Fragile Hearts (2 page)

I reach the gym without incident. I'm looking
forward to water aerobics with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Before the
accident I loved to swim. I'm relieved when the teacher says we won't get in
the water today. For the next hour I listen to the monotone voice of Mrs.
Metcalf as she outlines safety precautions and the semester's activities.

I leave the gym and easily locate Building G
following Tyce's instructions. The teacher is nice, just like he said, but it
doesn't change how much I hate the class. Speaking in front of people is
something I can't do. I'm going to flunk this class.

After we're dismissed, I'm emotionally exhausted.
I push the lever on my wheelchair and propel it as fast as it will go toward my
dorm. I'm on the ground floor in rooms specially designed for physically
challenged students. I still can't believe my parents are making me live on
campus. Our home's not that far away, and I thought I'd attend college via the
internet, like I did high school.

But then again, maybe I'm not surprised by my
parents' decision. A couple of years ago they told me I needed to become
independent of them. They made me get a driver's license after they had the family
van converted so I could drive it. I fought them tooth and nail not to get the
license, but they wouldn't back down. They said they won't always be around for
me.

After I got my license, I was glad. Once,
however, I deviated from my usual route to the grocery store and ended up on a
country road. It was in the spring and the desert was blooming. For a time I
just enjoyed how pretty everything was, but then I had to pull over because of
panic. The terrain had changed to farm land and the road suddenly reminded me
of the one the accident had happened on. After that, I never deviated from my
route again.

I'm relieved when I reach the entrance to my
dorm. I just want to disappear inside. I'm lucky because I don't have a
roommate. The counselor told me I might have to share the room if another physically
challenged girl enrolls and lives on campus. So far, there's only me and three
other girls. We each have our own room. The opposite side of the dorm is for
boys with challenges and there are six students there.

I unlock my door and wheel inside. My cell phone
vibrates and I reach in my pocket. It's my mom.

She always sounds cheerful. "Hi, honey. How
was your big day?"

"It was…long." I don't want to worry
her, so I say, "But I made it through and even met a girl in my psych
class who might become a friend."

I can hear the excitement in my mother's voice.
"Oh, Morgan, that makes me so happy. What's her name?"

I laugh and then tell her about Lucy Arnez. I
don't mention Tyce Brandon because I'll probably never talk to him again.

My mom wants to chat my ear off. She's only on the
other side of town, maybe fifteen miles, but it seems like thousands. I hope I
can adjust to being on my own. I know my parents are doing what's best, but I
still hate it.

Finally, I crash on my bed.

I
survive my first week of college and even feel a tinge of pride. By the third
week, I'm into the routine. Lucy makes me laugh more than I have in years.
She's a natural born comedian. Sometimes, in psych class, she mimics the popular
girls who are always whispering and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing
aloud.

I've
seen Tyce several times in the hallways. For the first few days, he was
standing outside my classroom and I wondered if he was waiting for me. Of
course, I know that's silly, but he was nice and joked with me and asked how
things were going. Every time we talk, however, he's interrupted by girls
saying hello. I don't like the looks they give me, so I stopped coming to class
early. Once, Tyce stuck his head in the room and when he saw me, he waved. Tina
and her friends started whispering again.

I've
never had a boyfriend and I just turned twenty-one. My mom and dad and brothers
are always trying to build my self-confidence, but I guess I have a mental
block in that department. They tell me I'm pretty, but I know they're just
being nice. I'm average with a smattering of freckles. My eyes match my
brunette hair, which is thick and wavy and reaches just below my shoulders. I
guess my hair is exceptional, but everything else is plain. I don't have high
cheekbones or a cute nose or full lips, and that's okay. I was never vain about
my appearance, anyway. However, after the car accident that scarred one side of
my face, I got to where I hated being around people because of their stares.
Plastic surgery was performed a couple of years after the accident and it worked
miracles, but old habits die hard, and I'm still covering that side of my face
with my hand.

When
I was nineteen, my brother Nate tried to set me up on a double date with him
and his girlfriend. The guy was a computer geek and nice, and seemed to
genuinely like me, but I got so nervous I threw up in the restaurant's bathroom.

If
someone were to ask me if I'm happy with my life, I'd tell them I'm as happy as
I can be given I've lost a loved one and I'll never walk again. On the plus
side, I'm very thankful that I can dress myself and go to the bathroom without
assistance. My legs are skinny and I used to have a physical therapist come to
my house to exercise them. Now, I have a machine that I use at least every
other day to keep some tone in my muscles. There are lots of people in
wheelchairs who lead normal lives, marry, and have families, but I guess I
won't be one of them. My mom and dad tell me I'm too negative, but I can't seem
to help it. I've seen many counselors over the years that want to pry into my
head. I only allow them to go so far. They think I have amnesia from the night
my sister died. I let them believe that. But I really remember what happened.
It's not something I can talk about.

Surprisingly,
I enjoy most of my classes; except speech. No way am I getting up in front of everyone.
I'll just refuse and get expelled from that class.

My
favorite class is aquatics. I'm in a program specially designed for physically
challenged students. There are two teachers and several aides. Most of the
aides are students majoring in physical therapy. For some reason, I'm not
afraid of the water, probably because I used to swim so much as a kid. I feel
unshackled when I float. We get different aides every day and so far I've had both
guys and gals helping me. I'm not even upset when an aide touches me. Something
about the water makes me forget everything. I'm in line in my wheelchair waiting
for the lift with a couple of students in front of me. I can't wait to feel
free again in the water. Finally, I'm helped into the lift.

I
feel that strange charging of the atmosphere and glance toward the pool
entrance. Tyce just entered. He's wearing gray swim trunks that almost reach
his knees. My eyes widen. I don't want him to see me in a bathing suit. It's a
pretty blue, one-piece, but no matter how pretty the suit, it doesn't change
how I look. I shrink downward, hoping he won't see me.

His
eyes meet mine.

He
stops to talk with one of the coaches and then glances in my direction again. I
beg God to make him leave. He walks to stand beside me.

"Hello,
Morgan. Nice to see you."

I
don't say anything. My throat has closed up. All I can do is stare at my skinny
legs.

Tyce
sits on the side of the pool and slips into the water. The aide who was going
to assist me swims away when Tyce says something to him.

To
me, he says, "Are you ready to be lowered?"

My
heart is thumping so hard I can see my wrist pulsing. Somehow I manage to nod.

Tyce
motions to the assistant operating the lift. Slowly the machine sinks into the
water and I feel buoyant, especially with the floatie thing around my waist
that they always make us wear. Tyce says, "Ready to leave the lift?"

I
nod again and he slips his hands around my waist, gently pulling me forward. I
don't want to know the feeling of being so close to Tyce because I'll never
forget it. He says, "Put your hands on my shoulders."

I
refuse to touch him and instead wrap my arms around my stomach. I can't look him
in the eyes, so I study the snake on his left bicep. He also has a tat on his
right pec, an eagle.

He's
pulling me into deeper water. The lift is raised back up for another student. I
focus over Tyce's shoulder and watch my fellow students spread out across the
pool, but my gaze keeps wandering back to the eagle tattoo.

Tyce
says, "I got that tat when I was twenty. It's my favorite. The others…"
he gives a little shrug, "I was going through a bad time and they seemed
appropriate."

I
jerk my eyes away from the eagle and finally look him in the eyes. "What
are you doing here?" I sound rude, but I don't care. I don't want this man
messing up my time in the water. He makes me jittery. He makes me feel things I
don't want to feel.

He
studies my face. My heart starts racing even faster. He says, "The gym
teachers are often short-handed and I like to help out. My major is physical
therapy."

Before
I think, I reply, "Are you some kind of do-gooder? Helping gym teachers;
helping crippled girls."

He
narrows his eyes. "You've got a big chip on your shoulder."

Now
it's my turn to frown. "I don't like pity."

He
laughs softly. "Do you think I pity you?"

I
look away. "Yes."

We
reach the middle of the pool with the other students and the teacher calls
instructions, interrupting our conversation.

Tyce
steps away from me and I lay on my back, floating like Mrs. Metcalf wants. She
calls out that she wants us to quiet our minds.
Yeah. Right.
Like I can
quiet my mind with Tyce watching my every move.

After
floating, the teacher instructs us in exercises. The aides stand near their
assigned students waiting to offer assistance if needed. My hair is sopping and
some strands escape the big clip on top of my head and stream down my shoulders
and back.

Tyce
says, "Wait a minute." He unhooks the clip and all my hair falls
down. I want to yell at him not to touch me. He pulls my hair on top of my head
again and fastens the clip. I wonder if he's doing this just to see my
reaction. I start to shiver. He steps away and says, "Relax, Morgan. Now you
can swim without having to wipe hair out of your eyes."

Does
he expect me to be grateful?

By
the end of class, I'm getting tired and Tyce steps next to me. I just want this
lesson to be over. The teacher dismisses class and the aides help their respective
students back to the lift. Again, Tyce places his hands around my waist. While
we're waiting in line, he says, "Shall we finish our conversation?"

I
don't answer him because I don't want to finish anything.

He
says, "I don't pity you, but I think you pity yourself."

I
jerk my eyes to his and then revert to saying the word my parents hate.
"Whatever."

He
laughs and I notice that everyone, students and aides, are watching us.

It's
my turn to get in the chair and I wish I was invisible. Right now, I hate my
skinny legs and my facial scar. Tyce fastens me in and gives the signal for the
assistant to bring the lift up. The machine whirs and I place my hands on my
legs, trying to cover them. As soon as I'm out of the water an aide hands me a
towel and I quickly cover myself. Tyce pulls himself out of the water and I watch
him from lowered lashes.

He's
beautiful.

On Monday, I'm relieved when Tyce doesn't show
up at my aquatics class.

In speech class, Professor Wilkes gives an
assignment to write something funny from childhood. He says he's going to call
on students randomly throughout the semester to share their funny happening. I'll
probably throw up if he calls my name.

Friday arrives and I congratulate myself on
surviving another week of classes and not being called on by Professor Wilkes.
I hope he's forgotten I exist. As for Tyce, I've only seen him a few times
during the week. He's always polite and says hello.

I'm feeling pretty good about my first weeks of
college and looking forward to a marathon night of Nicholas Sparks' movies that
I brought with me from home. Before I reach my dorm, I see a familiar figure
leaning against the bricks at the entrance. I can barely breathe.

I slowly roll my wheelchair forward.

"Hi Morgan," Tyce calls cheerfully.

I don't beat around the bush. "What are you
doing here?"

"I've come to take you out for
coffee."

"I don't like coffee," I lie.

"Then you can order something else. Anyway,
I need to ask a favor."

Warily, I respond, "What kind of
favor?"

"You'll find out at the coffee shop. My
truck is over there." He points toward the curb and a shiny black
Silverado. "We can put your chair in the back and I'll lift you into the
cab."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I figured you'd say that, so I asked Lucy
to come along. She'll be here any minute."

My mouth drops and I hear, "Yoo-hoo, Morgan
and Tyce. Sorry I'm late."

I swivel my chair around to see Lucy rushing
toward us. She's wearing a bright multicolored floral peasant skirt and purple drawstring
blouse. The colors contrast with her red hair, making her the perfect
reincarnation of a flower child from the seventies.

 I know she likes Tyce. Maybe I can get them to
go without me. I look between the two of them. "Hey, you both go ahead. I
already have plans."

Tyce crosses his arms over his impressive chest.
"Got a hot date?"

He knows I don't. "None of your
business."

He laughs and looks to Lucy for support. Lucy
says, "Come on, Morgan. We'll have fun. I know your evening consists of videos.
You can always watch movies." She looks at Tyce and winks, then back at me.
"How often does a girl get to go out with Tyce Brandon?"

That does it. I don't like being the butt of
jokes. I start my wheelchair forward and Lucy jumps in front of me. "Hey,
I'm just kidding. Tyce told me what he wants to talk to you about. You really
need to hear him out."

Lucy almost sounds like she's pleading with me. I
know I'm being unreasonable and I don't want to lose Lucy as a friend, so I
reluctantly agree. "Okay, I guess. Give me a minute to drop my books in my
dorm."

"Great!" Lucy and Tyce say in unison.

Fifteen minutes later, Tyce is placing one arm
under my legs and another around my back, lifting me from my chair and into his
truck. He smells like mint. Now I'll always envision him when I eat mints, my
favorite candy.
Rats.

Lucy is already in the back of the king cab. She
and Tyce keep up a running conversation while he drives to the coffee shop.
I've passed by The Coffee Mug a few times, but never been inside. Tyce has to
park down the street because the place is so busy. The university is about five
miles away and I hope we don't run into fellow students. From what I hear, they
mostly party in the frat houses or some rich kid's mansion over the weekends.

Tyce removes my chair from the back of his
pickup as if it weighs nothing. He's wearing another T-shirt, a black one. He
doesn't wear tight ones like some guys showing off. Even so, his body is
gorgeous. Lucy says he's "eye-candy," and she's right about that. I
watch the snake on his forearm while he lifts me into my chair. He sees the
direction of my gaze and grins. I quickly look away, embarrassed yet again.

Inside The Coffee Mug, he points to a table in a
corner. "Why don't we sit there?"

Lucy says, "Looks good to me."

I shrug that it's fine with me, too.

Tyce moves some plastic chairs out of the way so
I can roll my wheelchair to the table. An older couple, being overly
conscientious, jump up and make a big deal about me rolling past them. I wish
people wouldn't do that.

Finally, we're seated at our table. Tyce hands
me a plastic, one page, menu. "Order whatever you want."

I really do love coffee, but now I can't order a
java drink because I told a lie about not liking it. I'd look like an idiot if
I did. "I'll have a strawberry/banana smoothie."

Tyce grins. "Are you sure you don't want a
Magic Mocha Java Frappe?"

Lucy says, "Oh, I'll have one of those."

I summon all of my willpower. "No. The
smoothie is what I want."

Tyce says, "Okay. I'll go order."

He leaves the table and Lucy leans toward me.
"My God, can you believe we're on a date with Mr. Hot Stuff."

"I am not on a date with him. I was coerced
into this."

She rolls her eyes. "Think whatever you
want, but this is really a new take on double-dates." She giggles and now I
roll
my
eyes.

Tyce returns and says they'll call his name when
our drinks are ready. I tap my fingers on the table, wondering what favor he
wants from me. He starts telling Lucy about his favorite
I Love Lucy
show and she disagrees with his choice, telling him about hers. They almost get
into an argument over it. I can't believe how silly they are.

The barista calls Tyce's name. He comes back
carrying a tray with our drinks. While we sip our concoctions, he and Lucy keep
playfully arguing while I'm still wondering about what he could possibly want
from me.

I'm almost finished with my smoothie when he
says, "Morgan, I do a lot of tutoring, both on campus and off. The favor I
need to ask is if you'll cover for me and tutor a ten year old girl in math
next Tuesday at four. She's got a high IQ and already beginning algebra. The
reason I'm asking is because I have a job interview that I don't want to miss.
Of course, I'll pay you the same fee I make."

Rather rudely, I ask, "Why don't you just
reschedule with her?"

"Because she has a test that Friday."

I study my empty glass. "Surely, you have friends
who can help you out."

"Yeah. That's why I'm asking you. I'm
hoping we can be friends."

"Maybe I'm lousy at mathematics."

"You're not. I already asked Lucy. She said
you whiz through all your classes."

Except speech.

When I don't reply, Lucy says, "Morgan, you
should do it. Staying in your dorm all the time has to be lonely. It'll do you
good to get out."

I want to tell her I don't appreciate the
lecture; I get enough of those from my parents.

Tyce says, "She's only three blocks from
campus in the historic section, so it will be easy for you to get there."

Lucy says, "I can drive you if you
want."

I ask her, "Why don't you do it?"

"Because my math sucks. I barely got a D in
basic arithmetic."

I glance at Tyce and his disappointed look makes
me feel guilty. A little voice in my head says, "It's only an hour. Why
are you being such a shit?"

Before I change my mind, I blurt, "Okay.
You've both made me feel so bad I'll do it."

Tyce smiles. His smiles always put butterflies
in my stomach. "That's my girl," he says.