Leah Archer was just 12 years old when she hit her head on a rock and fell into a coma, one that doctors weren't sure she'd ever come back from. But when she wakes up four years later, she faces the struggle of recovery and fights to regain any hint...
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"ARE YOU SURE you want to do this?" My mom asks again, looking at my eyes through the mirror as she brushes and braids my hair. I don't remember how to braid, and trying to tame my tangled hair tires out my arms too easily, so she's taken over the job.
"I'm sure," I say, trying to reassure her. I've been thinking about it for a while, and right now is the perfect opportunity. "There's an event at the mall by the hospital today, and Lizzie will be there too."
"If you're sure, then we better get going soon," she concedes, tying off the bottom of my hair. The braid isn't super thick, but it reaches all the way to the bottom of my back. "You could text Bree, ask if she wants to come too. She doesn't have to participate, but she might want to be there."
"Okay, I'll ask," I promise as she wheels my chair out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. I smooth out my white t-shirt and shorts, a pair of blue fabric ones that Bree and I picked up at the mall. I maneuver the wheelchair over to the table, where I had left the cell phone that Mom and Dad had gotten for me. I pick it up, scrolling through my contacts.
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My least part of getting ready is always shoes and socks. Even though my muscle movement has improved tremendously, it's still difficult to bend down and slip socks over my feet, and I still don't know how to tie my shoes.
I feel like a little kid as Mom squats in front of me, pulling a pair of socks onto my feet and tying my converse over them. I mutter out a 'thank you' as she stands up, squeezing my shoulder.
"Anything else you need to do before we go?" She asks, finishing off the coffee she brewed earlier that morning. Lindsay sat at the table eating a bowl of cereal, while Caleb was at the high school for orientation. Mine would be in two days.
"I don't think so," I say, biting my lip in thought. "Can I just take the crutches?"
Mom looks at me with a sad expression. "You know that's too much walking for the crutches. You've barely used them around the house, and that mall is huge. You'll get tired too easily."
