Free I Wish by Elizabeth Langston

over getting a good grade.” Her face scrunched as if in deep thought. “Why did he pick me to abuse?”
    Her blunt honesty with me demanded blunt honesty in return. “You challenged him about your iPad in front of the entire class.”
    “I see.” She sighed. “That’s about the brain damage.”
    I would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been staring at me so solemnly. Wow, oh wow. She meant it. “You’re not joking.”
    “Wish I were.” She frowned at her tablet. “My mom’s out front to pick us up.”
    “We’re not studying here at the shop?”
    “My house would be better.”
    A customer cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”
    Sara waited in front of the cash register. I pasted on my sales-associate smile. “How may I help you?”
    “I’ll take these.” She handed me two paperbacks and some cash.
    Curious, I checked the titles. Turning Your Hobby into Revenue and Midnight Meditations . Hmmm. Was someone starting a small business at the Tuckers’s? I handed over the bag and the receipt.
    Kimberley craned her neck to watch Sara exit the store, then asked, “Do you know her?”
    Maybe. “Since first grade.”
    “She looks familiar. What’s her name again?”
    “Sara Tucker.”
    “Her brother is my dance partner in PE. Ballroom dancing.”
    “Yeah, he’s great.” Sean was the perfect blend of sweet, careful, and determined. If he tried something, he didn’t give up until he succeeded. “Everybody likes Sean.”
    “Has it been ten minutes yet?”
    I laughed. “Yeah.”
    Once my replacement took over, I followed Kimberley to a silver SUV in the parking area. She introduced me to her mother and climbed into the back seat.
    Did I sit with Kimberley or ride shotgun?
    I made the safe choice and crawled into the back.
    It only took a few minutes for Mrs. Rey to drive us to their home. It was located midway between the college and downtown, as far away from my house as we could get and still be within the town limits.
    Their yard looked like someone had clipped it with a pair of scissors. A spotlight on the front porch shone on big pots of flowers in yellow and fuchsia. The garage was spotless. The floor had been swept. A single bike hung suspended upside-down from the ceiling.
    Kimberley and I entered the kitchen and dropped our backpacks onto the table. Yanking open the refrigerator, she pulled out two bottles of water and handed one to me.
    The obsessive cleanliness spread across the room. The counters had nothing on them. No containers, rags, or small appliances. There was not a dust mite or tiny insect to be found, quite a feat in North Carolina. Her mom must have worked on the house all day long.
    Kimberley laid her tablet on the kitchen table. “I’ve drafted a few slides. Want to see?”
    Okay, but she couldn’t expect me to leave her earlier bombshell alone. “Let’s talk first.”
    She froze for an instant and then nodded.
    I took a deep breath, bracing myself. “How long have you had brain damage?”
    “Ten years.” She watched me, her dark eyes big and round. “My short-term memory is impaired.”
    I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what that meant, but it sounded bad. “Permanently?”
    “Yes.”
    “So the iPad…?” I gestured at her computer.
    “If I don’t key in everything I hear, I might not remember it.” She picked up her bottle of water, unscrewed the top, and took a sip.
    “What caused it?”
    “Chemotherapy.” She relaxed into a seat and wiggled for comfort. “I had leukemia when I was a little kid.”
    “Is that why you moved away after first grade?”
    “Yes.” She watched me carefully. “Don’t be sad for me. If I weren’t damaged, I’d be dead.”
    “I won’t be sad for you, but let me know how I can help.”
    “Just try to treat me normal.”
    “Sure.” I nodded. Since Kimberley didn’t seem to mind this topic, I would keep trying—but gently. “May I ask you something else?”
    “Go ahead.”
    “How do short-term memory problems affect