"Earth to Mel."

I tore my gaze from my plate. "Si? Oui? Ja?"

Mateo leaned his elbows on the table across from me. "What's up with you? You're unusually quiet today."

I picked at my quesadilla. We were sitting in Mateo's favorite Mexican restaurant, and it was supposed to be a fun night out, but all I could think about was Steven. I planned to look for him at the track and a few of the gang's fighting places later, but I knew it was a long shot. Thanks to him, I was sure that my hair was going to go gray. It was just a matter of time.

"It's because of some weird alignment of the planets in the Blah Blah Blah system."

He arched his brows. "You don't say."

I nodded fiercely. "Yep. It happens once in never, and it affects humans at the molecular level."

He looked at me as if I'd come from Mars. "You're weird."

"I know. You tell me that at least once every few hours." I bit into my quesadilla, and the cheese melted in my mouth.

"Is it because you're suspended?"

I managed to grin. "Absolutely not! My life is so good I wish I'd gotten suspended sooner. Seriously, you should try it."

"Yep, you're definitely weird." He let out a deep chuckle, his eyes for once reflecting something close to amusement. Usually, they were clouded and sad, and his smiles were forced more often than not.

Ever since Sarah had broken up with him last year, he was an echo of his former self and incapable of moving on. For someone who had once been Rawenwood High's playboy, he'd surely changed his ways. Girls practically threw themselves at him, but he refused them all, and was on a certain path to becoming a hermit. I was almost tempted to just tell him to go to a monastery and become a monk already.

Even now, the girls around us looked at him like he was the main course—no, the dessert—and I could see why. Mateo Diaz was charming and handsome, with his angular jaw, light-brown eyes that held hints of mystery and allure, and curly hair brushing his shoulders. He was a hot Latino from head to toe.

But I saw beyond his appearance. He wasn't just some trophy boy. He was caring and considerate, and he was my first guy bestie, having broken through my barrier of distrust toward guys. Maybe, if my life had been different, I would've been able to crush on him, too. But that was a whole other reality, and I stopped wishing to turn back time long ago. It was pointless.

His smile faded. "Then what's going on?"

"You really want to play Freud?"

He winked at me. "What are friends for?"

I sighed, wondering how to put everything into words without sounding as though I was sinking. I wasn't sleeping well, I didn't have any appetite, and I was biting my nails and downing Red Bulls more than ever.

All because of Steven and his addiction.

"It's Steven. We had an argument, and now he's who knows where. Probably searching for his brain. Or a solution to his smelly farts."

With a laugh, he reached for his glass and took a sip of pineapple-flavored Jarritos. "Why did you argue?"

I propped my elbow on the table and rested my chin against my hand. "The same old. Drugs. But this time it was worse because he insulted our mom and I punched him. I think I broke his nose."

"Damn."

"But wait, it gets better. The principal chose that exact moment to show up. She immediately pegged me as a delinquent and sent me to this program for problematic students that's supposed to reform the devil out of me."

He grimaced. "You're the definition of unlucky."

"Tell me about it."

"Your principal is a drama queen. You punched your brother. Big deal. I get the suspension, but that program? It sounds like a joke."

"I wish. It's very real, and now I have to spend the next few weeks partnered with some kid who got the short end of the stick."

"What do you mean by that?"

"The program coordinator told me I'm being assigned to keep a quadriplegic boy company. He needs some assistance, so I'll probably have to help him get around or something like that," I said around another bite of quesadilla. "I'm super extra very nervous. I have zero knowledge about people with quadriplegia, so what if I mess up something and he gets injured? Or worse, breaks a bone or two?"

His quiet chuckle did nothing to calm me. "Don't overthink it. I have a cousin who's a quadriplegic, and he isn't as helpless as you might think. Esteban can do a lot of things on his own. He even drives."

My jaw dropped. "How?"

He laughed at my shocked expression. "His car is modified with special equipment, so he can control everything with hand controls. Don't look so surprised. There's a lot of stuff made specifically for disabled people that allows them to function on their own."

"You see? I don't know anything."

"You'll learn. If there's one thing I've learned about you, it's that you're a quick learner. You can adapt to any type of situation. I'm sure if someone threw you into a shark tank, you'd be able to deal with those sharks in two seconds flat."

"Of course I would!" I flexed my bicep. "One punch and—poof! They're gone. Wiped out." I kissed my fist.

His chuckles grew into loud laughter. "There you go. So, I'm sure you'll do well."

"Right, but enough about me. We didn't come here so I could whine the whole time. Cheers." I raised my glass of Coke in a toast and took a huge gulp of the biting deliciousness.

Mateo also raised his glass, munching away on his tacos with an open mouth. He reminded me of Steven in that aspect. Steven always chomped on his food and let everyone see the gaping hole that was his mouth.

There I went again. Every single thought led me back to that moron.

"I need your help with a present for Gramps." Mateo pressed his hand against his mouth to stifle a burp. "His birthday is on Saturday, and I don't know what to get him."

"It's Mr. J.'s birthday?"

"Yeah."

Jonathan Lane, or Mr. J., as I liked to call him, was Mateo's grandpa and the crankiest old man you'd ever meet. He'd arrived at the Raymond Retirement Home the same day I started working there part-time. He'd been impossible to deal with from the very start, complaining all the time and never smiling, but it turned out he was a real softie beneath that hard exterior. Though, he would refuse to talk to me if I ever said that to his face.

"He's so sneaky! He didn't tell anyone about his birthday, and whenever I ask him about it, he says 'I'm too old to remember it,'" I quoted in the same deep voice he used whenever he criticized me. "I doubt even Adelaine knows it!"

Adelaine was another resident of Raymond and—drum roll, please—his girlfriend. At first, they didn't want to admit it, but now they were inseparable. Both of them had lost their spouses, so it was touching to see them give love another shot.

"You know Gramps. He hates birthdays—"

"—because they make him feel old," I finished the sentence for him. "Yes, I know. The man doesn't want to accept that he isn't getting any younger. About the gift—last week he complained that he hasn't gone fishing for a long time, so maybe you can buy him a fishing rod and take him fishing."

He snapped his fingers. "That's it. You're a genius, Mel."

"I know, I know. My immense intellect is praise-worthy and unprecedented. Einstein's got nothing on me. Anyway, we should throw him a birthday party. I'll tell Sarah, and we'll come up with something—" I stopped, realizing too late I'd used the S-word.

So much for my praise-worthy and unprecedented intellect.

A tiny frown replaced his smile, giving his face an edgier look. It appeared every time I entered the no-no zone and named "the one who must absolutely never be named."

"She doesn't need to be involved," he said in a low voice, staring intently at his glass. "He's my grandfather, not hers. I'll organize everything."

I raised my brow. "Now, wait a minute. I know you two have a complicated history, but she cares for Mr. J. as much as I do. I'm sure she would feel bad if she were left out. I would, if I were her."

He snorted, his lips curling into a derisive line. "You think that asshole would allow it? He keeps her on a tight leash."

I stared at him, open-mouthed. This was the first time he'd mentioned Hayden Black in like forever, because Sarah and Hayden's relationship was right at the center of the no-no zone. It was like a scab that kept itching, and the best way to let it heal was to ignore it. But Mateo still hadn't healed.

"Now, now. As much as I hated Haydee Bumblebee, I have to admit, although begrudgingly, that he's changed. He can still be a pain in the ass, but he's not that controlling, abusive motherfucker anymore."

Mateo held my stare. "Of course you'd feel that way. You're friends with him now." He ran his hand down his face. "Jesus, what does that guy have that causes all the girls to be smitten with him?"

I frowned. "Hey! Don't even say something so gross! Do you want me to puke? Is that what you want?" I mimicked throwing up, crossing my eyes. "I'm not smitten with him. I wouldn't even come close to him if he hadn't changed, and I sure as hell wouldn't support Sarah being in a relationship with such an abusive pile of cow shit. But even I can see he's doing all he can to be better."

I didn't want to mention Hayden's therapy for borderline personality disorder. Mateo didn't know that Hayden had BPD, which sometimes caused Hayden to be emotionally unstable and unable to control his emotions, especially his anger. Therapy had helped him a lot, along with Sarah's support, and even though I didn't get how she could be so understanding and patient with someone so complex, I rooted for them.

Mateo was about to reply, but just then Shreya Wilkins stopped next to our table with her two friends, Trish and Jaya. She waved at me, her pouty lips turning up into a pearly smile. "Hi."

"Shreya, darling!" My eyes skimmed down her petite, curvy body. She was wearing tight jeans and a long, maroon top that complemented her caramel skin, and her long, wavy black hair was pulled up high in a ponytail. Her face was free of makeup and acne, adding to her natural half-Indian, half-British beauty.

And to think that Barbie had used her for sex and thrown her away like a piece of trash, stomping on her heart mercilessly. That rotten cabbage.

"Look at you! Gorgeous, as always," I cooed as I clapped at her.

"Thanks," she said modestly and glanced at Mateo, who observed us with a small smile.

"Mateo, meet Shreya," I said. "She's another member of the school council, the president of the math club, and my right hand who helps me cleanse the school of the evil that dwells within it."

Mateo gave her his panty-dropping grin, offering his hand for a handshake. "That's pretty impressive. It's good to meet you."

Instead of looking at his face, she kept her doe-brown eyes fixed on their joined hands as they shook them. "Hi," she said shyly. "It's good to meet you, too."

Now, would you look at that! A light bulb flashed in my mind, and I looked at Mateo. Then at Shreya. Then at Mateo again.

Both of them were beautiful. Both of them were in need of true love and healing.

And together, they looked like a poster couple.

Matchmaking in progress . . . loading, loading, loading . . . loaded!

As Shreya introduced her friends to Mateo, I started to concoct a plan to get them together, but then Shreya said something perfect.

"I forgot to tell you. Guess what? I got a part-time job working at the retirement home."

My lips stretched into an enormous grin. "Really?"

"Yes. I'm starting this Saturday."

"That's great!" I could hardly restrain myself from cracking up. "We'll have a blast together, you'll see."

She went with Jaya and Trish to find a table, and I met Mateo's unsuspecting gaze, filled with a new purpose. "Perfect. I couldn't have plotted this better myself."

Mateo frowned in confusion. "Plotted what?"

I tittered and slurped on my drink. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

******

I stopped my car behind a silver minivan from the nineties, which was parked in front of a simple-looking one-story house. I checked the address on the paper again. Yep, this was the boy's house. I shut off the engine and yawned. I was incredibly tired after another restless night because I couldn't find Steven anywhere and his phone was permanently off. I had to put extra layers of eyeliner, dark eye shadow, and foundation to hide the fact that my eyes were tired and my face puffy.

I read the short instructions on the paper for the hundredth time, the word "quadriplegic" filling me with unease. Last night, I'd googled about quadriplegia to get the gist of it, but I only ended up feeling more confused and incompetent. I didn't know what was going to be expected of me, and I didn't like not being able to control the situation. Or not being able to come up with all the possible variables and prepare myself for them. I had experience with only one person in a wheelchair—Mr. J., who was a paraplegic—but he could do almost everything on his own, and I'd never had to assist him with anything so far.

What was Mrs. Aguda thinking? It was more likely that I'd sit in his wheelchair and wheel around pretending I was in Mario Kart than actually be of use to him. These next several weeks were going to possibly be the longest of my life.

I got out of the car and stretched as I glanced around the low-income neighborhood. All the houses were in dire need of painting or carpentry, looking as though there had never been any kind of renovations done to them during their possibly very long lifespans. I hated the financial inequality in this world.

If there was anything I could deduce from my quick Google search, it was that quadriplegics needed a lot of money for their care. I felt anxious about seeing this kid, because his family was probably hard up and unable to give him all the things he needed, and I knew I would feel like crap because my family had always been rolling in money.

I noticed the front door was accessible at ground level as I approached it and rang the bell. I took a huge breath, surprised by how nervous I was. I looked at the abominations that were my barely existent nails and decided against biting them. If I bit them just one more time, I would probably start bleeding.

The door opened, and a short East Asian girl in her twenties smiled at me. "Hi! You must be Melissa Brooks. From the Student Code program?"

I smiled back at her. "Yep. That's me, and I come in peace." I made the peace sign. "I see you've been warned about me. Don't worry, I'm not the devil they paint me to be. I'm as harmless as a kitten."

She chuckled. "That's too bad. If you're harmless, then you have no business here." Me likey this girl's sense of humor. Me likey it very much. "I'm Mawar, Elijah's daytime caretaker. Come on in."

"Thanks. That's a nice name." I stepped inside the small hallway.

"Thank you. It means 'rose' in Indonesian."

"Now I like it even more."

The hallway led into an open living room with a zero threshold connecting it to a small kitchen. The furniture was old and worn out, positioned around the room in a way that allowed a person in a wheelchair to move comfortably, but there still wasn't much space left because the room itself was small. It was smaller than my bedroom.

"Mr. Brown is working until late, so I'm here to tell you about your assignment. Have a seat." She motioned with her hand to the patterned couch. "I didn't expect you so early. Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Yes, well, on top of being forc—" I coughed to cover up my slip-up. "On top of being asked to join this brilliant program, I'm also suspended. So, here I am."

"Eek, that's bad. Anyway, would you like something to drink?"

"No, I'm good." I glanced around the room, almost expecting this kid to pop out of nowhere. "And where's the kiddo?"

"He's in his room. I'll introduce you two once we discuss your assignment."

"Just don't tell me I have to stand on my head and juggle four balls with my feet. I can do anything except that!"

She sat in the armchair across from me with a grin. "You won't have to juggle four balls with your feet. You'll have to juggle five."

"Oh, goodie. I'm so relieved to hear that."

She chuckled. "Seriously, it's pretty simple. All you have to do is be friendly to him. That's it. You're not here to take care of him, if you're worried about that. He's a C6 quadriplegic, so he can move his arms but not his fingers. Still, he's independent for the most part. I take care of him mornings and afternoons, and his dad and brother take care of him the rest of the day. Sometimes, his night nurse steps in, so we've pretty much got him covered."

"So, what am I here for?"

Her gaze went off into the distance, reflecting sympathy. "Elijah is very shy and withdrawn, and he doesn't have friends. He goes to the spinal cord injury support group meetings once a week, but he doesn't talk much, and it feels as though he doesn't really want to be there but makes the effort for his dad and brother.

"He's homeschooled, so he spends the majority of his time in the morning with his private tutor and then with me, but there are times when he's completely alone, and he can get lonely. That's why when I heard about the program, I suggested Mr. Brown try it out. As you can probably guess, the long-term care expenses are astronomical, and they need to save money whenever they can. So, they won't have to pay for this, and Elijah will hopefully make friends."

I wanted to ask if the boy in question had any say in this matter, but it didn't really concern me. I was here to finish this program, not be a shrink.

"That's cool and all, but what if he doesn't like me?" I asked. "I mean, I'm awesome, and it's impossible not to like me, but let's just say there's that tiny, almost non-existent chance that he doesn't. Then what?"

"Then I guess you won't have to come here anymore, but don't worry about that. Now, about your schedule. You'll come here on Wednesdays and Thursdays after school and on Sundays around that same time and spend about two hours with him. Does that work for you?"

"Yeah. I work part-time on Sundays, but I'm free in the afternoon."

She clasped her hands together. "That's great! Then you can start tomorrow. Also, if you and Elijah want to go out, you can use the minivan. It's wheelchair accessible. I'll just have to show you how to use the straps to secure the wheelchair to the floor."

I didn't know how to feel about this, but I nodded. She took a small piece of paper from the coffee table.

"I wrote down phone numbers for Mr. Brown, Elijah's brother, and myself here. You can contact us if you need anything or in case of emergency." She handed me the note, and I put it in my pocket without looking at it. "There's also his doctor's phone number on there. Elijah goes for regular checkups, but you never know when you're going to need it.

"Ah, yes. If you go out to eat, make sure he doesn't eat sugary or fried foods. Basically, processed foods are a no-no. They're okay sometimes, but if it were up to Elijah, he would be eating them all the time." She chuckled. "His nutrition is important since he has a slow metabolism and his stomach gets upset easily, so we make sure he eats healthy foods in moderate portions and uses bowel medications when needed."

I bobbed my head, trying to soak up all this information, which was starting to sound like gibberish.

"Also, Elijah is good about sticking to his medication and self-catheterization schedule, so you don't have to worry about that."

I stared at her blankly. Was she seriously expecting me to understand and remember all of that?

She giggled. "You have no clue what I'm saying."

"Nope."

"That's what I thought. That's why"—she grabbed a folder from the coffee table—"I prepared something for you. I won't burden you with all the little details, so don't worry. I just mentioned some important aspects of his condition, so you can understand it more easily."

I took the folder and opened it to find a few papers filled front and back with text. If this wasn't lengthy for her, I didn't know what was. The Bible?

She clapped her hands together. "Okay. I think that's all for now. If you have any questions, just ask."

Questions? Of course I had questions. There were a million things I wanted to know. How had he become a quadriplegic? Could he feel pain or touch at all? Did he feel it when he had to fart? Would he ever walk again?

Why did life suck?

So many questions. But I only asked, "Where is his mom?"

Mawar's smile faded. "She and Mr. Brown divorced, and she doesn't live here." That was all she said, and I got the message.

"No more questions," I said and closed the folder.

"Okay. I'll call Elijah now." She stood up. "Oh, one more thing." What now? "Don't call him Elijah. He doesn't like it, because he thinks it sounds too old-fashioned. Call him Eli."

My leg jiggled with nerves. "Sure. I'll call him Donald Duck if he wants. It's all the same to me."

She left, and I jumped to my feet. I was too tense to stay in one spot. I walked around the room, inspecting my surroundings. There wasn't a lot of furniture or decorations, and the walls were painted in a pastel green that was more suitable for a hospital than a living room, but it felt more homey than my own house. There was a manual wheelchair in the corner, right next to a small TV stand bearing an average-sized flat-screen television, which was currently showing the Discovery Channel, its sound muted. Diagonally across from the chair was a small wall shelf filled with family photos, and I approached it, my interest piqued.

I leaned in to look closely at a photo of two boys and an older man sitting next to a lake, but then I froze, my heart beginning to pump rapidly.

No—it couldn't be. I grabbed the picture frame and narrowed my eyes as I looked at the older boy, who was grinning like he didn't have a care in the world, and thought perhaps fate was playing a joke on me, but it was the worst joke ever, and fate should really take a refresher course on how to joke, and take it pronto.

I put back the frame on the shelf none too gently and withdrew the slip of paper containing the information about my assignment from my pocket. I read the name again— "Elijah Brown."

I'd been sure the last name was just a coincidence. It was so common I'd found it ridiculous to even think Barbie could be related to him in any way.

But, no. That waste of space was actually Elijah's brother, and I was in his house—a house that was low-income and in an impoverished neighborhood, contrary to the rich-boy image he'd built at school.

I crumpled the paper in my hand and stuffed it back in my pocket. There was no way I could tolerate him every time I came here. I should go. To hell with the program and the consequences. I didn't have to go to college. I could . . . I could go to some farm and become a farmer. Yes—that would be a productive career too, and I would help feed people. I should definitely learn how to harvest crops or milk cows, and—

"Melissa?" Mawar called, and I spun around to face her.

She stood next to a boy in a power wheelchair who looked far younger than sixteen years old, which was the age noted in the document I'd received. His hands rested in his lap, almost closed in fists. He was looking at some spot on the floor, seeming so shy and innocent, but what struck me the most was that he was Barbie's replica, with his enthralling blue eyes, chiseled face, and short blond hair that curled a little at its ends.

I couldn't come to grips with it, because I associated Barbie's looks with everything that was wrong with the world. Someone looking like that couldn't be as sweet and pure as this boy here. It was weird, and my mouth wanted to spew out some insult by default, but my brain had to step in and remind me that Elijah wasn't my enemy.

I skipped toward him and waved, wearing my most blinding grin. "Hello! I come from the planet Awesome to tell you that you've been chosen to join our ranks of awesomeness to make you even more awesome!"

He stared at me wide-eyed, as though he wasn't sure whether or not I was out to lunch. I noticed a trace of sadness in his eyes, and it tugged at something deep within my chest.

"I'm Melissa, but you can call me General Awesome." I pressed my hand against my chest dramatically. "And together, you and I will rule the world." I winked at him.

He just stared at me, and then stared some more, the silence in the room stretching into infinity . . .

Then he let out a chuckle, and then another, his dimpled cheeks growing rosy. My heart inflated at the sight.

"You're insane," he said, his voice, to my surprise, sounding manly. Yeah, your brother feels the same way. "I'm Eli."

He stretched out his arm toward me, and I glanced at his closed fist, confused by the action, but then it dawned on me. I grinned and accepted his handshake, wrapping my hand around his fist.

I wagged my finger at him. "You mean, you're General Fabulous! It's very nice to meet you! Keep being this fabulous, and pretty soon I'll give you coupon for a hundred percent off an unlimited supply of Hershey bars."

Mawar giggled and tapped Eli's shoulder. "You see what I told you? You two will have so much fun."

He nodded, his lips curling up into the shyest of smiles for a brief moment, and now, looking at him, I realized she might be right.

Maybe this program wouldn't be so bad after all.