Page 78 of Property of Bob

“Bossy.”

“Pot. Kettle,” she sighed. “Remember when I said I was going to help you because you were going to help me? This is me helping. You’re going to bed even if you’re too stubborn to admit that you’re about to fall asleep in your chicken.”

I heard laughter behind us as she wheeled me away from the table.

“Good night, Ashland!” Prime called.

I lifted my hand over my shoulder and flipped him off.

Ramona laughed.

“You think that’s funny?” I asked.

“Very.”

“I’m kicking his and Push’s asses when I can walk again.”

“You can walk now,” she pointed out.

“When I can walk far enough to catch him.”

“Ah. Important distinction.”

I smiled as she pushed me down the hallway.

The noise from the common room faded behind us.

I hated the wheelchair. There wasn’t any way around that.

I hated having to sit while somebody else moved me. Hated knowing that I couldn’t just get up and walk down this hallway without my legs turning to shit halfway there. Hated how tired I was after doing almost nothing all day.

I rubbed my throat.

“Stop that.”

I dropped my hand. “Stop what?”

“Touching your throat.”

“It hurts.”

Ramona stopped pushing.

I looked back at her.

Her expression changed immediately. “It hurts?”

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

“Ramona.”

“How much?”

“Not much.”

Her eyes narrowed.