I love Life Bends Down, but it needs worthy opponents.

Cross-posting from SV, will try to update simultaneously but FFnet may run a day or two behind (which is why we're starting off with a double-post). I'll get it up on AO3 as soon as my account is approved, I'm not sure about SB yet.

DISCLAIMER: All of Worm and associated properties belong to John McCrae AKA Wildblow. I'm just doing this for fun. Yes, I did read Worm all the way to the finish and yes I did cry at the end.

CONTENT WARNINGS: This thread is rated M for Mature because I don't really want to have to worry about it. It's actually probably more like PG-13. Still, this is a story about college students, so expect all the sorts of wacky shenanigans college students get up to (e.g. drinking, dating, cursing, and all that jazz) as well as mild violence and implied sexual content. I will be posting trigger warnings for each chapter to the best of my ability. The trigger warnings will include spoilers, so I'm putting them in the cut below since FFnet does not have spoiler tags. If you want or need different trigger warnings, please let me know and I'll put them in. This fic is ultimately a comedy, but it's also Worm, so, like, very dark comedy. Read at your own risk.

SYNOPSIS: All second-year college student Taylor Hebert wants is affordable housing and a decent research budget. Unfortunately, she lives in America, and her name is Taylor Hebert.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm going to try to update once a week until I get through my buffer, at which point the schedule is probably going to be sporadic since I write this in my free time when I'm bored or procrastinating. Currently, it's written up through chapter five and plotted all the way to the end, so if I end up abandoning it I can post the plot summary on request. More information might be added, TBD. Also, I don't currently have a beta-reader, if anyone wants to volunteer for that (I'm new to this website, but I think you can PM me?).

Spoilers and trigger warnings inside the cut.

TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER ONE - INCLUDES SPOILERS:

Ambiguous possible suicide attempt; frank discussions of suicide and suicidality; homelessness; almost falling off a four story building; claustrophobia; panic attacks/flashbacks (with hallucinations); amputation (past, not pictured); unexpected removal of a prosthetic; internalized ableism (use of the word "cr*pple" in self-denigration); implied/referenced possible child abuse (spoiler: that's actually not what's happening); following a stranger to a second location

1.1 - LIVING LIFE ON THE EDGE

Up on the roof at three am, I regretted my life choices. Most immediately, not bringing a jacket, but also everything else that let up to that, starting at my conception.

My hand trembled. I could barely feel my keys biting into my thigh. I was numb and hard, like my skin was just rubber wrapped around someone else's bones. Mom would've appreciated that analogy, assuming she didn't realize it was partway literal.

It wasn't like she'd be proud of me for much else.

She'd always wanted me to go to college, and, finally, here I was. A half-frozen homeless nobody cripple, hiding out on library rooftop at her dead mom's alma mater.

The access door banged open behind me, blown wide by the wind. I could still go back in. Lock up. Sleep in the stacks. The check out desk opened late on Saturdays, so I'd have time to get out before the morning shift caught me. Even if they did, my boss might cut me some slack — I had enough unpaid overtime hours banked up to justify a little leeway.

I crouched between the gargoyles on the short parapet, staring up at the sky. The light pollution turned the ever-present sea fog a bright grey, and half a moon glowed green in the distance. I could even spot what might be a star or two. Unusually clear, for a Brockton fall.

I unfurled slowly, hips creaking. My knees popped violently and my spine protested as I stood up. I swung my arms in big arcs across my chest, trying to work the blood back into them. Coming to a decision, I stepped—

"WAIT!"

I startled, leg jerking up defensively. For a endless moment, I teetered on the edge of the roof, barely hanging on by my toes. My arms pinwheeled and my knee overextended. My leg cramped, hovering frozen in midair. I could feel my anchoring foot slipping out from under me, inch by inch.

I threw myself back, desperate, and my heels flew off the edge. I went weightless, silent, not a single part of me touching a solid surface.

The wind broke the bubble, shrieking up as I fell down, and I curled my knees into my chest tighter and tighter until suddenly my shoulder blades crunched against cement, so hard my right wrist popped out of socket and my glasses flew off my face. My legs kept going, rebounding against my chest, their momentum flinging me into a backwards somersault, flipping heels over head to end up flat on my face, the rest of me sprawled out in a heap. I could hear my right hand bouncing against something hard, separate from the rest of me.

I lay there for a while, trying to feel my feet. The world spun. I thought, woozily, that I might be dying. Dying felt awful. Every part of my body was suddenly clamoring to remind me that its nerves were still sending, if not receiving. My ears buzzed. Existing, even very quietly, hurt. I wanted my mom, or my dad, or maybe a rabbi.

I wobbled my head upright enough to check for one of those, feeling vaguely nauseous, and instead found the blurry brick wall marking the edge of the roof less than six inches from my throbbing nose.

Holy shit.

I was still on the roof.

Tiny electric shocks skittered all over me. I hadn't fallen off, which meant I hadn't hit the ground, which meant I wasn't dead or dying, I was fine. The ringing in my ears got louder. I was breathing so fast I thought my lungs might burst and take my ribs with them. My skin pricked under a thousand tiny clattering claws.

I lurched up, pushing at the roof until I was sitting. My head spun and I nearly fell back over, catching myself on my right elbow just in time, the fabric of my compression sleeve hitching against the ground.

I pawed violently at my face, wiggling my toes. All there, all stinging with pins and needles. My nose, mouth, eyes, where they should be. I had just as many ears as before, both buzzing loudly. One and a half arms, no clue where my prosthetic hand went. My hair, still on my head. I flopped down on my back, totally out of breath. The roof swayed beneath me like a boat.

I wasn't dead, I was fine, everything was okay—

The access door went off like a gunshot, slamming open and rattling the hinges so hard they almost gave. My heart skipped a beat and I lunged away from the sound, banging my aching back against the low parapet. My vision lurched at the sudden motion. A wiggly figure stood in the open doorway, framed in silhouette like a ghost, chest heaving, limb outstretched. Even from halfway across the roof, I could hear their ragged breathing, raking in rough rasps of air. I went completely still.

"Oh, thank god," they wheezed, keeling over, blur shifting as they bent double. "T-Thank god. Thank g-god and fuck and ev-everything else. You're alive."

I tried to feel something about that other than panic. It was hard to understand them over the echoing in my ears, and without my glasses they were just a vague shape. I inched further away from the edge, diagonal from where they were hunched over, still panting, as I frantically felt out the rooftop for my missing hand. My fingers found my glasses instead, and I shoved them onto my face so fast I nearly poked out an eye. The frames hung awkwardly across my cheeks, warped by the fall.

"E-Eight flights of stairs," the stranger groaned, holding their stomach. "Four f-fucking stories worth of stairs. I've never r-run that much in my entire life. Never again."

They staggered out into the moonlight, skin slick with sweat. Their long hair stuck wildly to their face, pale gray in the nighttime glow. I could see the whites of their eyes, upturned at the edges against the taught flat planes of their cheekbones. Their white skirt swirled around their knees. My head spun. They looked like something out of one of Emma's sister's Japanese horror movies. My glasses slipped down my nose.

Apparently finished studying me, they thrust out one hand, pointing at my heart. I flinched back, vertigo roiling in protest, holding my bent glasses frames on.

Their mouth was moving again, face unwinding into disconcerting grin. I strained to hear over the noise in my head. The nub of my trembling right arm bumped against something hard and smooth. Found it.

"Lisa," they offered. "She/her. Sorry for nearly scaring you off the roof."

'Lisa' had a distinctly West Coast accent, which meant she wasn't from around here. I hadn't heard of any out-of-state serial killers, but you never knew in Brockton.

I shook my head to clear it.

I eyed her outstretched hand, palm sweating. I adjusted my glasses, settling them at a more secure diagonal across my nose. Like most people, she led with her right. I shoved my right arm in my empty pants pocket, knocking my loose prosthetic into the shadow behind my hip.

I raised my left hand.

Lisa smoothly switched sides, sharp smile unwavering. "Pleasure to meet you," she insisted, reaching out and gripping my hand tightly. "Sorry again about the circumstances."

I looked down at our joined hands. I tried to tug mine back. Lisa clamped down harder.

My shoulders creaked, straining against my twisted sweater.

"So, what's your name?" Lisa demanded. My palm prickled. She clearly wasn't planning to let go.

I tried to pull away again, but Lisa had a vice hold on me. My back made its grievances known. I shifted my weight and accidentally sent my right hand rolling across the rooftop again, quickly angling my body so that Lisa couldn't see what made the noise.

"Taylor," I croaked, giving up. Thrown off a roof by a toothy stranger wasn't the worst way to die.

Lisa squeezed my hand again. "Nice to meet you, Taylor!" she repeated. "You're not hurt, right? I thought you looked fine at first, but it's kind of hard to tell in the dark."

I had no idea why she would guess that, assuming she'd seen me fall.

"Good, good!" Lisa chirped. I didn't correct her. Even if she was actually as concerned about me as she appeared, the hospital was expensive and it was probably only bruises. Hopefully, my glasses just needed a screwdriver.

I considered trying to fish for my right hand with my feet, but figured Lisa would notice that.

She studied my face. Her eyes were a dark green in the moonlight, sharp and surprisingly serious despite her smile. "What brings you up here, Taylor?" she asked.

I looked away. Lisa gently rubbed the back of my left hand. I twitched. The sensation was disconcerting.

I tried to gather my words but the constant contact kept drawing my attention.

"Needed to think," I finally said, staring at our joined hands.

"Yeah, it's really quiet, isn't it?" Lisa sat down next to me, still not letting go of my hand. "And you can even see the stars! Plus the gargoyles really add a certain je na se quio. You know, I thought you were one until you stood up! Scared the crap out of me." She was close enough that I could feel her body heat through my sleeve. I started to sweat.

"'Course then I nearly spooked you off the roof, so I guess we're even," Lisa chattered on, filling the silence. She kept rubbing circles on my hand, playing idly with my fingers. I stared at them, not sure what to say. "Still, I can't believe I've never been up here before! Do you come here often, Taylor?"

I tried to put a little more distance between us and my keys dug painfully into my left leg. "I work here," I admitted.

"In the library? That's cool! You must really like reading, right?"

I shrugged. I looked around, trying to figure out exactly where my prosthetic had landed. I hadn't heard it fall off the roof.

Lisa tapped my left hand lightly. I glanced back at her. "What's your favorite book?" she prompted. Why did she care?

I frowned, staring at the access door. No arm-shaped shadows in that direction. I shifted my hips and my keys, remarkably still in my pocket after the fall, clicked together lightly. Beyond the door, the stairwell was completely dark, just like the rest of the library.

"How'd you get up here?" I demanded.

Lisa's grip stiffened a little, then relaxed. "I took the stairs," she quipped, smiling. Seeing my scowl, she clarified, "The front door was unlocked."

My frown deepened. "It's key-card access only," I insisted. "Locks automatically after-hours." They were really serious about security, because of the rare books collection. Nothing so great as the private schools, but we had some pretty expensive second and third editions.

"I guess you didn't close it fully?" Lisa suggested, rubbing my hand again.

My blood went cold. What if someone got in? I glanced around wildly, eyes landing on Lisa. Someone had gotten in.

I started to sweat. I'd die homeless and unemployed. "Taylor." My knees were trembling. I clenched my fist so hard my fingers creaked. If I lost my work-study, I wouldn't be able to cover tuition. Why did I have to be such a stupid useless— "Taylor!"

My head snapped up. Lisa was staring at me. I couldn't read her expression, but she wasn't smiling anymore.

"Taylor, it's okay — I swear I won't tell anyone," she assured me. Her expression was soft with sympathy. It hurt to look at. "I know how to keep a secret." The shadows deepened around her eyes. "Plus, I'd be on the shitlist too, for coming up here. Technically, I'm a trespasser." At the least. She smirked. "Promise I won't tattle if you won't?"

I studied the cracks in the rooftop. My keys hung heavy in my pocket. This was private property, even though it belonged to a city college, which gave me some leverage of sorts. Slowly, I nodded.

She grinned again. It suited her face.

"Deal," she agreed. She paused, then added, "So long as you tell me your favorite book." I rolled my eyes despite myself, huffing or maybe hyperventilating.

I stared unseeing at the gargoyles, letting my breathing even out enough for words.

"The Living and the Dead," I decided.

"Oh wow, really?" Lisa exclaimed, "I've never read it, but I love Hitchcock's adaptation."

My eyebrows rose in surprise. Not many people knew that Vertigo was based on a novel.

"I'm a huge fan of detective stories," Lisa admitted. "Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, even the grocery store rack stuff."

I nodded, gaze drifting. The Living and the Dead was really more of a psychological thriller, and I couldn't say I agreed about the merits of the mystery genre more generally.

The moon hung lower in the sky now. It really was bright tonight. There was a blur in the corner of the parapet I thought might be my missing hand.

"So are you an English major?" Lisa asked, bringing my attention back to her.

"Earth Systems," I muttered, tensing.

"Science!" Lisa exclaimed, delighted. "Me too, if you count Psych."

I didn't.

"I'm studying abnormal psychology, like Criminal Minds, but real life!" Oh wow. "But, Earth Systems! You must be a total tree-hugger, right?" Lisa nudged me gently.

I shrugged again. Climate change was going to kill us, but it wasn't my primary focus.

"I'm studying spiders," I said. Or, at least, I had been. My eyes burned a little and I blinked hard to clear them.

"Spiders!" Lisa shuddered dramatically, knocking me out of my thoughts. Maybe she was cold. "You must really like bugs."

"No," I snapped, skin crawling. I moved to scratch at my shoulder and remembered Lisa was still holding my hand. "I hate bugs."

Lisa stared at me.

"Spiders are arachnids," I told her, "not insects. They eat bugs. It's a common misconception."

"Like dolphins being fish," she said.

No. Not at all. The differences between aquatic mammals and their water-breathing neighbors were much greater than arachnids and insects. Plus, nobody over the age of five thought dolphins were fish anymore.

"Sure," I said.

Lisa frowned at me. She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but grit her teeth and smiled instead.

"It's an accurate comparison," she said. "It's the exact same zoological class distinction. They're all phyla."

"Yes," I said.

Lisa looked like she was struggling to keep words down. It involved a lot of swallowing and complicated facial contortions.

"You know what?" she exclaimed, smile back in place. "It's getting pretty windy out. Why don't we go inside?"

I considered my frozen toes. The breeze wasn't much stronger than before and she was the one wearing a jacket. Then again, students from out of state tended to have a low tolerance for weather. I still had no idea why anyone would come to the less than illustrious Brockton Bay University from out of state, but people did it.

My arm ached. The maybe-prosthetic shape taunted me from across the roof.

Tapping my heels against the ground, I muttered, "We shouldn't be in the library after hours."

Lisa stood up, taking my hand with her. "That's okay, my car is just around the corner. I'll drive you home."

Every muscle in my body went rigid. The seams of my clothes creaked in protest.

Dad, sitting at the kitchen table, hands carefully folded to keep from forming fists.

"Taylor?" Lisa prompted, tugging at my arm. I didn't move.

"I-I'm fine here," I stammered, my forearm twisting in my pocket. "You can go without me."

Lisa mouth was a flat line. "I'm not leaving you on the roof," she said.

"No, really, I'm good," I said, pulling back against her grip. I stared longingly at my right hand. "Everything's copacetic. I'll, uh, walk back later."

"I'll walk with you," she declared.

"No!" I snapped. "I, um, need some time alone. To think."

Like I was doing before you nearly scared me off the roof, was implied.

"Taylor," Lisa said, with what looked like concern instead guilt. Shit. "It's nearly four A.M. I want to make sure you get home safe."

That wasn't the issue. I'd lived in Brockton Bay all my life, I knew which streets were dangerous and which weren't. I didn't feel the same about the people. The back of my neck prickled with sweat.

Lisa crouched down in front of me so that our eyes were level. "Taylor," she said, subdued, "do you have anywhere to sleep tonight?"

My mouth went dry. I swallowed hard.

"Yeah," I said, looking away.

"Let me take you there," Lisa insisted.

I flinched, the keys drilling a hole in my pocket. I glanced at the access door. Lisa followed my gaze.

"Were you planning to sleep in the library?" she asked, almost a whisper.

I shrugged, glaring at the ground.

"Taylor—" she started, rubbing my wrist again.

"I'm fine!" I snarled, snatching my hand away from her. Everything was fine. I was only going to crash in the stacks for one night, I'd figure something else out tomorrow.

"Do you have any friends you can stay with?" Lisa suggested, fingers twitching.

I scratched vigorously at my right shoulder, staring at the gargoyles on the parapet.

"Oh, right. Okay," Lisa murmured. I glanced at her. "That's fine. This actually works out. Perfect timing."

She turned to me, smiling brightly, a little more strained than before. I tensed.

"You know," she said cheerfully, "my housemates and I have been looking for a fifth person to sign on to the lease! We have an empty room you can stay in, and then if you like it, maybe you can keep it!"

I stood up, eyes burning, almost knocking Lisa over. She righted herself, and got to her feet. She was around a foot shorter than me, which felt surprising somehow even though I knew I was unusually tall.

"I don't have any money," I muttered, stepping back.

"No problem," Lisa chirped, following me. "The whole place is subsidized, so it's really cheap. We'll work out a monthly rate based on how much you can afford." My shoulders hiked. "Besides, we really need another tenant to make rent. You'd be doing us a favor, really."

My nails cut into my palm. "Why are you trying this hard for me?" I snapped. I stalked over to the edge of the roof, keeping my eyes on her. I sped up when Lisa kept trailing me.

"You...remind me of someone," she said, sounding distracted. I walked faster. She grabbed my shoulder, jerking me away from the parapet.

I spun on her. "What the hell?" I shouted. "Let — let go of me!"

"Stay, at least for tonight," Lisa pleaded, grip tightening on my shoulder. "Please. For me." Her eyes shone wet and wide in the dark.

I shook off her grip, shoving her and her tears away from me, and turned back to the low wall, searching for the right spot. Lisa wrapped her arms around me from behind, throwing her weight backwards so that we both toppled over onto the rooftop.

We tangled in the air, me struggling against her, twisting so that Lisa landed on top of me pinning me with her body weight. My arms were trapped awkwardly beneath me. I wheezed, stunned, ears ringing. Something started dripping through my shirt. Ropes wrapped around me in a vice grip.

"Please, Taylor," a voice cried. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm, we're going to the hospital, okay? I'm sorry, I should've just taken you before, but I fucked up. Thought I could handle it. Couldn't handle it. We're going now."

Tiny claws dug into my skin, trying to get under my eyelids. My ears buzzed, there was something crawling inside them. I couldn't move. I thrashed, bucking the weight off me, rolling and banging my elbows against flesh and concrete. I looked around wild-eyed, searching for a way out, something to break the lock, but everything was blurry and dark—

Hands on my back, pulling me out. Someone was shouting. I struggled, slapping them away and scrambling to my feet. I whirled around, trying to figure out where I was, the world mostly splotchy shapes without my glasses.

A bright blur. The moon? The roof. Lisa, kneeling next to me on the roof, ready to fling herself at my knees again any second.

"What the fuck!" I roared, shaking, chest heaving. My fist clenched and I almost punched her. "Why would you — why did you do that!"

"We're going to the hospital—" Lisa said, standing up, looking determined.

"The hospital?" I yelled. "No! Why the fuck would we — I'm fine! I was completely fine here on this roof until you fucking tried to scare me off it!"

"You're not fine, Taylor!" Lisa shouted back, shoving at my shoulders. "You came up here trying to kill yourself, and then you had a seizure—"

"I did not have a seizure!" I shrieked, swinging for her. I missed, depth perception terrible without my glasses.

"I'm not going to let you kill yourself!" Lisa screamed, grabbing my collar.

I froze. Kill myself?

"What?" I said.

"I know everything seems awful right now, like it's never going to end, and maybe, maybe your parents or your landlord just kicked you out or something, I don't know," Lisa rambled, pushing the words out as fast as she could go. I flinched. "And maybe you feel like you're not worth it or no one cares and no one would miss you if you were dead, but I care, Taylor, and so should you! You matter, and your life matters, and everything might suck right now but things can and do get better and if you kill yourself then they'll never get a chance to!"

"You think I'm going to jump," I said, staring at her.

Lisa, or what I could see of her, looked ancient in the dark. "No, you won't, because I'll stop you," she said, grip tightening on my sweater. "But I think you're trying to."

"I'm not going to kill myself," I said.

"Only because four story falls aren't fatal," she muttered.

"I'm not going to kill myself," I insisted, louder.

"Why did you come up on the roof, Taylor?" Lisa asked me.

"To think!" I yelled, throwing my arms in the arm.

"And then what?" Lisa snapped back.

I went still. And then what?

I didn't know.

"I wasn't going to kill myself," I said, more to myself than her.

Lisa pulled me into a hug.

"I wasn't," I repeated. Lisa was shaking. "I was going to, to sleep in the library. Figure things out from there." Most of my other life plans had fallen apart about three hours earlier. Hence, the roof.

Lisa squeezed harder.

"Come away from the edge," she pleaded. I looked over her shoulder. The parapet ledge was only a foot or two away. I'd been headed right for it.

That probably looked pretty incriminating, in retrospect.

I cleared my throat, fidgeting, then cleared it again. My skin prickled. Cold sweat dropped down my spine. Finally, I forced the words out.

"I need to get my arm first," I muttered.

Lisa's hold spasmed around me and went stiff. "What?" she said, pulling back slightly.

"My arm," I explained, gesturing with my conspicuously empty right sleeve to the barely visible hand shape laying against the rooftop wall.

Lisa stared. Her face blur went two shades paler and then three shades darker in the moonlight.

"I fucked up," she said.

I looked up at the sky. "You, uh, meant well," I said. "I guess."

In theory, trying to save my life by keeping me from throwing myself off a roof was probably the nicest thing anyone had done for me in…well, in a long while. Even if she had nearly killed me twice in the process. And held my hand, like, a lot.

Yeah, no, I was still pretty pissed about most of that.

"Wow," Lisa repeated into my chest. "I really screwed the pooch on this one. Shit. Shit."

I cleared my throat.

"Can I go get my arm now?" I asked.

Lisa let go of me so fast I thought she might dislocate her shoulders.

I crouched down and picked up my prosthetic, turning it over for a quick evaluation. It didn't look like there were any obvious tears, but it was hard to tell in the dark. I popped it back on my right forearm, tugging my sleeve down on top of it, fabric catching against the rubbery material. I squinted around the rooftop in the dark.

"Do you see my glasses anywhere?" I asked.

That shocked Lisa out of her stupor. She flitted around the roof a bit before squatting down. She pressed the familiar frames into my outstretched hand.

"Thanks," I said automatically, slipping them back on my face. One of the lenses was badly scratched and I thought it might be cracked. That would be a problem, since I couldn't get my old spares from home.

We stood there on the roof, staring at each other.

"So," Lisa said, "still no on the hospital?"

I nodded, working my right hand into my pocket with some difficulty.

"Okay," she said. "You're coming home with me, then."

I glared at her. Seriously?

"If only so I can get you some food, and a place to sleep," Lisa hurriedly explained. "We really do have a vacancy to fill, and I owe you," she waved her hand at my face, "for the glasses and...tackling you, and everything."

"I don't need your charity—" I started, tensing.

"It's not charity if you're paying rent," Lisa declared, brushing me off. She smiled again and stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I went stiff. It was an awkward angle, given our difference in heights. "You can meet everyone tomorrow and decide about the lease, but you're staying over tonight and that's non-negotiable. I'm not going to let you sleep in the library when it's not even finals week."

I scowled. "I work here, it's fine. I have twenty-four hour access."

"Until you get fired for crashing in the stacks," Lisa declared, turning me towards the access door. "No, unacceptable. You'll need this job to cover the deposit. We're cheap but we're not that cheap."

I shook my head, eyes burning.

She squeezed my shoulders. "Come on, I don't know about you, but I require at least ten hours sleep to function. If we don't get back soon, I won't be awake until like sundown tomorrow. Today. Yesterday, maybe."

"Just go home, then," I muttered. Lisa gripped me tighter.

"Not without you," Lisa declared. "I don't leave strangers alone on rooftops at four thirty in the morning when I can help it. It's bad policy."

I blew out a long breath. She wasn't going to back down on this.

All I wanted to do was lay down on the ground and not move or think for at least a year. Too tired to fight, I let myself be pulled along into the dark stairwell.

"Really, Taylor," Lisa insisted. "The pleasure is all mine."

DELETED SCENE: "DEFINITELY NOT CONCUSSED"

"Sorry," I told Lisa, "about earlier. I'm not the best conversationalist. Plus I thought you were maybe a serial killer. And I kind of," I waved my hand in the air near my head, "jiggled my brains a bit."

Lisa frowned, glancing at me in the rear view mirror. "You have a concussion?" she asked.

"No." I shook my head. "I was just, uh, dizzy. Not thinking straight, right after the fall."

"If you think you have a concussion, we should go to the hospital," she insisted.

"I don't have a concussion," I snapped. I knew what concussions felt like, I'd had them before. "I was just disoriented. Because of all the tumbling around."

Lisa looked unconvinced.

"Like an inner-ear thing," I explained.

Lisa slowly nodded, turning back to the road. "Let me know if you start to feel worse," she said, grip tight on the wheel.

I glared out the window, feeling the seat sway under me. I didn't have a concussion.