Mom goes out job-hunting the next day. Although she loves her work as an author, she hasn't had a good selling book in months, and we needed another source of income. I think it's good she finally cares. 

While Mom is job-hunting, I go into Annie's room.  Mom has told me not to go in there because it’ll bring back old (painful) memories, but I miss her. So I go in there, even though I’m not supposed to. 

Annie's room is still untouched. Her main color scheme was lime green, had been for years. White comforter with limes on it. Her walls painted green. Most of her clothes were green. She collected lime green stickers and stamps and were in a mason jar on her desk. Her desk is just as it was left. Her laptop lid was open, but the screen was black, and the battery was probably dead. Her green science notebook, her favorite subject, was wide open, her sharpened green pencil lying across the tinted green page. There was a doodle of a lime in the corner of her notes. 

Everything in Annie's room is in its place. Books on the bookcase. A bedside water-bottle, still full but getting moldy on the inside. She had even left her favorite bullet green journal wide open on her bed, open to her "habit tracker." It was a list of daily tasks.. feeding her betta fish (which I suddenly realized we'd forgotten, so I fed him. He was looking kind of sickly), Bubbles, brushing teeth, cleaning up her room, and even setting out her clothes. Her outfit for that Tuesday was laid out on her carpet. Her favorite pairs of super-broken-in jeans, a flowery shirt, and her favorite green sweatshirt. I feel tears spring into my eyes. 

Then I see the scrapbook. A piece of me dies when I see it. It's on the beanbag chair by her bookshelf. Annie loved scrapbooking. She's been taking pictures and documenting our life ever since Dad left. The very first picture is of me and her. She's in a handstand position, and I'm holding up her legs. She was six years old in this picture, and I was almost nine. That's when it all started. If only she'd known that she would only have another 5 years.

I feel very tired all of a sudden. Annie's cleanly made bed seems so comfy. So I ruined the freshly made bed and fall asleep, smelling Annie's favorite lime-scented lotion. It took me a moment to realize I'd knocked it off of the bedside table, and it was spilling onto the sheets and dull green carpeting. But I didn't care. I slept anyway.

I wake up to Mom yelling my name. The door to Annie's room was left open, so I jump out of the bed and run into the hallway. The lotion is all over my feet. Thank god our hallway is carpeted. I hear Mom's footsteps coming up the stairs, and quickly shut Annie's door quietly as possible. I then tiptoe into my bedroom and jump on the bed with a book. I have to act natural.

"Hey, honey. Is everything okay? You look kind of pale," Mom said and pressed her palm to my forehead. 

"I'm just feeling kind of nauseous."

"Well, go take a nap. I'll tell you about my new job later."

I shut the door, and hear Mom lumber down the stairs. I let out a deep sigh of relief, and let my whole body go limp. I take the little bullet journal from until my blanket, which I'd taken from Annie's room. It smells just like her.

Annie has filled up almost all of the pages in the small book with her beautiful impossibly-neat handwriting. She had to-do lists, homework notes, and even pages just to doodle. 

The latest one was the opener page for June. It had the word in swirly letters, and she had drawn a very detailed lime around it. The next page was the habit tracker. It was a bunch of little suns. The day of her death was still not covered in. I read the key. Red for a bad day. Just like blood. I shudder and color in the small sun with a red pen. In small words, I write the date and in big letters write "My death date." 

I close the green cover and put the little journal into a drawer in my bedside table.

The next morning, Mom had to wake me up for school. It's seven o'clock, and my bus comes in 30 minutes. I groan and yawn, and then flop back into bed. What's the point in getting up?

"Honey, you have to get up!" Mom screams from the stairs.

I groan again and get up from bed, pull on clothes that Mom had laid out, and unconsciously pack up my backpack and eat breakfast. By then, I've missed the bus. Mom yells before getting her car keys.

I don't actually wake up until the car head-on collides with a deer on the way to school. We’re both screaming.

I didn't see the rest because I blacked out from fear.

I wake up in a hospital bed. There is an IV in my arm, and a bag hanging from a pole. The blankets are tucked tightly around the sides. The room is empty beside me. There's no noise, and my ears feel weird. It’s like my whole head is underwater, and everything is muffled. I want to touch them, see what's wrong, but my arms feel like I'm holding 100-pound weights. 

A doctor comes in with my Aunt Jess. Jess took care of me right after Annie's death, when Mom was so heartbroken that she didn't get out of bed for a week. Jess and I are very close. I'm glad that she's here. 

Something comes out of my ears; I don't know what it is, but suddenly I can hear again. I still want to touch my ears, but can’t. I listen to the doctor. He is explaining my injuries to Jess, and giving estimates of the healing process, and I am suddenly more aware of my broken body.

He says I have a bad concussion and a severely broken ankle with some bruised bones in my wrists. The ankle isn't in a cast yet, but I can't move so I don't think they're worrying just yet. My ankle is black and blue and swollen to almost triple the size. My head begins to pound, and my head is splitting. The doctor turns on a light and it feels like a gazillion needles are piercing my eyes, so I force them to shut and drift off again.

When I wake up, Jess is crying. She's got a tissue and is dabbing her eyes, her mascara running and making her look really ugly. I'm not being mean though; I am in a worse state than her.

There are no doctors or nurses or people other than Jess. She takes another tissue and her cellphone. She rises from her chair, takes a picture of me, and tries to show me. But the light from her camera is really bad, and I can't see anything. The light is hurting my eyes, so I squeeze them shut. I see the doctor coming, but I can't warn her. She puts away her phone quickly and pretends to be talking to me.

"Your mother is in surgery right now," she says, and the door opens behind her, "she has a separated shoulder they need to fix and hurt her spinal cord pretty bad. She'll be in a wheelchair for a long time and then a brace."

Spinal cord? Is she going to be able to walk again? Back injuries can be really serious. Surgeries could go wrong. How could mom and I overcome this? Why did God hate us so much? He took away Dad, and then he took away Annie, and just now he attempted to take away Mom and I. Why us?

The doctor does the best checkup he can while I'm lying down as Jess continues to talk. She moves off the topic of Mom quite quickly, and I want to know more. She begins to babble to fill the silence.

"Your friends came to see you earlier. Kaitlin and Lizzie and Vik. But you weren't awake so they left right away," Aunt Jess says, sniffling.

My heart flutters. Vik came to see me. Vik is a transfer student from Sweden at my high school, and my first crush. We've been growing closer as friends, but now the crash is separating us.

"Jess, maybe you should go. I know you don't want to leave her, but I think you need a break," says the doctor.

'No. Don't go,' I think, but no words come out. 

Aunt Jess sighs, gathers her things, and leaves me behind. She has no choice, the doctor told her to leave. I want to cry out to her, but the doctor puts something in my IV bag and I fall right asleep.

Mom is here. She's sitting in a wheelchair, her left arm in a sling and cast. She's got a brace around her middle, probably to keep from damaging her spine even more. 

"Can I stand?" She asks her nurse, who is pushing her wheelchair. 

She gives a 'humph' when the nurse shakes her head. She just looks at me, probably knowing beforehand that I can't talk yet. I can see it in her eyes that she is hurting. I want to reach out to her and give her a hug, but I can’t move.

"We're going to be okay, Elizabeth. You just have to keep healing. We'll get over this," she said, "just like we're getting over Annie."

Jess comes back in, looking much better than before. She must’ve gone to the ladies room and touched up her makeup and had some water. She isn't crying at the sight of me or mom, so that's an improvement.

"Jess came to see you and me every day."

How many days has it been since the crash? By the way she talks it's been several. I think about my fish and turtles, back at home in their tank, probably starving and wondering where I am to feed them. Nobody knows about my fish and turtles but mom, and in the craziness since the crash, the turtles and fish are the least of her worries at the moment. They probably feel forgotten.

"It's been six days since the crash," Mom said.

Six days?! I must've been unconscious for so long. I just want to move, to get up, to at least talk. But I can't. My concussion and coma are making it impossible. I need to tell them about my turtles and my fish.

But I can't. 

Then one morning it happens. Jess is sitting in her chair, reading something on her cellphone. The doctor comes in and pokes me on the shoulder with something sharp, probably wanting to see if I'd react. And I did.

"Ouch!" I said, and pull my arm away.

Aunt Jess gasps, and the doctor claps. Jess starts crying again, and pulls out tissues from her purse. I’m smiling a mile wide. I'm back. 

"Oh, Elizabeth!" Jess says.

"Hi Aunt Jess," I say in my raspy voice. I'm really thirsty.

"Welcome back Elizabeth," says the doctor, "I'm Dr. Tinsdale.  I've introduced myself before, but you were probably asleep. Would you like some water?"

I nod eagerly. Dr. Tinsdale lets Aunt Jess help me sip some water as she takes my blood pressure and temperature. 

"What injuries do I have?" I ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear myself talk.

"You have a pretty bad concussion, dear," says Dr. Tinsdale, "and a broken ankle. Your wrist bones are bruised, so they might be sore, but nothing serious there. Now that you can move, we're having someone put on a cast on your ankle soon. You have some cuts in your face from shattering glass, but otherwise, you're fine."

"Have you seen my Mom?" I ask Dr. Tinsdale.

"Sorry, no. I work with minors, age 18 and under. I’m a pediatrician,'' says Dr. Tinsdale, "but I know someone working with your mother in the adult ward. Would you like me to contact her?"

I nod once more, and she steps into the hallway. She talks into a thing that looks like a walkie talkie.

"I'm so glad you're here Jess," I said, and she begins to cry.

"I thought I would lose you. I couldn't lose you and Annie so close together, I'm just so happy,” Jess says with a watery smile. Her mascara is running again.

I smile as the cast doctor comes in and tapes up my ankle. The swelling has only gone down a little. After the cast doctor leaves, Mom is wheeled in by Dr. Tinsdale. Mom looks almost the same, even though it's been another forty-eight-hours since I saw her... 

Eight days since the crash.

"Mom," I said, "let's go home."

"Not so fast," said Dr. Tinsdale, "I know you want to get home, and I want you to go also, but you have to be ready. But it will still be about another two days before we can release you."

I give an irritated sigh.

"We like to teach our patients how to use crutches and have them practice before they're sent home," Dr. Tinsdale explains, "and you need to get some glasses for your eyes. To help your concussion. They're specialized, so they take at least 36 hours."

Mom looks ready to go home. Her brace will be hers for a while, and her arm is okay I guess. 

And then in walks my grandma and grandpa.

"Gran! Pops!" I say, very excited to see them.

"Hola mis chicas," says my grandma, happy to see us as well, “You all are looking better than before.”

"Hola, madre," Mom said.

Gran came over and gave me a kiss on the forehead, and then handed me a present. Inside was a little wooden jewelry box. It was a off-white with glitter on it and some ornate wood carvings of animals on it.

"I love it, Gran," I said.

"Mira, look inside," Gran said. 

I crack open the jewelry box. Inside are my glasses that the doctor said wouldn't be here for at least another day and a half, just twenty minutes ago. Under the glasses was a family picture from before Annie's death. And before Dad left. I'm now fifteen, Annie would be twelve if she was here. The photo was taken when I was nine, and she was six. Mom looks almost the same.

I remember this picture. We'd gotten family photos taken, and right after Mom and Dad had a huge fight and Dad left out of the blue, without saying anything. We used to get a postcard every couple of weeks to places he's been, but he's never stayed in one place too long. He's been to France, Germany, Spain, Kenya, Canada, Brazil, Chile, and many many more in the three years he's been gone. Until the postcards came farther apart…  and then they stopped coming. 

I feel like crying, but I don't. I just thank Gran and give Pops a hug. Dr. Tinsdale comes in with a pair of crutches, which she sizes bye eye. She then helps me from the bed. I balance on my crutches as Dr. Tinsdale resizes them. I practice walking around the room. I can’t practice for very long before getting tired and getting back into my uncomfortable hospital bed.

Gran and Pops stay for another hour or so, and when Mom leaves they head out behind her. They finally leave me alone in peace, and I realize I'm exhausted. So I fall asleep the minute the door shuts.

When I wake up, I'm in my bed at home. I'm really confused. How could they have moved me all the way from the hospital without waking me up? 

My room is much cleaner than I left it the night of the crash. Previously, you could hardly see the floor. I had clothes overflowing the laundry basket into the closet and into the main room, and more clothes hanging from the dresser. The desk had piles of papers and books and writing utensils open, for school and for myself. My bookshelves were so bad. My blankets and pillows have been washed recently, I can smell the laundry sheets. 

My crutches are propped up against my nightstand with a full glass of water. The clock reads 10:23 am. The sun is pouring through the thin curtains onto the cherry wood floor. I just lay in bed, taking in the scene.

The door cracks open with a loud squeak, announcing my mom's arrival. She's being wheeled into the room by Gran. 

"Hi honey," Mom says, "are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah," I said, sitting up, "how much longer will you be in the wheelchair?"

"For a while," Mom says, "but don't worry, I'll recover."

We all just sat there in silence. For a moment, I wasn't in pain. My head wasn't hurting, my ankle wasn't throbbing. And for a split second, I wasn't sad about Annie. But then everything came flooding back. And I felt sad.

"Aunt Jess is downstairs making lunch," Gran said, "if you're feeling up to it you can come down."

"Okay."

I didn't feel like attempting to get out of bed just yet, so I gave Mom a kiss and watched Gran slowly wheel Mom out of the room. 

I remember Annie's journal in my drawer, so I lean over to get it. I read through a couple of journal entries, tears splattering on my cheeks. I was mentioned several times in every entry. Every now and then are pictures lazily taped into the book that I'd seen in the scrapbook last week.

It seemed like so long ago.

Mom makes me go see Carly today. Carly's baby is still in the NICU at the hospital, so Carly came to work right after birth. She looks different without the large baby bump, but I don't notice much. 

"I heard about the crash. I'm very sorry. Do you want to talk about it?" Carly asks.

I shake my head.

"Do you want to talk about that scrapbook you brought with you?"

I'd brought Annie's scrapbook in my backpack with me. I didn't want mom to see it, but I'd unzipped my bag once I'd gotten into Carly's office. I wasn't sure if I wanted to share that private life with Carly.

I quietly removed the book from my backpack and opened to the first picture, the one of Annie doing a handstand while I helped her. I began to cry again.

"Why is this picture so emotional?" 

"This was the day that changed everything," I said, "I used to do gymnastics. I started when I was four. When I was nine, Annie wanted me to teach her. I started teaching her basic skills."

Carly doesn't say anything.

"She loved it so much. More than words can express. Even more, than I did, and I lived for gymnastics. Mom immediately signed her up for gymnastics, and she excelled at it."

Carly takes the book from my hands and looks at the picture with teary eyes.

"She continued gymnastics for five years. In the end, it was the thing that killed her," I said, "It's all my fault. I'm the one that got her into the sport."

"Do you still do gymnastics?" Carly asked.

"The day Annie died, I called my coach and quit. I then went on to destroy everything that reminds me of gymnastics. I threw the trophies out the window, I shredded the ribbons, I tore apart all of the photos and deleted the pictures on my mom's phone. I got rid of every last trace of gymnastics. Except for Annie's scrapbook."

I took the book back from Carly and flipped through more photos. Us with medals, ribbons, and trophies. Us training at the gym together, or doing skills in the backyard. Mom had some good pictures of us from when she was really into photography as her hobby whenever she wasn't working. 

"Gymnastics is obviously a very sore spot for you and your mom," Carly said.

She ended our discussion there. I sat in the waiting room while she spoke with mom for about twenty minutes before we went home.

I put Annie's scrapbook back in her room and then lay in bed for most of the day. My concussion and injuries make it difficult for any physical activity. Heck, I can't even walk without assistance. I usually only get up to go to the bathroom, otherwise I text mom to get me things. The only reason I leave the house is that Mom makes me go talk to Carly every couple of days.

Vik comes to see me a couple of days after I get home from the hospital. He's all by himself, too. He didn't come with Lizzie and Kaitlin. 

"Hi," he says awkwardly.

"Hey."

"I was worried about you. We all were. I helped Kaitlin make a list of your work and homework for school."

"Thanks."

I get out of bed and lean on my crutches. He walks over and he gets awkwardly close. Vik accidentally kicks out one of my crutches and grabs my waist. Both crutches go clattering to the floor.

Now we're standing really close, noses nearly touching. I'm grasping his biceps, and his hands are around my waist. It's quiet, dead silent, just me and Vik. I close my eyes and lean in for the kiss.

Mom knocks on the door and Vik pulls quickly pulls away. He helps me get back up on my crutches before Mom comes in. 

"We have to go see Carly in twenty minutes, Elizabeth. Say goodbye to your friend and get ready."

"I just saw Carly yesterday," I said, a hint of a whine in my voice. 

"I need to talk to her, and I'm not ready to leave you home alone."

Mom leaves the doorway. Vik goes over and shuts the door, and then we return to standing awkwardly together in the middle of my room. 

"I guess I have to go now," Vik said, "I'll see you soon, Elizabeth."

I'm very frustrated with mom. Vik and I had a moment and she completely ruined it. Whatever she needed to talk about better be good. 

I didn't bring Annie's scrapbook today. I wasn't even aware we were going to Carly's office today, because our next appointment wasn't for another three days. I just brought my phone. Mom brought a duffle bag, though, and I was kind of suspicious. She kept it in the back seat of the car.

"You go in first," mom said.

"No! I didn't ask to come today, you did."

"Carly requested to talk to you," Mom said, "I made up an excuse to make you come with me."

I sighed angrily, not having enough energy to fight back, and hobbled into Carly's office. She was looking at my file at her desk, taking notes on a notepad. 

"Hi, Elizabeth. How are you today?"

"I'm kind of confused, to be honest with you. My mom's being really confusing today and I don't know why." 

"Last time we spoke, we discussed how gymnastics played a big part in yours and Annie's life. Up until the very end," Carly said.

I don't acknowledge her statement. I stare into my lap.

"We're going to the gym."

I was even more upset with Carly than I was with mom earlier for ruining my moment with Vik. Carly lead me outside and she and mom had to basically force me into Carly's car. Then, I refused to get out, so they had to drag me into the gym. 

I felt my heart break again. This was the gym that Annie and I had trained at, and where Annie's life had ended so abruptly. The gym had a bad reputation because of Annie's death, so it was almost empty when we went inside. I carefully followed Carly and Mom through the locker room and into the gym.

All of the memories came flooding back.

Seeing all of the equipment was nostalgic. The uneven bars, the foam pit, trampolines, floors, beams, and vaults. I excelled at the vault. It was my best event before I quit. 

My old coach, Tierney, is doing a private lesson with a girl on the uneven bars. The girl is 13, and she is learning her Mahoney half release. The girl has pretty good form but doesn't hit all of her handstands. 

The girl does a couple of reps before stopping, saying goodbye to Tierney and leaving the gym. Then Tierney comes over to us.

"Hi, Elizabeth. It's been months since I've seen you, and a lot has happened," Tierney said in a quiet voice.

"Yes," I whispered.

The whole gym is quiet. There's nobody else in it but us and Tierney. There's soft music playing from the ceiling speakers.

"I've heard about everything. I'm not here to discuss that with you, that's Carly's job. My job is to get you back in the gym."

"I'm not supposed to be doing this yet. I have a concussion, bruised wrists, and a broken ankle, in case you haven't noticed."

"I know. We're starting very small and very simple. We had permission from your doctors for everything we're doing today."

We go over to the uneven bars, which are right over the foam pit. Carly takes my crutches and I hop over to the high bar.

"I'm just going to get you up there. I want you to swing lightly back and forth," Tierney explains.

Tierney gives me a boost to the high bar. I just hang there, swinging my legs slowly to rock back and forth. Within a couple of minutes, my arms begin to ache. Then they burn. I drop from the bar, careful to land on my good foot and not my cast. 

"Now we're going to go on the vault. I just want you to sit or stand on it," Tierney said.

I lifted myself onto the vault. I found that I wanted to do an actual vault, but I wasn't enrolled at this gym anymore.

I sat on the balance beam and hopped on the floor. I jumped into the foam pit. I tried to climb the rope, but my upper body strength wasn't there anymore. I jumped on a trampoline. 

Overall, I had an okay time. My heart was breaking thinking about Annie. Her goal was to go to the Olympics. But then gymnastics itself took it all away. 

Needless to say, I was exhausted when I got home that night.

Mom got the okay that I can go back to school today, as long as I wear my glasses. It sucked missing two weeks' worth of classwork and homework, but Vik, Kaitlin, and Lizzie did a good job making a cumulative list and promising to help me.

I put a picture of Annie in my locker, hung up with a magnet with a heart on it. It's the first step to recovery.

I have to carry all of my supplies in my backpack because my hands are used for my crutches. Each class gets a new seating arrangement so that I can sit at tables or at the end of a row for easy access and movement. The entire school was dropping everything for me, and it made me feel guilty.

Kaitlin was in my four-morning classes, and Vik was in my four-afternoon classes. I didn't have any classes with Lizzie this year, but we all sat together at lunch period A, at the same table that we always sit at.

I decided to be more open to my friends. I told them about Carly and going to the gym. Kaitlin, who did gymnastics with me (and still does) was proud of me for going there yesterday. I was sore, even though I didn't do much. Gymnastics is a sport that you can never take breaks from, or else it's impossible to come back.

The week goes by slowly. My armpits begin to hurt. When I stayed at home I was in my room most of the day, but now I was using my crutches a lot and my arms were suffering because of it. Finally, the weekend comes, and that means another therapy session with Carly and a doctor's appointment.

On Saturday, Mom and I both have appointments. Mom gets out of her wheelchair but has to wear a back brace. My doctor says that my concussion is getting better, so I don't need the glasses anymore, but I still can't do much physical activity. Like I can do physical activity with this bulky cast on my leg. My wrists don't hurt anymore, but there are black and blue bruises that showed up. Maybe I've just become accustomed to the pain and don't feel it anymore.

On Sunday, Mom and I have a session with Carly. This time we immediately go to the gym without stopping at Carly's office. I'm more cooperative today. I still feel sad about Annie, but it hurts a tiny bit less.

We do the same things as we did last week. This time I get about halfway up the rope before jumping into the foam pit below. Tierney is very supportive, and I'm glad I have her to help me.

After the session in the gym, we go back to Carly's office. I get to meet her baby! The baby is finally out of the NICU, and she’s doing well now. It's a little girl, who Carly named Anya. She's the cutest thing in the world and only a couple of weeks old. I got to hold her before Mom said we have to go home.

"Why did you rush me out of there?" I asked in the car.

"I have a surprise for you at home," Mom says, and doesn't elaborate any further.

I patiently waited on the car ride home, wondering what the surprise was. My ultimate dream would be to see Dad again, but he left five years ago. We haven’t heard from him in four years. There’s no way that she could’ve tracked him down.

We pull into the driveway of our house. There’s no other car but ours, so no visitors. Even though I knew the chances of finding Dad were impossible, a part of me was still hoping that he’d be here.

Mom helps me out of the car, and up the front steps. I take a deep breath before opening the door. Inside, the house is dark, but there’s lots of natural light streaming in through the windows, so I can clearly see what Mom has done.

“Who did all this?” I said, moving into the house and looking all around.

I felt my eyes filling up with tears. Mom was crying, too. She could barely tell me why she’d done it.

“Carly said that the first step to recovery is to accept and celebrate life. So that’s what I’ve done.”

All around are pictures starting the day that Annie died. There are pictures of her in her leotard, of me doing her competition hair, of us laughing over something stupid. Of her and my Aunt Jess at the airport. A picture of Annie’s plane ticket, and a picture of her boarding. 

Then there’s newspaper and magazine clippings about the crash. There’s website print-outs. Pictures of the plane, and pictures of Annie’s body when they found it. Pictures of Annie at the hospital as they tried to revive her.

A picture when they realized that she was gone.

There are pictures from Annie’s funeral, of her in her casket. There’s pictures of our family in front of the casket, saying goodbye. There’s pictures of her friends giving speeches, who can barely make it through before crying and being unable to speak any longer.

There’s also pictures as we moved forward. There’s pictures from the car crash from a couple of weeks ago. Jess had taken pictures of Mom and I in the hospital. There’s pictures of Carly and Mom, of Carly and I. There’s pictures from the past two sessions, where we went to the gym.

There’s one picture post-Annie’s-death where I’m smiling. It’s the one from the first day back at the gym... when I sat on the vault.

Me and mom are both standing in the middle of our house, crying our eyes out and looking at all the pictures. We retell stories about Dad and Annie, and about gymnastics. After having such an amazing time with Mom, I could finally smile again. I hadn’t smiled since the picture on the vault.

Mom had spent hours putting up the pictures while I was at the gym with Carly and Tierney. She’d hung up the pictures from the ceiling and put them on the walls in fancy frames. Some were just taped. Mom and I spent the afternoon taking down the pictures and talking some more. Then we put them in a scrapbook.

On Monday, I took another couple of pictures of Annie and hung them up in my locker. 

“Oh, hello Elizabeth,” said Mrs. Velveeta.

Mrs. Velveeta is the head of the Arts Program, which includes music, art, and yes, the yearly school musical. This year, the school was doing Hamilton. It was a stretch for highschool students, but Mrs. Velveeta had high expectations. She hoped that the school held some talented rappers. 

“Hi Mrs. Velveeta,” I said.

“I was talking to the guidance counselor, Mr. Hand, about your situation. It’s awful, your family situation and then the crash. But I do think that I finally have some good news for a change,” Mrs. Velveeta said.

“Um, okay?”

“This year, the school musical is doing Hamilton. I’ve heard from Mr. Hand that you are quite the actress and singer,” Mrs. Velveeta said, “I’ve discussed it with your mom, and we think that you should try out for the musical.”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Velveeta, but I’m in no shape to try out for a musical. The tryouts are next week and I’m still in a cast and have a concussion,” I said, “and no matter what they say, I’m not an actress. I’ve never had any interest in those things.”

“Just something to keep in the back of your mind. I’ll see you in art class this afternoon, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Velveeta said, and went to her classroom.

That was weird. Why had Mr. Hand and my mom and Mrs. Velveeta been talking about me? I’d talked to Mr. Hand right after Annie’s death, but he didn’t help. That’s why Mom had taken me to see Carly. Why had she been talking to Mrs. Velveeta? Why did she say I was an actress.

I put it out of my mind and went to class.

School went by slowly for the whole week. I didn’t mention the musical to my mom at all, because I thought it would start an argument. I knew things that could really hurt her, and now was not the time to kick her when she was down.

The following weekend, I had another doctor’s appointment. I got my cast off and was put in a boot, but I didn’t need crutches anymore. My concussion was almost gone, barely noticeable. I didn’t need to wear the sunglasses, and I got the permission to go upside down at my gym sessions with Carly.

I also had another meeting with Carly after my doctor’s appointment. We met her at the gym again, where she was talking to Tierney. 

“We’re going to start with bars today,” Tierney said.

I went over to bars, careful not to trip over anything. I swung onto the low bar and did a kip and hip circle. I then got onto the short bar and onto the high bar.

“We’re going to work on a lot of dismounts today. You have great low bar skills for now, but dismounts are very important,” Tierney said, “today, I just want to see what you can still do. You’ve been through a lot since you quit gymnastics. About eight months off and you’re still in recovery from a pretty serious accident. I don’t want you to get frustrated if you can’t do good dismounts, okay?”

I nodded. I swung on the bar a couple of times and did a flip. I stumbled a bit on the landing, but it was mostly good. Tierney cheered and gave me a hug. Even basic skills was better than none. 

After a couple of simple bar dismounts (which I did pretty well), we went over to the vault. I was smiling so much that my cheeks hurt. I tried running down the mat, but I couldn’t run very well with my boot. That was okay, though, because Tierney just had me jump up from the trampoline to the vault and do handstands off of it. It was pretty good for beginner stuff.

Then we went to floor. I worked on my jumps and splits and arm movement dance moves. I couldn’t run yet, so I couldn’t do tumbling passes. I even picked out some floor music for my beginner routine.

Then we went to the beam. Beam was still very difficult. It was hard to jump on the beam, since it was hard unlike the spring floor. I tried to do some split jumps and turns, but they didn’t turn out so well. I ended up doing a flip dismount into the foam pit. Then we thanked Carly and Tierney and went home. 

On Monday, Mrs. Velveeta pulled me into her artroom before school. Inside was the group of drama students.

“Drama students, I’d like you to meet Elizabeth Green. Elizabeth is going to do her tryout for the musical now,” Mrs. Velveeta said.

“Wait, what? Hold up,” I said.

I leaning on my crutches so that I can use my hands to gesture. Even though I didn’t need my crutches, I preferred to use them when I wasn’t at gymnastics because my ankle got sore really easily.

“Your mother emailed me yesterday asking if you could audition late,” Mrs. Velveeta said.

“No. I have no interest in trying out for the musical. I’m sorry but I can’t, not right now. Maybe next year,” I said. 

“Psst,” whispered a voice.

I turned around. In the doorway was mom. I hobbled over to her with an angry face. I was ready to scold her for emailing Mrs. Velveeta and not telling me.

“Mom, why did you ask for a late audition? I don’t want to do the stupid musical this year!” 

“I talked to Carly and she said that this would be good for you.”

She played the Carly card. She knew that I trusted Carly and if Carly said this would help, that I would. I wanted to say no. I wanted to ignore her and go to class. I wanted to hide in a corner. But I didn’t.

I sighed and mumbled, “fine.”

I took a paper with the words for a couple of songs. The drama club all sat and Mrs. Velveeta played the recording.

It was like the world faded away. I noticed nothing else but me and the paper with the lyrics. This was the happiest I’ve been in weeks. I finished song after song until the playlist ended. Mrs. Velveeta looked overjoyed.

“I think we found our Eliza!” Mrs. Velveeta squealed.

I got the script and song list for Hamilton. Mrs. Velveeta gave mom the schedule of our practices. Most of them were after school. The musical wasn’t for a couple of months, and by then I’d be out of my boot. For now, I wasn’t doing any of the movements.

Mom left after the audition. I went to all of my classes and then reported to the stage in the MPR afterschool. One of the hardest parts about having a late audition was playing catchup. The drama club hadn’t found a good Eliza, but they had been practicing without her since last week. I was now learning all of the songs and movements a week behind everybody else.

When I got home from rehearsal, I was exhausted. With my injuries I usually didn’t stand as long as I had today. I was just thankful that I didn’t have a therapy session with Carly until Thursday.

On Thursday, Mom drove to Carly’s office. Our past weeks had been at the gym, so now I was slightly confused.

“Why are we going to Carly’s office today? Aren’t we going to the gym, like we have been?” 

“Carly’s got something she wants to discuss with you.”

I got out of the car and followed mom into the usual waiting room lobby. Carly’s assistant called us to her office, and we both took a seat. 

“We will not be going to the gym anymore,” Carly said.

“What? Why?!” I exclaimed.

“The whole point of taking you to the gym was getting you to overcome mental blocks and obstacles that kept you from getting better mentally,” Carly said, “Elizabeth… you’re not depressed anymore, I can see it in your eyes.”

“So?” 

“I’ve been paying Tierney for those lessons, obviously. If the gymnastics has healed you, I won’t keep paying for them. It is now your choice whether or not you want to return with your normal group with Tierney as your instructor.”

“So you won’t be taking me to the gym anymore?” I said sadly.

“No. You can continue gymnastics on your own time. From now on, our therapy sessions will be in a traditional office,” Carly said, and gestured around the room. “I suspect that you won’t need therapy for much longer.”

As I thought about the past couple of months, I did realize how far I’d come. Mom and I could talk about Annie and our memories. We even talked about Dad, which we’d never done before. I’d recovered from the crash, at least almost. I was doing gymnastics again, which after Annie’s death, I’d told myself that I’d never come back. I truly have come a long way since that awful day in June.

After our visit with Carly, Mom and I went back home and signed me up for gymnastics.

Days went by, and the weather turned cold. I now had to put on a coat and hat to leave the house. My foot, which was still in a boot, got very cold outside, so I stayed inside at recess and painted props with Mrs. Velveeta and Hamilton’s stage crew.

I spent 2-3 hours after school rehearsing for Hamilton. It was surprisingly easy to memorize the songs and lines, and it only took me 2 weeks to have almost the whole musical down. I guess that’s what happen when they play nonstop in your head the entire day and appear in your dreams at night. 

After play practice, I usually went to the gym if I had the energy. I’d been placed back in my group, but I wasn’t doing the same things as them. I envied the girls who were perfect and could do this crazy flips off the vault while I jumped up and down on it. Tierney had to remind me that before I could officially come back, I needed to let my body heal first. 

In mid-October, my doctor said that I was fully healed. I took the boot off and returned the crutches and sunglasses. When I went to rehearsal the next day, everybody was so happy to see that I could walk and run and jump in the scenes. Mrs. Velveeta was happiest of them all.

“We can move forward! Yes!”

We had a choreographer come in and help us block and do dance moves. We got our costume fittings and were taught how to use the sound system and microphones. We used the mics everyday after that.

But the biggest achievement was in gymnastics. I could finally progress on my events. I got to run down the vault mat and do some simple flips. Tierney eased me into it, but before I knew it, I was almost like the other girls.

My bars got good. I worked on technique and my form. I was learning more advanced skills than before. My beam improved phenomenally. I could do turns, flips, handstands and some high-intensity dismounts. I could finally do tumbling passes on the floor with the rest of the girls.

I was the happiest I’ve ever been. 

If I had known that today was my last meeting with Carly, I would’ve brought her a gift, at least some flowers, and a gift card. But I had no warning, and now I wouldn’t be seeing her anymore.

Carly told me that it was our last meeting at the end of our session. We’d discussed Annie, I’d described Annie’s room, we talked about Hamilton, and how I was going to apply for a job at the local bakery after I finished Hamilton. 

“Elizabeth, this is our last session.”

“What?”

“Don’t you see? You’re talking about Annie and your Dad. You’re talking about Hamilton and working and we’re discussing your future. You’re happy Elizabeth. You don’t need me anymore.”

I may have cried a little bit. 

That December, I played Eliza in Hamilton for four showings. Mom sat front row in all of them, with her new boyfriend, Joshua. I really liked Joshua, and I hoped that he and mom would last a long time. I got the job at the local bakery after Hamilton ended. I did lots of cake decorating after school and worked the cash register when I could. I made good money.  Although my goal was no longer to go to the 2016 Olympic Games, I did work to be back where I was in gymnastics. I tried my absolute hardest, with Tierney coaching me and Kaitlin by my side. 

Carly was right. I was happy.