Roxy by Shusterman Neal & Shusterman Jarrod

Author:Shusterman, Neal & Shusterman, Jarrod [Shusterman, Neal & Shusterman, Jarrod]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young Adult, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Contemporary, thriller
ISBN: 9781534451254
Amazon: 1534451250
Goodreads: 56980350
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 2021-11-09T08:00:00+00:00

IVY

When Ivy told Tess her grandmother was in rehab, Tess wondered what drug she was trying to kick. That’s where everyone’s mind automatically goes. Or at least the minds of the people Ivy knows. She wishes there were a better term for her grandmother’s hip situation. Officially, the place is called a “skilled nursing center,” but that sounds too much like “nursing home.” Rehab, with all its connotations, is still better than that.

The place is on a bus route, with only one transfer to get Ivy there. She’s visited Grandma with her parents, who go several times a week. She would go with Isaac, but now that his car is in the shop, he’d have to get a ride or take a bus himself. And anyway, she doesn’t want to be just a tagalong. She wants Grandma to know she cares enough to make the effort.

When Ivy arrives, Grandma is in the lounge—a multipurpose room that serves as a mini cafeteria and recreation area. Grandma’s halfheartedly eating from an institutional tray and watching an unidentifiable sitcom on a TV that’s hung too high for anyone’s comfort. She brightens up the instant she sees her granddaughter.

“Ivy! Over here.” She tries to roll her wheelchair out to Ivy, but she’s wedged in by several others parked at her table. Ivy goes over and manages a hug.

“What a surprise,” Grandma says. “Is it just you?”

“Yeah, I had some free time today, so…”

Grandma glances down at her half-eaten plate. “Can you believe this shit they give us?” On the plate is something that must be chicken with a rounded orange lump that must be sweet potato. “It probably makes your school food look like lobster thermidor.”

And in response, Ivy presents the bag of chocolate éclairs she brought. “At least there’s good dessert.”

“Contraband!” says Grandma. “I love contraband. Especially the kind where you get to eat the evidence.” She peers into the bag, delighted. Several of her tablemates rubberneck, trying to get a view too. Grandma closes the bag and whispers, “Come—we’ll eat them where we don’t have to share.”

In Grandma’s room, the shade is down against the late- afternoon sun. The woman in the bed by the window is now on oxygen, and fast asleep.

Grandma positions her chair next to her bed and lowers the side rail. “I don’t need your help,” she says before Ivy offers it. Grandma gets out of her wheelchair with a grunt and onto the bed on her own. “Wheelchair-to-bed. I made that milestone last week. Now I’m a pro.”

The woman by the window coughs, fogging up her oxygen mask.

“Should we be quiet?” Ivy asks.

“For her? She’s never quiet for me.” Grandma waves her hand dismissively. “Anyway, she’s so doped up these days, nothing can wake her. I really hope I’m out of here before she buys the farm.”

Ivy doesn’t mean to laugh at the poor woman’s misery, but it tickles Ivy that her grandmother is so cavalier about it.

Grandma sighs as she gets comfortable in bed. “I hate this place.

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