"So...do you go to school? High school? College?"

Her straight, perfectly white teeth all show when she laughs. "High school? Do I look that young?"

Thank G.o.d she's not in high school. "Well, you do look young, but I was kind of hoping you'd say college."

Once again, a brighter peachy pink colors her ivory cheeks, making them look like she's been in the sun. I like watching her blush. "I'm a senior, well, supposed to be a senior, in college, this year."

"Now that, I wasn't expecting. You look younger than a senior."

"Thank you? Maybe?" She smiles.

"It's a compliment," I a.s.sure her. "You're an older woman. I like that."

"Older?"

"I'm a junior. I'm twenty-one. Well, on November first, I'll be twenty-two."

"I'm twenty-two. Won't be twenty-three until March."

"So you're not too much older. Can I ask what you're studying?"

"Education. And," she looks down, hesitant, "and...dance."

She's a dancer.

With one leg.

Now I get it.

I don't want to say, "I'm sorry." That may make her feel bad. So, instead, I ask, "Elementary or secondary?"

"Elementary."

"Good choice. Little children are less evil."

"I don't know about that," she jokes, and I'm starting to get a glimpse of the real Rose. "What do you study?"

"Sports psychology."

"Oh. You're a baseball player. Makes sense."

"Can't play ball forever, right?" I hope that wasn't the wrong thing to say.

"Nope. Guess not. There's an age limit in Major League Baseball, right?"

I relax. She doesn't seem to be getting offended or teary or anything. "Pretty much. Once you've hit your late thirties, you're pretty much done. Although, Jamie Moyer pitched until he was forty-six, so..."

"Forty-six. Wow."

"But that's not the norm, so sports psychology is my back-up."

"You're pretty sure you're making the Majors, huh?" she asks quietly.

I shrug. "Not positive. No. I've been scouted though, so it's looking good. I'm not full of myself or anything, please don't get the wrong idea, it's just...well, it's all I really wanted most of my life."

She nods. "I get it," she says quietly.

"I realize things can change." I feel like s.h.i.t right now. The last thing I want to do is bring her down now that she's finally smiling a little.

"So, you'll be Dr. Falco, the sports psychologist?"

I laugh, partly from relief from the ball-playing thing, partly...no, just relief. I'm relieved she's changed the subject. "Or just Ben. By the way, how'd you know my last name?"

"I heard the guy say it this morning."

"Ah. What's your last name?"

"Duncan."

"Rose Duncan. Nice."

"Actually, it's Rosalie. But everyone just calls me Rose."

"Rosalie's a pretty name."

"Thanks. It's okay...Benito."

"Are you making fun of my name?"

She shakes her head, but smiles. "No."

"You're in a good mood tonight."

She shrugs. "Faking it."

"Really?"

"I don't know. My friend came to see me today, so..." She fiddles with her fingers, and I notice she still hasn't clenched them all night.

"And you were happy to see her? Him?"

"Her. Holly."

"Holly. Really? I have a friend named Holly. That's who I was texting when you came in."

"Yeah? Can't be my Holly, she doesn't know any Bens."

This makes me laugh for real. "Oh. You know every person your friend knows?" I ask jokingly.

"Well, in the past three years I've known her, she's never mentioned anyone by the name of..." She pauses, her face scrunched up in thought. After several seconds, she says, "Wait a minute. Ben. Psychology. Did you take a psychology cla.s.s this summer?"

s.h.i.t. "I did. Hunter Hill?"

"Oh my G.o.d. Are you...a 'nice' guy?" she says with quotes. "Like 'apple-pie' nice?"

I crack up. Slap my thigh and laugh out loud. "Holy s.h.i.t. Holly. Yup." I shake my head at the reference of apple pie. Holly always thought of me as the all-American boy. "Gotta be the same Holly."

"Holly Buchanan?" we both say at the same time.

"Oh my gosh, she was just here. She didn't say...does she know you're here?"

I shake my head. "No. She knows I had surgery. Knows I'm recovering. She doesn't know I'm here though."

"Wow," she says, still fiddling with her fingers. "So you guys met in psych cla.s.s?"

"Yeah. Actually, we met online during registration."

"Oh. I think her text said something like that. Back in June..." She trails off and shakes her head. This time I notice her fingers stop fiddling and disappear inside her fists, which are rested on her lap. "She texted me that she met you," she continues, her eyes gla.s.sy. "I think she was excited to have you as a friend." Rose smiles even though her eyes are still bubbling over. "Otherwise she never would have mentioned you." Now she chuckles. "Holly's like that. Only the real important stuff is worth her breath."

I nod. "That sounds like Holly."

Rose is fighting back emotions, but I give her courage for staying on the couch. Like she said before, she's making progress.

"So...you and she have been friends the last three years?"

"Yeah, she was my dorm mate and became my best friend." She nods, sitting still and unnerved. The only thing giving her away is her unmoving and tightly-clenched tiny hands.

"Cool."

"Did you live in the dorms?"

"No. I lived in a house with some teammates. This past summer, though, I rented a bedroom from some old lady."

"Really? Did your teammates bust you about that?"

"They didn't know. As far as they were concerned, I went home for the summer."

"Oh."

"That's how I became friends with Holly. All my friends were gone for the summer."

"Got it."

"So you live in the dorms when you're in school, where do you live otherwise?"

"Wantage."

"Wantage? Is that in New Jersey?"

She hesitates. "Up North. Near PA."

"Oh. I'm near PA, but I'm more toward Philly. Cherry Hill."

Her fists are still, but her knuckles are stark white. It's starting to make me nervous.

"Tell me about Wantage."

"Um..." She shakes her head no. "I..."

"It's fine," I cut her off, recognizing her discomfort with the subject. "You can tell me about it another time." I'm stumbling over what to talk about. I can't move too fast; she's vulnerable. Still trying to make her way back to normalcy. So I bring the conversation back to Dumb and Dumber. "You know, we've missed a lot of the movie. Are you up for starting it over? Watching it uninterrupted from the beginning?"

Rose doesn't answer right away, but when she does, she says yes, and I'm just happy to be sitting in silence next to her. Under normal circ.u.mstances, I may have tried to hold her hand or slide my hand behind her on the couch so I can slip it over her shoulder.

But these aren't normal circ.u.mstances.

And I don't want to push her away.

15.

ROSE.

I hate being so emotional. He only asked about my hometown.

But I want to be home so badly, I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. He must think I'm such a freak.

At least I didn't run away again. I'm trying. But it's hard. Especially because he's so cute. I sat down, purposely, on the left side of the couch, hoping I could lean my elbow on the armrest to cover the scar on my face with my hand. But then Ben moved to my couch. And in order to look at him, I had to turn my body. Which meant I couldn't lean my elbow on the armrest, leaving my ugly scar uncovered. I could have held my hand over my face, without leaning against anything, but I was aware that would have made me look even sillier. So I sucked it up and tried not to think about it.

Now that we are just watching the movie, I'm able to lean my elbow on the armrest. Not that it matters anymore anyway. I wish I could put makeup on to cover it, but I don't think anything I have at home is strong enough.

The movie is funny enough to alleviate any tension I put between us, and the rest of the night is actually enjoyable. We laugh at the same jokes, and I even notice Ben shift a couple of times to move closer to me. At least I think that's what he was doing. The fact that he hasn't seemed turned off by me yet makes me feel a little less self-conscious. Toward the last half of the movie, Ben pauses it to microwave some popcorn, and when he comes back, he's sitting so close to me that only the bag of popcorn is between us.

Now I'm feeling things I haven't felt in a long time, and I'm self-conscious in a different sort of way. Why is he being nice to me? Is it just because here, I'm the only girl his age? There's Kimberlee, but she doesn't spend time in the rec room. She has so many doctors looking after her that she's too busy to hang out.

"I'd have suggested chocolate pudding," Ben jokes, "but popcorn's more a movie thing."

I laugh, and we both stick our hand in the popcorn at the same time, but I move my hand before his touches mine. And once that happens, Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels become invisible to me. Sure, I'm pretending to watch the silly movie; I laugh when Ben laughs. But my stomach is in knots, because suddenly he's become more than just the cute baseball player with a knee injury. He's become the cute baseball player with a knee injury whom I wish I could date.

If only I had two legs.

Liking a guy who may like you back usually results in a date. A date, into dating. Dating, into an intimate relationship. Which means s.e.x. How could I have s.e.x with only one leg? And it's not even the physical awkwardness I'm thinking about. It's that a boy, whom I like, would see me...like that.