An hour after Aimee fell dormant, her parents returned home. As they climbed out of their car, they each carried shopping bags into the house. Clifford pushed the front door handle down with his elbow and it gave way. All he could hear was Molly yelling at him for not locking the door, but she ceased before it turned into an argument. They walked inside and unpacked the groceries in the kitchen.

Clifford became aware that Aimee was not around. He looked for her upstairs and called her name a few times before reaching her bedroom door. There she was, lying safe and sound on her bed.

"Sleep tight, angel," he whispered as he closed her door and went back to his wife.

By quarter past seven, Molly was preparing macaroni and cheese for the three of them. Every now and then, while standing at the stove, she would call Clifford over and ask him to bring her the ingredients she needed from the cupboard or the cabinets. When supper was ready, Clifford went upstairs to bring Aimee to dinner. Her eyes opened slowly.

"Hey, Dad," she smiled.

"Dad... I like the sound of that." he replied. "Supper's ready Aim, you'd better get downstairs before Molly comes looking for you."

"We don't want that," laughed Aimee.

"No we don't, so come on," he gestured.

"I'll be right down," she yawned.

As soon as Clifford left the room, Aimee took the pillow off her arm, stood up, walked passed her mirror and swung her wardrobe doors wide open. In between her pyjamas and summer dress hung a brown, hooded, cotton jacket.

Aimee slipped her arms through the sleeves before realising they were too short to cover her cast. She looked at her homework desk and spotted a pair of short red gloves. She picked them up and slid her right hand in the right glove. Before she could put the other glove on, Molly walked into the room.

"Aimee, what are you doing?" she queried. "I already dished your food onto your plate."

"Nothing, I'm coming," sputtered Aimee.

She stuck her hand into her glove. Molly wondered why Aimee was wearing gloves on such a warm evening, but tried not to ask. The two of them walked down to the dinner table. Once they were all seated, Molly blessed the food and they could eat.

When they were done, Aimee proceeded to take everyone's plates and pack them into the dishwasher. They were all satisfied with the meal, or so they thought. Aimee had wished her parents goodnight and headed upstairs to wash up in the bathroom and get dressed for bed. She walked past the toilet, glimpsed at it. Aimee felt her stomach grumble suddenly. She rushed to the toilet, knelt down, holding her hair back, and threw up. She was not the only one who felt sick. Aimee rinsed up and as soon as she lay in bed, she heard Clifford and Molly vomit too. Aimee was certainly disgusted. She shook her head as it lay on her pillow.

"Only Molly's cooking," she said.

When Aimee woke up the next morning she was feeling much better. Once again she was the first one awake. She poured herself a bowl of cereal and took a shower. She put on the summer dress she saw in her wardrobe the previous night. It was bright pink, short and frilly at the bottom.

Aimee took off her cast and threw it onto her bed. She was checking herself out in the mirror when Clifford and Molly entered the room, wearing their pyjamas. They were astonished to see her in a dress.

"Aimee, you look beautiful," cried Molly. "How long has it been since you wore that dress?"

"Last year... when you bought it," shied Aimee.

"My little tomboy," praised Clifford. "Ow!"

Molly nudged his arm.

"You look beautiful, and look at those legs!" she gasped.

Molly hugged Aimee tightly as her cheeks turned red. She stared at Aimee in the mirror, almost in tears – happy tears. Molly was so glad to see her daughter dressed like a young lady. It was a sweet moment. Clifford joined the two, but soon they snapped out of it; they were going to be late for work and school.

Clifford hopped into the shower while Molly helped Aimee pick out the perfect shoes to flatter her dress.

"What are these called again?" questioned Molly, while holding up a pair of silver shoes.

"They're gladiators, Moll," responded Aimee.

"Alligators, right," mixed Molly. "They're gonna look amazing with your dress."

Aimee chuckled at her Molly's mistake and watched her walk out of the room. Aimee caught sight of her cast on her bed. She was so relieved they had not seen it – or her lightly bruised wrist. She tossed it into her backpack on the floor and zipped the bag closed. She bent down, pulling her gladiators towards herself, and sat on her bed to fit them on.

It was weird to be wearing shoes that showed her feet off so much; Aimee was comfortable with sneakers. These shoes were one of her older possessions, but to her surprise they were a perfect fit.

Another day of school and the Griffiths arrived as early as usual. Aimee waved her parents goodbye and walked to her locker. She unlocked its door, flung her bag inside, and picked out her books. When she shut the door, Emma was standing behind it, startling Aimee with her presence.

"Heya!" she greeted. "Nice shoes, new?"

"Actually no," she smiled, catching her breath and looking at her feet.

"Well they totally work with your outfit," stated Emma. "Where's your cast?"

"Oh yeah," blushed Aimee. She reopened her locker and grabbed her cast from her bag. "Wanna sign it?" she asked Emma.

"Of course!" she exclaimed. Emma took a pen out from her pocket. "You're hiding it from your parents?"

"Not hiding, figuring out how I'm gonna tell them," she said. "I'll make something up. I told them that we were at soccer practice the whole day yesterday."

Emma was concerned, but did not say anything. The two strolled across the school grounds, waiting for the bell. Everyone they passed stared at Aimee's cast and made comments. They greeted her and Emma with a smile and then said things like:

"Whoa, Aimee did that save on Saturday mess up your hand?" guessed another boy.

"Hey, Tony," she replied. "No, this isn't from Saturday, but thanks for watching the game," Aimee wore a shy smile.

As she and Emma walked onward, they approached the cheerleading squad.

"Aimee, great game, sorry about your hand though," said one girl.

"What happened?" asked another.

"People say that you got it stuck in your locker door after school yesterday," mentioned Kirsten Matteson.

"Ohm, that's not what happened exactly," responded Aimee. "Thanks for the support at the game, gotta go."

Emma and Aimee rushed along, waved at the cheerleaders and faked their smiles. They headed for their first class; consumer studies. For the whole school day, the girls were ear-in on the gossip about Aimee's cast. It was spreading around the school like a plague. She was the talk of the whole school. She usually was, but it was somehow different this time. At the end of the last lesson, Emma and Aimee met up with Coach Kirkwood on the quad.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he greeted.

"Good afternoon, Coach Kirkwood," they chorused.

"Emma, I'd like to talk to Aimee alone, please?" he requested.

Emma nodded, hugged her friend goodbye and left. Liam could see that Aimee was feeling a little nervous.

"I'm not mad about yesterday," he stated. "I don't want you to get into trouble with your parents and I'm glad I could help. But Aimee, you need to learn how to take responsibility for your actions, especially if you want to keep your position in the team."

"I can be responsible," mumbled Aimee.

"I know you can be, you just need to remember to be," he sighed. "Your peers will depend on you to be honest with them."

He left her slowly, with his hands in his coat pockets. Aimee stood still on the quad for a moment. She looked at her cast, and then to her other hand and noticed the time. Clifford should be waiting for her. She reached the parking lot and passed the tree where Stefan parked his bike on Monday. Aimee was conscious of the fact that Stefan was an absentee. She knew that he said he would spend the night at the hospital, but she could not stop wondering whether he was alright.