IT WAS ALWAYS a scary thing when you woke up in a hospital bed.

It was scarier when you woke up to a bunch of people staring at you.

I instantly sat back up in bed, panicked. All eyes were trained on me and I didn't even know any of these people. Had they been staring at me this whole time? Who did they think I was? A freaking artefact?!

"Whoa!" One of the doctors called. "Calm down, girl. We were checking up on you."

"Where's Mom?" I asked, looking around frantically. "I need to see my mom!"

"Someone get her mom!" The doctor ordered, and all of them literally ran to the door at the same time. Like a damn stampede. It was a miracle the doors didn't go crashing down. 

One of them didn't make it, however, because the doctor — now I recognised as Dr. Grey — grabbed him by the collar before he could escape. The second doctor gulped, and tried to soothe out his coat once Dr. Grey let go of his tight grip.

It felt like forever, but at last Mom went in the doors, looking. . . nervous?

"Emily," she said quietly, stepping forward.

All I wanted to do was to stand up and run to her, but my instincts told me that if I did, I would fall my ass off. What the hell happened to me?

"Mom," I let out instead. "What happened? Why am I here?"

She frowned. "You don't remember?"

"I. . ." Come on, think, Emily! "I was with Raph, Jessie, Tom, Jake and Oliver. . . we were playing baseball."

"That's all you remember?"

I tried to search for something, anything. . . "Yeah."

Mom searched every inch of my face; looking for what, I didn't know. Then she said, "You fell, honey. You tripped and fell, and you hit your head too hard. It happened a few hours ago."

A few hours ago? I was out for a few hours? Oh, God. Was that considered okay or too long? I was feeling fine, but my whole body felt weird, like something wasn't quite —

"But that's not the only thing that happened."

I watched her as she whispered a few words to Dr. Grey, who watched me with a sympathetic look. He nodded to her then ordered the other doctor to leave.

"Mom," I whispered cautiously. Something was wrong. "Tell me."

"Well." She sat down by the edge of the bed. "After you hit your head, you weren't regaining full conscious. Oliver and the others said that you tried to get up, but you couldn't. They tried to help you, but you were becoming. . . limp. Like you just gave up."

Dr. Grey cleared his throat. "Your muscles were getting too weak, and on top of that, you had a bad head injury," he spoke carefully. "Both your body and mind were preoccupied with pain and discomfort, so you couldn't think straight. And then you lost your consciousness."

I was speechless. Frozen. Pale. How could I not remember falling down and blacking out like that? 

"So. . . does this mean I can get out of the hospital now? I'm okay now, right?" Despite being told that troubling story, I hated hospitals. It reminded me that all the sick and soon-to-be-dead were all gathered in one hollowed place. It was depressing.

"That's the problem, sweetie." Mom's voice was sad. "You're not okay." Her voice cracked. "Some of your muscles are already paralysed. It's your legs."

I was left dumbstruck.

"You can't walk, Emily."

________

You know that feeling where you were about to fall, but you hadn't reached the ground yet? You were in-between of living and not knowing what would happen next — whether you would make it or not. Whether it would be the last day of your life. There was a the rush you got, when the wind blew your hair and was pressing against your body, the way life just blurred around you.

That was exactly what I was feeling right now.

I couldn't breathe.

Mom left to get me some water while Dr. Grey continued to look at me with worry. I was almost hurt that he didn't come forward and try to calm me down, but that was probably because I was on a high emotional run. If anyone tried to comfort me — try to tell me lies that I was going to be okay — I would snap.

When Mom came back, I took the glass of water from her wordlessly. My mind was still blank, and Dr. Grey decided it was time to tell me the bad bad news.

Seriously. I didn't think it could get worse.

It wasn't the fact that I had to use a wheelchair from this day on. It wasn't even the fact that my legs were already paralysed.

It was the fact that I, Emilia Marie Woods, had just reached the middle stages of ALS.

"What do you mean?" I cried. "How do you know?"

"Some of your muscles are already paralysed, which means you're going through the next level. It's weakening you, Miss Woods — I had a feeling that you already passed it, but this incident just confirmed it. I'm sorry."

Dr. Grey basically told me all the things that were going to happen to me. Every single detail was engraved in my mind, and I was scared. Really, really scared. My hands were shaking.

Meanwhile, the wheelchair wasn't the only thing barging into my life. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Augmentative and Alternative Communication — the speaking device. Welcome to the crew, AAC. You're going to join us in our fun adventure soon.

Shower chairs were also mandatory now, in case I slipped again. I didn't really have a problem with showering, since there was a small handle and I usually clung to it whenever I felt slippery. But I guess the chair would be more helpful — I didn't want to embarrass myself. Again.

Before he left, he informed me that I would be given some antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication soon. I'd told him a hundred times that even though I wasn't feeling okay, I was certainly not depressed, nor suicidal, but he didn't buy any of it.

My mood increased drastically when Mom offered to bring Oliver in.

However, I was expecting to see one and one person only. Not a whole pack of people bursting through the door. 

People as in the Grants. They all greeted me with relief and worry in their eyes, but I could tell they were happy to see me alive and breathing. Jessie, Raph and Mrs. Grant all hugged me with more compassion that I'd expected — that almost made me want to burst into tears. Mr. Grant gave me a friendly and sympathetic pat on the shoulder, but when Tom followed his father's footsteps, his pat was just awkward. It was more of a touching-and-retreating, but I quickly forgave him when I realised, for the first time, that he wasn't connected to this phone. Jake gave me a high-five and said, "I knew you'd make it. Er, kind of."

Oliver was quiet. Ironically, I was expecting him to be the first one to greet me — not that I cared or anything. He was in the back, and I got the feeling that he was trying not to look at me.

All of us were pretty much aware of Oliver's unusual behavior. Mrs. Grant muttered, "We'll be outside," and practically dragged everybody else out. Jake was protesting but shut his mouth when Raph and Jessie smacked him in the head.

Silence.

I cleared my throat. "Don't tell me you're having trouble speaking, too?"

Oliver mouth turned up a bit, holding a smile — which disappeared as he looked at me. His face was furious. Was he mad at me? 

"Oliver — "

"Are you okay?" he interrupted, coming closer and sitting on the edge of the bed.

I fumbled with the sheets. "Yeah."

"Are you injured anywhere?"

I hadn't checked the injury on my head. I touched it lightly but the pain was fading. "Nope."

"Have you got your hands checked? Because Dr. Green might not — "

"Oliver, I'm alright!" I didn't even bother correcting him.

"You can't walk," he spat out. So Dr. Grey did told him, which meant Mom knew that he knew. I didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

"I know," I said quietly. He either ignored or didn't seem to hear me, because his infuriated expression was still present. His mood got me on edge. "What did you expect, Oliver?"

"Not this!" he said loudly, his veins popping. I flinched. I'd never seen him like this before. "Just not this! The rest of them — they think it's some stupid leg condition. Dr. Grey talked them out of it. Honestly, I didn't think they'd believe it. But they did." He laughed bitterly. "I used to think that it was all a misunderstanding. That you weren't really having this. Now, it seems real."

I stared at him, at a loss of words. Why was he freaking out now? And who was he mad at? Me, Dr. Grey? Or himself?

"Oliver," I said shakily. "Ollie, calm down."

"How can you calm down on a matter like this?" he asked in disbelief. "Your legs are only the beginning. You're going to die — "

"You don't think I know that?" I snapped. "I do, Oliver. But everyone dies in the end."

"Not when they're seventeen," he whispered.

At the sound of his voice changing, I looked up. He was gripping the sheets like his life was depending on it, and he was staring at me with an intensity that was hard enough to knock me down.

I sighed. "I'm not going die at seventeen. Eighteen, probably." That earned me an award-winning glare. "Okay, okay! Look, I know things are looking bad right now, but we can't think like this. If we do, we're going nowhere."

He shifted his gaze to the walls. "So what do you want me to do, knowing my best friend is going to die?"

Best friend? I wondered. He thinks of me as his best friend?

I tried not to show how happy and giddy I was. "I want you to forget about the whole dying thing. You gotta see as if I'm going to keep living, okay? I don't need this depressing mumbo jumbo. I'm sick and tired of it. Promise?"

He swallowed, and in these rare moments, Oliver Grant was speechless. "I — I promise."

"Good." I tried to move into a better sitting position, but since my legs were useless, I did a hard time wiggling my butt. It didn't do any lasting effect. "Now I gotta talk to you about this other thing I've been thinking about. It's an idea."

________

"Homeschooling?" Mom gaped, staring at me.

"Well, it's a better option than public school," Dr. Grey spoke up. "With homeschooling, you'd need less body movement, therefore decreasing the risks and generally giving you an easier time to cope."

The three of us in the end agreed that I would be homeschooled, but there was a question buried under all those smiles — who was going to teach me?

Mom had work all day and all night. And I had no other parent.

I was just about to voice out my own opinion of hiring tutors when Mom thought of a (horrible!) plan.

"Why don't Jessie, Raphael and Jacob teach you?"

I stared at her. "They're twenty!"

"Twenty turning twenty-one in a few months," she reminded me. "Plus, all it matters is that they graduated high school and have gotten diplomas. As far as I know, they all have."

Was she really suggesting this? I looked over to Dr. Grey, who was quiet ever since Mom brought out the idea. Clearly, he was aware that this was a family-strict zone. After he noticed that he was pretty much pointless, he offered to fetch the Grants. The day was almost wrapping up — I could see the sunset coming — but they were still here.

Oliver, Tom, Jake, Jessie, Raph, and Mr. and Mrs. Grant came in with startled expressions. Without sparing another second, Mom began explaining.

As always, the universe seemed to hate me.

"That's a perfect idea!" Mrs. Grant squealed. "Raph and Jessie don't really have much to do except wait for their university results, and they're in no rush. Plus, Jake's not going to college at all, so that makes him free."

"Also," Mr. Grant added. "It'll look good in their resumes."

At that point, Jessie was the first one to agree. Raph took some time to convince because he was quite eager to start college, but he complied, agreeing with his father. Jake was the hardest to get through because he didn't want any work, but when Mom mentioned the money she was going to pay them, his eyes basically brightened with happy tears.

Classic Jacob Grant.

But I think they were forgetting someone's approval. Oh, right.

Me!

"No" was an understatement. I mean, a bunch of twenty-year-olds being my high school teachers? That sounded more ridiculous than me surviving the Thing. It wasn't that I doubted their intelligence, but it was the fact that our age gap was way too close. And I'd still prefer my teachers to be more experienced, thank you very much.

When I voiced my opinion, Jake only snorted. "And who's more experienced than us?"

I glanced at Mom, pleading for her to change her mind, but she only smiled at me.

Wheelchairs. Talking devices. Shower chairs. Medication. Homeschooling. And now, a trio of twenty-year-olds being my high school teachers.

How did I end up here again?

So I was wondering, if you were Emily, what would you do about the homeschooling? I certainly don't wanna be taught by 20-year-olds. I mean, seriously. I wouldn't have learned at all. 

But let's have a little faith in the Three Stooges - Jake, Jessie and Raph - shall we?