I sigh, settling into the plastic green chair with a pile of brand-spankin'-new book next to her on the floor. Life is good.
I'm sixteen years old. I work at the local library and love my job. It gives me a reason to run off in the morning and to read books more than necessary, or even particularly healthy. Lisa, the awesome head librarian pays me fifteen dollars a week to shelve book and read and write summaries for new books when they come in. She calls me the 'page'. Sometimes I call her squire to get back at her, but she laughs it off. As I said, she's awesome.
I go to Casper High, not that anyone there could tell you that. I'm a shadow at school. Unknown and unnoticed. The goth-girl at the back of the classroom, who always has her head buried in a book.
I check my watch as I open the new book from Kate Constable. Four o'clock. Time for me to get home. Mom will kill me if I'm late again. Damn. I snatch up the book and run past the dark wood front desk. "Gotta go, Lisa. Bye!"
As I run out the white front door and down the steps, she calls, "Don't you dare burn those book like last time, Manson!" I laugh as I sprint for my bike. One time I had left a new book near the stove as I was coking dinner. Lisa was extremely pissed.
My baby leans against the black rail of the bike rack. In teal and silver, Tiara, as I call her is smooth and fast. I ride her to work everday and she never fails me. I throw the books in the wicker basket and strap them in. I carry a bungee cord at all times, just to carry books to and from work. I read a lot.
2….7…9…2. My birthday, the combination code for my bike lock. The stupid lock gets caught in the pokes of my front wheel again, but I manage to free it with an extra hard tug. With my loc safely stored, my helmet on and the books safe from harm, I'm ready to hit the road.
And hit it I do. I love the rush I get from biking as fast as I can down the sidewalk. On a Friday afternoon in March, there's very few people walking about. My legs pump and strand of hair work free of the small ponytail on top of my head. I need to blow them out of my face when they get in the way.
It takes about ten minutes to get from the library to the living part of town. Houses squashed next to each other, like people on a crowded subway train line the streets. They're all various shades of gray. When I spot nobody walking in front of me, I push my bike to the limits.
It feels like flying. I now once I stop I'll get a headache, but I can ignore that for now and just soar.
I sa the car backing out of the driveway in front of me. It just didn't process until it was too late and I was directly behind the car.
I get hit. Well, no, hit is when you're walking across the road and a car rams you. I basically get bumped.
But it's a hard bump. My bike falls over and the bungee cord undid itself. I'm thrown off the bike entirely and partially into the street. I'm probably all bruised and broken but all I can thin is, Damn. I promised Lisa I wouldn't hurt the books.
The car stops on top of my bike, and the driver and person in the passenger seat leap out. They run over and lean over me. One of them kneels next to me and raises my head by the back of my neck. He looks so concerned, I feel like giggling. But I can't. It's like I can't control myself.
The pain is really starting to set in. Like drowning in needles and Novacaine, prickly and yet gooey and stifling at the same time. I lick my lips and shut my eyes. I'm grimacing and in massive amounts of pain.
My bike lies there, mangled under the heavy wheels of the huge silvercar. Or is it an RV? I can't tell. Pain is clouding my mind. I whimper a little.
"Are you all right?" My attacker demands. I squint at him to get a better look at his face. Big blue eyes, wide and frightened are all I can see.
Before I can black out, I manage to mumble one thing.
"What the hell do you think?"
