by Holly Ryan
This girl’s going to get her good grade.
Speaking of Avery, it felt strange being as close as we were a few minutes ago. Because, you know, the only other time that’s happened was at the hospital, in her private room ... without her knowledge. I know, it sounds as creepy as I feel. And I still feel pretty guilty and creepy about the whole thing, thank you very much.
I stand and stretch.
Everyone’s gone. It’s just this girl and me. And she must carry her entire locker around with her, because she’s still rushing to organize her things, spreading her arms over the entire table like a behemoth.
But me? I’m not in a hurry. See, lunch is next, and Julia’s been blowing up my phone all period to meet up in a few minutes. Apparently she wants to talk about all of us getting together again after school, at a time when I know my mom will be out. She said she had fun.
I didn’t reply to her much – just enough to get by without coming off as rude. I don’t want to give her the wrong message or encourage her in any sort of way, but my one-word replies didn’t faze her. The girl is persistent, I’ll give her that.
My classmate is finally ready to leave, and I follow her out. I’m stuck behind her and her mass of schoolbags, all of which wobble every which way as she walks and tries to balance them on her shoulders and the crook over her elbow at once. I’m beginning to grow impatient with her slow pace when I manage slip out from behind her and step into the hallway.
Then, in an instant, I see it.
I see her.
Avery.
She’s still in the hallway, having not yet made her way to the cafeteria. She looks as beautiful as she did moments ago, just a few feet away from me at the table, and she’s moving with grace. Her head is turned toward someone as she walks, and she’s smiling at that unknown, lucky person.
Then she’s on the ground.
I stop.
It happens quickly and takes everyone by surprise, a collective gasp audible to us all. But I think it surprised her most of all. Her face freezes. Her fingers are fanned out in front of her, palms plastered to the ground in the same position they came to when she landed. She lifts her head in shock.
Someone standing above her looks down and puts their hand over their mouth.
Please, don’t start laughing. Leave her alone.
Every screaming instinct in my body is saying, Get over there. Lift her up. But my rationale is telling me to continue walking, to leave her alone, to play it safe and not get involved. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself.
My guilt kicks in. I couldn’t do that to her. I can’t leave her there. And something else kicks in, too. The way she’s fallen, so helplessly and after having done nothing to deserve it, together with the embarrassment I know she’s feeling, ignites something in me. My heart races against my rib cage and I clench my hand into a fist at my side.
The laughs of those surrounding her intensify, and my knuckles turn a pale white. In this moment I want nothing more than to rush to her, to gather her up and protect her in a way I failed to do the first time – the time when it really mattered. The time when my father attacked her.
Avery
If it had happened any faster, I wouldn’t have known what hit me. But this time, unlike last time, in the dark with my attacker, I knew exactly what was going on.
I knew because I realized my mistake as soon as it happened. It happened with full, painful realization. It was my fault. My own stupid, angry leg.
And it wasn’t as easy as I expected.
Brendan met up with me again, almost running himself into me as soon as I stepped out of class. I know this guy – I should have expected that.
“Hey, Avery!” he said, announcing his presence without a hint of shame.
“Hi, Brendan.”
“Say, I thought about it–” Brendan begins, and tries to hold the paper out to me again.
“Brendan, I’m sorry, but I can’t to this right now. Okay?” I start to walk away while maintaining some kind of eye contact, trying to give a sympathetic look through those thick-rimmed glasses. I don’t want the kid to think I’m blowing him off. “Okay?”
He drops the paper to his side and slumps his shoulders.
I’m so caught up in him while I’m walking away, my head lagging behind my swiftly moving feet, that I fall.
In the middle of the crowded hallway. In front of everyone.
But I don’t just trip, or stumble, as embarrassing as each of those things would have been. No … I fall, and I fall hard. And the sudden squeak of my shoe scuffing against the slick linoleum causes them to turn their heads.
In an instant, my cheek hits the hard school flooring. I freeze there on the ground, and flashes run through my head. Flashes of a moment like this, minus the embarrassment and publicity of it all, but similar in all the sensations of shock. A moment that had once been so similar to this in its helplessness.
I feel the fear.
My palms, still pressed, begin to sweat.
I half expect to see an empty, soundless suburban street when I lift my head.
And then the snickering brings me back to life.
It’s just school. I dare to raise my head. And instead of the threat of a potential killer, it’s just a crowd of mocking students that I’m surrounded by. Horrible, laughing students.
I try to move my leg, that damn, bum leg – I wince at the pain.
I lower my forehead back down. It’s more than just the memory of my attack that I’m reliving. I’m reliving everything. Every sensation – the feel of shock of something so unexpected, so surprising as to knock not only you off your feet, but your entire world off kilter, even if only for a moment. I just experienced everything again, from the feeling of something cold and flat and hard against my face to the irregular pounding and fluttering of my heart inside my chest, the muscle high off adrenaline and shock. And I’m not sure I can take it.
I should have expected this to happen. What I didn’t expect was the sound of snickering coming from the small crowd of people held up around me, rising and falling like my attempts at life.
I also didn’t expect a large shadow to suddenly loom over me, a shadow that was obviously male, based on the stature of it, but one that couldn’t be skinny little Brendan. And I didn’t expect that shadow to remain there, instantly protecting me from all the sounds of laughter and even, in some way, the feelings inside of me.
I don’t want to look up again. I don’t want to face the crowd.
But I don’t have to. A hand touches mine, prying it away from where it’s pressed against the floor and folding it in its own and slowly lifting me entirely up.
With this help, I manage to stand. My leg still hurts, but his time it stays under me.
I’m dazed. My world is spinning.
“I’m okay,” I say. Stupidly, as if I’d actually been asked.
This person is still holding me. His arm falls in place behind me, clutching my side in support.
Wait. Who is this, exactly, touching me? I pull my hand away and take one half step to the side, just enough to escape him. Finally I look up to see who it is standing so close to me, so protectively.
Ethan’s dark eyes stare back at me.
He somehow looks more intimidating than his looming shadow. Up close, he’s tall and muscular, and today his dark hair is slightly overgrown and splaying every which way, and as I stand in front of him, that smell of sandalwood wafts over me. His eyes are intense and dark and bright all at the same time. I feel naked beneath them. His face is just as handsome as I thought it would be, and right now it’s covered in a layer of stubble.
“Thanks,” I manage. At the same time, I want to cower away and hide myself from anything and everything, including him.
Especially him.
His eyes don’t stop their boring. He’s still looking at me. Why is he still looking at me?
And why hasn’t he said anything?
God, he’s weird.
; As I return to reality and my adrenaline subsides, I realize my knee is burning. I bend to examine it and I grimace. It’s somehow been skinned against the slick floor. I’ve calmed down enough to realize that I’m embarrassed, but other than my pride and my skinned knee, I didn’t really hurt myself.
“I don’t know how I’m going to get over that one,” I mumble out loud.
Most of the people who found my humiliation funny are gone, having realized they’re wasting their precious lunchtime, but the lingering embarrassment is still coursing through my veins. I look around for the comfort of a familiar face – Brendan.
He’s gone. Jerk. I know he saw me fall.
“I’ve told myself the same thing.”
I turn back to him at the sound of his voice.
Why is he still here? It’s the lunchtime rush and even my friend has left me for the wolves. But he’s still here. Why?
I’m kind of glad. Now that we’ve actually spoken, I like him; his voice and face is comforting, and it soothes something restless deep inside of me. This is the first time I’ve heard his voice and the first time I’ve seen him this close, so the first time my eyes have been opened to him, really. It’s the first time I’ve interacted with him in such a way as to get a genuine feel for him. And now that I’ve done it, I only want to get closer. Looking at him and feeling this way, my skin starts to crawl with the ache for him to touch me again. I touch the goose bumps on my arm, half in embarrassment and half in an attempt to hope they go away before he has a chance to see.
At least he doesn’t seem like an ass.
Whether or not he’s the player that I’ve thought he is is indeterminate at this point. But he does look strangely familiar, as comforting faces often do, and I realize I’m examining him a little too closely.
I look away, my shy eyes darting.
“Avery!” Mara calls.
I see her. She’s running toward me from the far end of the hall, her bulging purse bouncing off her shoulder.
“My God.” She stops, out of breath. “What happened? Are you okay? I saw you fall from the other end of the hall.”
And it took you this long to get here? I must be in shock. That whole slow-motion-time thingy. “I’m fine.”
“You klutz.” She clutches my arm, ready to drag me away into a predictable cocoon of Mara-Overprotection, before she notices Ethan, who’s still standing nearby.
They regard each other in an almost passing off of me from one protective presence to another.
Okay then.
“Well,” I say to Ethan, trying to break through the awkwardness, “thanks.”
He says nothing. He just walks away.
How strange.
The way he walks is anything but strange, though; it’s perfect, and I watch as the muscles of his shoulders and back moving through the tight points of his shirt. I know what I told myself at the end of last period, that this guy is no good for me and schoolwork and healing and all that, but as Mara lightly yanks on my arm, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming longing for him to come back to me.
That’s it. I’ve had enough of this dancing around the Ethan thing.
I’m going up to him.
I’m going to say something nice.
It doesn’t have to be complicated. Thanks for helping me. I’ll make it short and sweet, and after that I won’t have to ever talk to him again. That would all be normal, right?
But I don’t know him. Maybe I was right, and he is a player, after all. In that case, my message would best be gotten across in a similar language. What’s player talk?
Yo, bro, thanks for the help. Shoulder-punch.
I shake my head.
It’s halfway through lunch, and I’ve finished my food. Now that I have my composure back under me, a thanks is definitely in order. Officially, I mean. In a nice, civilized way, minus the shoulder-punches. He didn’t have to do what he did. It was really nice. And he can’t possibly have realized how difficult that was for me.
“I still can’t believe you fell,” says Mara, shaking her head.
I slump my head in my hands. “Don’t remind me.”
“How did that happen? I mean…” She moves her eyebrows and tips her chin toward the ground. Toward my leg, I’m assuming. She lowers her voice. “It was that, right?”
“Mm-hmm. It was that.” I toy with the brown paper bag that holds my lunch, casually tearing the paper. I haven’t touched the food inside it. “I can’t take the heat anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “You know. The heat. The pressure. It was already all getting to me. You know, having to put on a brave face eight hours a day. It’s exhausting. And if I hadn’t just humiliated myself in front of twenty or so people…”
She turns, swinging one leg over the bench to face me head-on. “Snap out of it, Avery. Look around. No one even remembers what happened. They forgot already.”
I crack a smile. “You think so?”
“I know so. So move on. You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“Not really.” I carefully hoist my leg up to the bench and peel the denim back. She doesn’t want to see this, but I’m curious to see how it’s doing, anyway. It’s stopped bleeding. It’s only the rubbing of my jeans that’s causing me pain. “I’d have given anything to slip on a pair of leggings right now.” That, or, you know…a Band-Aid. “I guess I should go to the nurse–”
Her eyes light up. “Wait here.”
She hurries off, down the hallway we just came from and toward her locker. She returns quickly, holding in her arms a folded up pair of black yoga pants. She hands them to me.
“Are you serious?” I say, taking them.
She smiles and resumes her seat. “You know I usually keep an extra pair on hand for gym class.” She flashes the peace sign. “Live, love, yoga.”
I laugh. “You’re such a nerd.”
She does have a thing for yoga. And I’m so thankful we’re the same size.
I change in the bathroom, rolling and stuffing my old pair of jeans carefully into my purse. I check myself in the mirror. The yoga pants fit perfectly, and I relish in the familiar comfy stretch.
No more jeans. Ever.
I run my hands down the outside of my thighs. My body has changed since I’ve stopped dancing. I’m just as slim, but I’m softer now. Weaker. I’m wearing a short top today, which leaves my bottom more exposed that I’d like. I turned around. The pants are hugging my curves perfectly.
At least I happen to be wearing seamless panties. I’ve got that going for me.
But what I don’t have going for me is that these just so happen to be three-quarter length yoga pants. Meaning the bottoms of my legs are exposed. That’s great for the heat factor, and I sigh internally with relief, but it’s horrible for my self-esteem. I look down. My scar is showing, crawling out in a jagged line from under the hem of one of the pant legs. The small, raw injury that I just sustained is on the same leg as the scar, but at least that’s fully covered, so I don’t look like a walking, talking mess.
At least everyone already knows what happened to me, and if they see my scar they won’t question it. I hope.
I rest my purse on the side of the sink and reach inside, pushing past the jeans and digging for some Chap Stick and blush. I apply each lightly, and then I slide my lips together. I try to force a genuine smile. I can’t do it. Not yet.
“You saved my life,” I say to Mara, taking my seat at the lunch table.
“No problem,” says Mara. “But it looked like Ethan Harrington saved your life, not me. What was that about?”
My breath stops at his name. “I don’t know. It was nice of him, though.”
We leave it at that.
We finish our lunch surrounded by normal, pleasant conversation between ourselves and the friends who have joined us. I’m actually able to forget all about the embarrassing moments of the day and my inability to cope.
I walk to the garbage and throw away the remains of my lun
ch. I didn’t eat much. I turn to head back, and then I see him. Ethan is standing to my left, at the vending machine, examining the buttons in deep thought.
Now’s my chance. I take a deep breath.
I’m trying not to limp when I arrive behind him, just the machine drops his chosen drink with a loud clang. He reaches inside, fishing for it. I’m about to tap him on the shoulder. I start to extend my arm, finger pointed out. He turns, as though somehow expecting me.
I freeze. Like a deer in the headlights, still all giddy over this one beautiful boy despite my best efforts. Really, Avery?
He looks me over, his eyes rising and falling across my body, and with the soda in his hand he says, “You fell. Again.”
The words echo in my ears, bouncing around in there in the perfect rhythm with which he said them.
I stand up straight. I say proudly, “I didn’t fall the first time. I was already on the ground, trying to get my pen, and I was run into. My pen was what fell. Not me.”
Duh. I’m pretty sure my face visibly falls.
Did I really just say that?
Is it possible for one person to sound so dumb?
But he doesn’t think it was dumb. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me, that slight smile of his creeping up his face. He’s actually admiring me.
No one’s ever admired me before.
“Your pen,” he confirms, raising an eyebrow.
I cross my arms. “Yes. And if the door hadn’t just so happened to open at the worst possible time, you would have never even seen me.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
What the hell does that mean?
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask.
He calmly walks a short ways to a nearby table, gesturing for me to follow. I do, but I’m keeping my arms crossed. I want him to know I’m not here for the niceties, and if he thinks he’s being cute, well … forget it.
