Shooting Stars 03 Rose by V. C. Andrews

punched at me. "I'm just an embarrassment for everyone."
He spun his chair around and started pushing himself back toward the house.
I watched him for a moment and then shot forward and stopped him by putting my hands on his arms and leaning into him.
"Just a moment." I ordered.
"Let go. I got to get back to my room," he said. He glared at me, his eyes burning with anger and tears. He tried to thrust me aside. but I clung to his arms, weighing him and his wheelchair down so he couldn't move.
"No. You're going to stay here and listen. I'm not someone you can click off like you click people off on your computer."
"What?"
His face turned crimson with race right down to his neck. I was sure his tantrums and explosions of anger always got him what he wanted, but my feet were planted firmly.
"You're not going anywhere until you promise to stop this. I certainly don't want to move in here and live with you if you're going to be like this all the time."
"Like what?"
"Like Mr. Self-pity."
I released my grip and stood up straight before him.
"Okay, we won't lie to each other about the obvious. You're right, This is not a lucky break for you and most people are not crippled and in a wheelchair, but you'd be surprised at how many people are crippled in other ways. For one thing, you're more intelligent than most people your age. I can see that immediately. You could probably do something wonderful with your life because of that and because of other talents you have that you don't even know about yourself.
"Most people who walk easily won't do something wonderful with their lives. I don't know if I'll do anything worth spit. but I'm not going to moan and groan about it. I'm going to make the best of what I have."
His eyebrows lifted. "Really?"
"Yes, really, Daddy didn't do a good thing with your mother and you. I know, but he had a philosophy that helped him get by and often helped me face disappointments. too."
"And what exactly was this brilliant
philosophy?" Evan asked, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.
"He used to say there was no sense in worrying about things you have no control over." I smiled.
"What's so funny about that?" he asked.
"When I was a very little girl and something would bother me, he would always come into my room to stop me from crying or sulking."
"Terrific. Lucky you."
"One day," I continued, ignoring his sarcasm. "he brought a beautiful little wooden box in with him. It's this big," I said, holding my hands about a foot apart. "and it has that face of tragedy engraved on it on one side, and the face of happiness on the other... you know, what the Greeks used."
"You mean masks, not faces, and they originated with the Dionysian cult," he said.
I smiled at him.
"I bet you're a walking encyclopedia."
"Walking?"
"I mean..."
"I know," he said quickly. "Aunt Charlotte calls me Mr. Computer Head. so I had this T-shirt made up: Evan Dot Com. I ordered it over the Internet. It's where I do all my shopping now. But forget that. Tell me about the box." he said impatiently, like a child who didn't want to have a fairy tale end.
"Daddy said whenever something bad happened or something sad. I should write it down on a slip of paper and put it in the box and then turn the box so the happy face, the mask of comedy," I corrected. "is turned to me, and that would help me forget about it."
He nodded slowly. I expected some new sarcasm any moment, but he looked thoughtful.
"When you come here to live, if you actually do, be sure to bring the box along," he said. "I'll have lots to put in it," he added and wheeled himself forward. I watched him for a moment and then walked slowly after him, thinkin that maybe we were more alike than either of us really knew or, more
importantly, wanted to admit.
"Well, I see you two have been getting along like two sweet hummingbirds. That's wonderful," Charlotte cried as we returned to the patio.
"Yes, everything's going to be just peachy-keen from now on. Aunt