Make It Right by Megan Erickson Page B

and second, because he acted like a young man offering a ride was some form of courting. At least the name Jason barely made her wince anymore. Her dad opened his mouth again and as much as she loved her dad, she didn’t want to hear what he said next, so she held up a hand to cut him off.
    “ He gave me a ride , Dad. That’s it. We’re not getting married or even dating. And I’m a big girl now. So even if I did decide to date him in some alternate universe, that’s my decision.”
    Her father blinked, wrinkled eyelids closing over wet eyes. Then he nodded. “You’re right as always, La-la. When did you get so wise?”
    “I’m not wise.”
    “Could have fooled me with all that talk, telling your old man what’s what.”
    “Your influence, Dad.”
    “Phsaw,” he said, waving her away, but his grin and red cheeks told her he was flattered.
    L EA SAT IN bed later that night, reading over her e-mail to Bruce Shaw. After talking with her dad about Nick, he’d agreed that volunteering to teach self defense classes was a great idea. So she’d called Jackie and they discussed the situation. Jackie was understandably angry and concerned about the assaults. She said she had some ideas on the best way to teach the class, and she’d be happy to do it as long as the school provided a room.
    So Lea composed an e-mail to the recreation-center director, proposing the class and asking to use a room. She hoped he’d be on board. She’d already designed some quick flyer examples to print out and paste around campus.
    Satisfied with the e-mail to Bruce, she clicked SEN D . Hopefully, she and Jackie could help students be more aware of their surroundings and confident in the wake of these assaults.
    She asked for an assistant, though, someone she could practice on. She hoped Bruce had someone in mind.
    After she sent the e-mail, she leaned back on her pillows and stared at her ceiling. Her thoughts drifted to Max. The blanket he’d placed over her legs. The light in his eyes. The openness of his face as he gave her advice, no matter how misguided.
    The situation was so incongruous with what she thought of Max. He was just some arrogant jock who saw girls as disposable, right? The type of guy she stayed away from.
    She pulled up her pajama leg and ran her fingers over the scars on her left leg. There were several, which arched from mid-calf over her knee to mid-thigh. Glass and metal from a scrunched-up car don’t care about the soft tissue and blood and bones of the passengers inside.
    The scars and often-gnawing pain reminded her what happened when she let her trust override her sense.
    When she was thirteen, she’d been playing with Nick at his neighbor’s house. They’d gone over to the play with the neighbor kid—same age as Nick—several times a week that summer. She’d grown to love and trust the mom, who fed them homemade snacks and peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off.
    Lea had noticed the too-bright eyes, the trembling hands, the slurred words. But at thirteen years old, they hadn’t meant anything to her.
    She’d been told by her parents and Nick’s parents never to get in the car with anyone but them. Ever.
    One day, the mom piled them in the car, telling them she had to run an errand. Lea knew the rules and was responsible for the ten-year-old Nick. But she trusted the mom and buckled herself in the backseat, ignoring the uneasy feeling in her gut.
    That was the day she became familiar with hospitals, pain, and the sick feeling of seeing Nick injured.
    And that’s when she learned what happened when you trusted others. When she didn’t keep her guard up.
    There were plenty of times she cursed her injury. Tried to hide it under baggy clothes. Cried about the bullying and mocking from her peers about the scars and her limp. Went through bouts of depression that put her in months of therapy as a sullen teen. When she wore all black. Lied about her age to get piercings and tattoos. The pressure