beginning of the hot mess. My long, dirty blond hair is plastered to my sweaty face and full of dirt and grass. Without a brush, I finger comb through it, pick out the remaining green blades, and clean the dirtiest strands. Once done, I wash my face and arms. That’s the best I can do for now.
Turning around, I glance over my shoulder and into the mirror behind me to see if there’s anything on my backside. My tank top was pretty much covered by my other shirt, so it looks good, but my jeans are streaked with dark green and brown stains. Wrinkling my nose, I decide to wrap my torn shirt around my waist when I get back to the desk.
Picking up the kit, I return to find Lexie standing at the circular desk with a flower in one hand and a note in the other. She thrusts them at me.
“You didn’t tell me you ran into Trent Hightower,” she squeals. “Literally.”
I look down at the recently picked pink rose and note. “I’m guessing this is from him?” When she nods, I open the folded paper.
Sorry I hit you! I hope you’re not hurt too bad. Coffee sometime? 615-999-5555.
“That was sweet of him,” I murmur, unsure how to respond. He’s a senior in college, but still three years behind me. I fold the note and slip it into the backpack at my feet. “Do we have a vase?”
Lexie blinks. “Is that it? The best-looking guy on campus asks you out, and all you can do is ask for a vase?” She rolls her eyes and grabs a paper cup. “Put it in here.” When I drop it in, she grabs a water bottle and pours some water in it. “Well?”
“It’s not a date. He’s just trying to apologize for running into me,” I tell her. “It’s fine. It was an accident. No need to ask me out for coffee.”
She gives a sad shake of her head. “I don’t get you. Trent Hightower doesn’t have to ask girls to go anywhere. They practically beg him. If it was me, I would jump on that so fast.”
Ignoring her, I reach down and pull my ragged shirt out of my backpack, then flip it inside out and tie it around my waist. That will have to do until I get home. Mrs. Pembrooke swings by the desk, nods her approval, then gives Lexie a pointed stare.
Lexie sighs and grabs the stack of books waiting to be shelved off the counter. After she leaves, Mrs. Pembrooke walks off.
Sitting down, I stuff the first aid kit back in the drawer and start checking in the books on the return cart. Getting coffee with Trent will only make things worse. I just want to forget the embarrassing incident, and I’m sure he does too.
Several students come up to the desk, asking for various books, and after answering their questions, I continue the rest of the monotonous tasks until the students working the evening shift come in, then I grab my stuff. At the last second, I pick up the paper cup with the rose in it. Inhaling its sweet fragrance, I smile. The rose is beautiful, and it’s not as if someone gives me flowers every day. I try to think of the last time I received some and realize it was my sixteenth birthday. The day of the crash. My smile dims, and I head out.
It doesn’t take me long to get from campus to my little studio apartment above the garage. I walk up the steps and into the small, tidy interior. After dropping the backpack on a hook by the door, I set the cup with the flower in it on my coffee table and plop down on the couch. Thirty minutes of rest. That’s all I need, then I can get up and throw something together for tonight.
What a crazy day. I shift and wince at my sore muscles. I’ll definitely need a hot shower before bed. Although, it wasn’t all bad. Trent’s brown eyes flash in my mind, but I shove the image away and focus on the news I got this morning.
My DPT advisor gave his graduate students their final semester assignments for clinical rotations, and I’m so excited. I’ll be working at the children’s hospital, focusing on neurological rehabilitation, which is exactly what I want to do when I graduate. It’s the whole reason I decided to become a physical therapist. To help kids get the help they need to live functional lives. Like my physical therapist, Kyle, did for me.
CHAPTER2
WILLA
My cell rings, startling me, and Lionel’s smiling face pops up on the screen. I glance at the clock and realize it’s almost seven. My thirty minutes stretched into an hour.
Tired, my voice is rough when I answer. “Hi. Let me change clothes and grab the salad. Five minutes.”
