- 1 year since accident -
- present time -

I looked in the mirror. I sighed. Nothing will ever make me beautiful. Mom tries--she really does. Clothes from H&M, makeup from Sephora, the newest shoes. But...it still won't change the fact that I was in an accident. It won't change the fact that both my legs are paralyzed. It won't change the fact that I'll never walk again.

"Emma, come eat your breakfast! We need to leave for school!" Dad yelled, from somewhere in the kitchen. I sighed once more. Then I used my strength to roll my wheelchair into the hallway.

"Emmy?" I heard my little sister, Jenny, ask. Ever since the accident a year ago, she's been quiet. I guess I was the only role model she had, and now I'm....now I'm no longer myself.

"Yes Jen Jen?" I gave her a small, tight smile, hoping she would notice that I wasn't in the mood to talk.

"....What happened?" I sighed again. This question always comes up, at least every other day. Nobody wants to tell a six year old that her sister was fingered and then drove into another car, drunk. Nobody wants to set that example.

"This is the new fashion. Everyone has a chair they can roll around," I heard myself say, not realizing the words coming out of my mouth.

"Really?" Then Jenny set down her phone and skipped to the kitchen, and I followed her. While I tried to situate myself, getting my chair to fit into a space at the table, my sister was jumping up and down in front of my older brother, Josh.

"Josh, you're going to the mall today, right?"

"Yeah...but you aren't coming with me." He stole a glance at me, rolling his eyes, knowing I had something to do with this. Then Jenny started crying.

"Why not? I want a cool chair just like Emma's, so I can put Disney stickers on it and wheel it around. She said it's the new fashion."

"No, darling, not for younger kids. Only....only Emma is in the....fashion...." Mom said, fumbling with words to say. I scoffed, abandoning the piece of toast on my plate, and heading for the front door.

"Where are you going?" And I turned back, looking at my family. They are perfect. Eighteen year old brother, with six year old sister hugging his legs. Middle aged Mom drinking coffee, with middle aged Dad getting his keys. Nobody needed the paralyzed teen girl. Otherwise they would be a family from a movie.

"Where else would I be going in the damn chair? I'm going to school," I shot them an eye-roll, and opened the front door, rolling down the ramp. When I reached the driveway, I stole a glance across the street at my neighbor's house. Marcus Antony was standing outside, about to sit inside his Lamborghini.

He stopped, hope filling his eyes, and he smiled. "Emma...how've you been?" He says it like he hasn't seen me in years. Fact is, I saw Marc yesterday in history class.

"Oh I've been doing great, you know, stuck inside a chair, not able to move. Who's fault is this, huh?" That got him good. Marc's face turned scarlett, and he called my name while I slid up another ramp into my mom's minivan. Yes--it was repaired. After the crash. The only memory I have left of that night, besides the fingering.

"Where are we going again, sweetie?" Dad asked, as he sat in the car, starting ignition. He always does this, every day. It's the only thing that gets me to talk to him.

"School. We're going to school, Dad."

________)(________

"Look at her...."
"Poor girl, left in that accident."
"Did you hear what happened before? Something with her boyfriend."
"She was frickin drunk. Emma Sacra, a drunk driver. Imagine that!"
"Drunk driver or not, I feel bad for her."
"Yeah, paralyzed on your sixteenth birthday? Who wants that?

I listened to all the rumors as Gigi Jefferson pushed me to homeroom. She was my best friend. Well, technically we never knew each other before the accident. I was popular and pretty, she was smart and geeky. We would never mix crowds. It was only when I became stuck in a wheelchair my whole life did I lose popularity. I'm now only known as "Emma Sacra, drunk driver."

So when I came to school the first time after the accident, I was assigned someone to push me around. Gigi was in all my classes, so...it was perfect. I hated her at first. She was too smart. But...things became different. And here we are now.

"Fuck those losers. They don't know the whole truth," she cursed under her breath. And she was right--only her, the teachers, principal, my family, and Marc know the truth. Well...the staff at school don't know about the almost-sex...I told Gigi, and Marc the Asshole told my parents.

"And they will never know," I grunted. We went through this every day. Gigi said the same thing every day. And my reply was always the same.

"Let's do something fun after school. You up for the movies? I heard Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children is out. I've been dying to see it!" Gigi was a kid at heart (so am I, but don't tell anyone) and usually our outings consist of movies, ice cream, football games (my brother), and manicures.

"Can't. I have my monthly at four."

"Oh...that sucks. What do they even do?"

"Check my blood pressure, take blood samples, attempt to make me feel better by saying there's a shitty chance of me being able to feel my legs again. I never will."

"Tell them to finger themselves, while drunk, and then crash into a car. Then they'll know how you feel," Gigi laughed. I grinned, for the first time since Jake Orka dropped frog guts all over his shirt in chemistry last week.

"Are you ready for hell?" my best friend asked, stopping outside Mr. Lancaster's homeroom.

"Hell yeah, I'm ready."