The Season of You & Me Read Online Free PDF Page A

With a girl. Alone.
    We sat side by side on the couch, the movie on, but my mind was on her tight purple tank top. The way it hugged her. The space between her breasts that I imagined pressing my lips against. Not that I expected much to happen. I never knew if my body would be up to speed. I could get a hard-on in chemistry if my pants brushed against me, but with a girl next to me, when it would actually be useful, I couldn’t count on it.
    “I always liked you,” she whispered, nipping my earlobe.
    And . . . lift-off.
    Liv straddled me, her tank top off and perfect breasts there, right in front of me, the way I’d imagined. Soft. Her skin smelled sweet, like vanilla. She rocked her hips against me. My fingers fumbled with the button on her cutoffs, when she reached down and undid them herself. It was happening.
    And then it wasn’t.
    “Am I doing something wrong?” she asked.
    “No,” I said. We kissed some more, but the heat was gone. For me anyway. I stopped, pressed my lips together to turn away, but Liv didn’t take the hint. She ran her tongue across my mouth, pecked at my lips.
    “Stop.”
    “Bry, it’s okay,” she whispered.
    “No, Shay, it’s not.” I turned my face away from her, then realized what I’d said.
    That stopped her.
    She leaned back, folded her arms across her bare chest. “I’m not Shay, is that it?”
    “No,” I said, but was it ? That had popped out of my mouth so unintentionally.
    “Tori told me—”
    “Tori should shut her mouth,” I said.
    “Look, she didn’t mean—”
    “Is that what all of this is? Prom, hooking up—do you want this, or did Tori ask you to do it?” I couldn’t even hook up without help. Anger at Tori replaced humiliation. That I could handle. The other stuff—the fact that Liv wouldn’t look me in the eye, me fucking calling her Shay after all this time, the inability to get out of there quickly—it sucked.
    She buttoned her shorts and slid off me, searching for her bra. I handed her the tank top, then moved to the edge of thecouch, ready to transfer back to my chair. The leather was slippery and I face-planted on the floor. Liv shrieked, and was on her knees, ready to help me up.
    “I got this,” I said, pushing myself to sitting. My wheels were in reach. I hoisted myself up onto the chair. Liv took my hand in hers and sat down on the end of the couch. Minutes passed. There was a shootout on the television. Liv ran her thumb across the back of my hand. She looked at me then. Her eyes gutted me.
    “I don’t think I’m ready to handle this,” she said.
    “I’m not asking you to,” I said.
    I wrenched my hand from hers.
    “Can you open the garage?” I asked. She nodded. We didn’t speak again.
    That.
    That had been enough for good-bye.
    When I got home, Mom was perched on the couch, book in one hand, coffee mug in the other. During the year, she taught language arts to freshmen at Crest Haven High. Before my accident, she used to teach at least one summer-school class or tutor, but she’d decided to take that summer off because she claimed she needed a break. I thought it was a load of horseshit and what she really wanted was to keep an eye on me. She looked up as I came through the front door.
    “Hey, how was your swim?”
    “Good; feeling pretty strong.”
    “Hungry? I’ve got some leftover chicken parm.” She placed the mug down on a coaster and slid a bookmark into her paperback.
    “Perfect.”
    I went to my room, hung my backpack on the hook near the door. One unexpected side effect of being para was becoming a neat freak. I wanted everything within reach. Simplified. No junk on the floor either. When I was in rehab, my parents converted their office into a new bedroom. It was bigger than my old one, but I missed being upstairs, closer to Matt, our late-night chats across our shared bathroom. But, #wheelchairperk—I didn’t have to share a shower.
    “Don’t forget your wet bathing suit,” my mother called from the