Free All the Broken Pieces by Cindi Madsen

you’re going to math class, I don’t think that’s possible.”
    “Oh, I like math.”
    Of all the things to say, that’s what you go for?
    Don’t say I didn’t warn you if he grunts and makes caveman noises now.
    “Pretty and smart. Sounds like a dangerous combo.” Clay grinned again, then turned around. And almost bumped into Spencer. “Oh hell, it’s Hale.”
    The disdain was evident as Spencer glared at Clay. “Clever. Now move out of my way.”
    They regarded each other for a moment, both staying rooted to their places.
    Clay shook his head. “Not worth it.” He stepped around Spencer and continued walking down the hall.
    Spencer’s gaze moved to her. “Nice choice of friends.”
    Liv raised an eyebrow. “Are you talking about you or him?”
    “I’m not your friend.” Spencer walked past her, into the classroom.
    It took her a minute to pick her jaw off the floor and recompose herself. When she walked into the classroom, she avoided looking at Spencer. She was done wondering what his deal was. She already knew. He was a jerk. A jerk she planned to avoid as much as possible.
    …
    Classical music played through the kitchen, culturing the food from boring beef stew to a French stew Mom called pot au feu —which she explained meant pot on fire.
    “What’s next?” Liv asked.
    Mom wiped her hands on the dish towel hanging from the oven door. “Get the celery, carrots, and onions.”
    Liv grabbed the veggies out of the crisper, rinsed them, and laid them on the cutting board. There was an art to the way Mom chopped vegetables. She was fast with a knife, yet her speed didn’t mess up her precision.
    “Oh, before I forget, I need some information so I can write my paper for my English comp class.”
    “Like what?” Mom asked, her knife gliding through the carrots.
    “Basic stuff. Like traditions, what happened on the day I was born…”
    Knife still in motion, Mom whipped her head up.
    “Mom, be”—the knife went down again—“careful,” Liv finished. But it was too late.
    Mom dropped the knife and brought her hand over the sink. “Oh, drat!”
    “I’ll get you a Band-Aid.” Liv ran to the bathroom and dug through the medicine cabinet. The bright red letters made the box easy to find. Frantic, she took out a Band-Aid and rushed back into the kitchen.
    The paper towel Mom had over her finger had turned red.
    “What’s going on in here?” Dad asked as he came into the room.
    “Oh, I just cut myself.”
    Shock crossed Dad’s face. “You? Steady Hands Stein?”
    “It’s nothing big.”
    Dad stepped up to her. “Let me see.” He removed the paper towel and studied the cut. A crimson stream ran down Mom’s finger. “Good thing no one here’s squeamish at the sight of blood.”
    The room tilted and Liv reached out to steady herself on the counter. Blood. There’s blood everywhere.
    “You okay, Livie?”
    Faint and distant, mixed in with the sound of rain pounding metal, she heard a song. A song that she knew by heart. But she had no idea what it was. There were drums. Loud drums. A female voice belted out the lyrics with power and conviction. Something about swirling shades of blue, the sun kissing the earth, and hushing the urge to cry.
    Blood poured down, soaking her shirt, leaving large drops on her jeans. Lifting her head was impossible. Everything hurt.
    You’re going to die.

10
    “Whoa,” Liv said as Mom’s fuzzy outline sharpened. “What happened?”
    “Dad carried you to the couch when you fainted. Do you remember? You saw the blood and—”
    “Don’t say blood.” Liv put a hand up to her throbbing head. I feel like I never quite get rid of this wretched headache.
    Mom frowned. “You’re the daughter of two surgeons. You should be able to handle a little blood.”
    Liv groaned. “Mom, please.”
    Dad handed her a glass of water. She sat up and took a sip.
    “How are you feeling now?” he asked.
    “Better.” Liv glanced at Mom’s finger. A Band-Aid