Anything But Ordinary

by Lara Avery

  It was only a few days before trials, but for some reason Bryce wasn’t worried about getting hurt. She had done a good one, a really long jump with a big splash, and she came up to the surface farther away from the dock than she expected. She swam back toward the shore, and Greg slid into the lake to meet her. They treaded water, facing each other, their long limbs scissoring in and out of cold patches in the cloudy water.

  “I love you,” he had said, smiling.

  “I love you, too.”

  I love you, she heard again, as clear as if it was yesterday.

  “I can’t believe it’s you. How are you?” he asked. He spoke slowly and earnestly, just like he always did. She had fallen for that drawl right away.

  “Good question. It’s been crazy—” Before she could finish, she heard another voice at the end of the line. “Who’s that?” Bryce said.

  The voice came closer to the receiver. “It’s Gabby! Are you seriously on the phone right now? Is this seriously Bryce Graham?”

  Bryce let out a scream.

  Her parents rushed into the kitchen. She held out her hand. “Everything’s fine, it’s just Greg and Gabby.”

  Bryce’s mother looked like she had seen a ghost. “But why are you out of your chair?” she whispered.

  “Oh, Beth. She’s fine. Let her talk to her friends.” Her father turned back toward the dining room.

  “Bryce!” Bryce heard Gabby yell even though the phone was pressed against her chest. She held up one finger to her mother and returned the phone to her ear.

  She felt like laughing and crying. The last time they had talked on the phone, Gabby was contemplating cutting her hair because she had gotten her heart broken by Bryan Godard. She was going to start being tough, like Bryce. Bryce had pointed out that her own hair was long, and Gabby had forgotten all about the haircut idea by the next day.

  “It’s so good to hear your voice,” she said now. Something missing for the past few weeks began to fill up inside her.

  “God, Bryce, tell me about it!” Gabby squealed.

  “Whe—where are you guys?” She stumbled over her words. She had started to say, Where have you been? But that could wait.

  “We just got back into town. From Europe! We went after graduation.”

  Bryce felt her forehead tense. “Wow, um, congratulations! So, are you—”

  “Listen, Bry, Greg’s phone is running out of battery, and we know you need to chill with your family and stuff, so we’re going to make this quick.”

  “Make it quick, then, Gab, jeez,” Greg said in the background.

  “Point is, we’re coming to see you! Tomorrow. Can you meet us at Los Pollitos for happy hour? I mean, can you, you know, go places?”

  “I think so.” She was twenty-two. She could do whatever she wanted. Right? “No, definitely. I can definitely go tomorrow.”

  “Awesome.”

  “I want to say bye,” Greg said before coughing into the receiver. “See you, Bryce. It’s so great you’re awake. I can’t wait to see—”

  “We love you, Bry!” Gabby had taken back the phone.

  “Wait,” Bryce said.

  “Ye-es?” Gabby cooed.

  “What time—when is happy hour?”

  “Officially, five. But we’re gonna make it four.” Gabby laughed and the connection ended, by hang-up or dead battery, Bryce couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter.

  She looked out the kitchen window above the sink to her dark backyard, seeing the faint outline of the barn in the distance. She smiled and ran her hands under the faucet. With a splash, she brought the lukewarm water up to her face. She wished it were tomorrow already.

  “Tomorrow,” she said aloud, loving the sound of the word. She had a whole lifetime of tomorrows now.

  he sunlight hit Bryce’s closed eyes, forcing them open. She swung her legs over the bed and felt the cold tile with her toes. She set her feet on the floor. She braced herself at the edge of her mattress and pushed up. She was standing. But this time she didn’t have a physical therapy bar to hold on to. Good, Bryce thought. If I can do it in therapy, then I can do it here. She teetered a bit, held her arms out beside her, and took a shaky step. She took another one.

  Bryce wove across the room, again and again, each step bringing back memories of the life she had left behind. Step: dressing Sydney up as a gold medalist for Halloween. Step: getting ready for winter formal with Gabby. Step: long afternoons icing her muscles, her body feeling as if it were still in flight, slicing through the warm Tennessee air. She went on and on until her steps became more sure, each one steady and deliberate.

  She was getting faster, and the smell of bacon was coming from the kitchen.

  Now for the stairs.

  Bryce stared furiously at her greasy plate. “Come on, Mom!” She was starting to sound like Sydney, but her mother was being ridiculous.

  Her mom responded by loading the dishwasher a little too roughly.

  “You’re not in any shape to be going out for drinks. I don’t know what they were thinking.”

  “I’m not five years old, Mom. This isn’t a playdate. They invited me to a restaurant. It’s not a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal.”

  “Why?”

  Her mother stopped rinsing dishes. She turned off the water, and straightened. She looked like she was about to say something more. But then she closed her mouth and reconsidered.

  Bryce narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  “Anything could happen, Bryce, and…well.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Some things you can’t just shrug off.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  Bryce’s mother looked pained. “Did they mention anything…on the phone?”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s just, Bry…” She sat down at the table and looked at Bryce. “Some things have changed. For everyone. Even Gabby and Greg.”

  “Obviously, Mom. I’m—”

  Just then, Sydney wandered into the kitchen with her eyes half closed, poured herself a full mug of coffee, and began to wander back out.

  “Syd, wait!”

  Sydney paused, not turning around.

  “Do you have a car?”

  “Does it look like I have a car?” She resumed her journey to her room. Then she called, “Cars are a waste of money at this point in my life. I just get boys to drive me around.”

  “How progressive of you.” Bryce reached into her pocket for her new cell phone. She wished she had Greg’s number so she could just get him to pick her up. But her only contact was Carter. Actually…“What if Carter came?”

  Her mother turned around, thinking. Carter had met her parents during a few of their visits, and they liked him. He had a way of explaining Bryce’s procedures to them so that everyone actually understood.

  Bryce went on excitedly, “He could drive me to and from, and stay there just in case.” Her mother considered her from the sink.

  “It’s just Greg and Gabby, Mom. They know me.” Bryce was still met with her mother’s stern face. What did she think was going to happen? They were going to hug her too hard? Make her laugh too much?

  Bryce tried again. “You can trust them to be…you know, gentle.”

  Again, her mom stayed silent. She bit her lip. Finally, she sighed. “Fine. Call Carter.”

  As four o’clock approached, Bryce began to bite her nails. Sometime after breakfast she had returned to walking practice. She hated the idea of Greg and Gabby seeing her in a wheelchair.

  She glanced at her reflection in her mother’s full-length mirror, clutching the shelves on either side of the closet. Her hair used to be platinum from the sun, and went past her chest; now it was dishwater-blond and hung to her shoulders. Her legs had long ago lost their tan; now they were pale and a little pink. What used to be muscular calves were thin as toothpicks. Too thin under swollen knees and sore thighs. That’s enough of that, Bryce thought, making a face, and she turned her back on her new reflection.
<
br />   All that was left of Bryce’s closet, buried deep in a corner behind some skis, were a pair of deep red cowboy boots her mother had bought her from a leather dealer at the Tennessee State Fair. They were Bryce’s favorites, the leather so worn and molded to her feet that they felt like an extension of her body.

  She threw them aside to put on a black dress from her mother’s closet. Maybe that would make her look grown-up and serious. Her hand shook as she applied mascara. She stepped back and looked in the mirror. A long-lost member of the Addams family stared back. With a struggle, she took off the dress.

  Maybe something more casual. She had managed to sneak some clothes from Sydney’s closet. Sitting on the floor, she shimmied into a pair of her mother’s yoga leggings and one of Sydney’s oversized T-shirts that read PUNK IS DEAD. She squinted. She looked kind of like one of those washed-up celebrities just released from rehab that she saw in the gossip magazines.

  God, who cared? Who cared what she wore?

  Gabby did, that was who. She was always trying to get Bryce to borrow her clothes. But Bryce felt like she was playing dress up when she’d worn them, like Sydney trying to look “mature” in their mom’s pearls and heels.

  She sighed.

  Gabby seemed to float through everything like it was nothing. If Gabby had been the one in the coma, Bryce had a feeling she would have woken up speaking fluent French, or with a cure for cancer. She was better than Bryce in school, and she always wrote beautiful poems and essays about diving, like it was an art and not a sport. Gabby probably had the time of her life in Europe. Probably met some bullfighter in Spain and now they were in love. How was she going to talk to Gabby about any of this stuff? Bryce’s knowledge of the world was limited to the diving platform and the neurology wing.

  Finally, she chose a simple V-neck from her mother’s pajama drawer and settled on a pair of cutoffs from Sydney’s pile. And her cowboy boots. To make herself taller. To make herself the same height as Greg.

  Could she kiss him right when she saw him? On the cheek or something? She wondered about what her mom had said, that things had changed for Gabby and Greg. Maybe he was dating someone. Girls had always thrown themselves at Greg, like Rebecca from homeroom, who had lips like sausages. Or Rebecca’s friend Kate, who called Bryce “man shoulders” behind her back. They made Bryce want to punch her desk, and then she would go home and lie on her bed, wondering why Greg wanted her when he could have anyone. But he brushed the Rebeccas and Kates off with a polite smile and made his way down the hall to lean against the locker next to Bryce, with a dandelion he had picked for her. She’d asked him once, why her? “Because you’re special, Bryce. You can fly.”

  One of the silly, poetic things Gabby wrote about diving was that her best friend, Bryce, moved like the air when she was around water. That she was a completely different person on the platform, like some soaring, glorious creature. But Bryce might never climb up to the platform again. She’d never again fly.

  Bryce walked out of her mother’s room, trying not to lean on things, and glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was four. She grabbed her house keys, heading for the door. Her mother was still at the grocery store, and Carter would be here any minute.

  She moved slowly to the entryway, clutching the wall, and jumped when she opened the door, spotting a pair of navy New Balance sneakers. She looked up. Carter, wearing a plaid shirt, was raising his fist to knock.

  He put down his hand. “You’re standing.”

  “Hi, yes.” Carter began to respond, but Bryce cut him off. “Sorry, but can we get going? I don’t want to be late.”

  “How did you…I mean, that’s remarkable.”

  Bryce made another sound of frustration.

  Carter continued, drawing out his words, “Considering you recently came out of a coma.”

  Bryce looked past him to a tiny white Honda. “Is that your car?”

  Carter followed her gaze. “Thar she blows.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not bringing my wheelchair. That thing is tiny.”

  “First of all, it’s fuel efficient,” he explained as Bryce hobbled past him. “Second of all, your mother said I had to do a little checkup before we go—”

  Bryce held up a hand. “My head is fine, my brain is fine, and my friends are waiting at a restaurant.”

  He wasn’t budging. He took off his backpack, pulling out a doctor’s kit. “It will take two seconds.”

  “You’re being such a nerd right now,” Bryce said under her breath, taking a seat on the porch swing.

  “I could leave, you know,” he said, attaching the blood pressure sleeve.

  Bryce held her tongue. The sleeve pinched her arm, hard.

  “Yep, could go at any time,” Carter said softly as he held up a stethoscope to her chest. “Got plenty of other fun things to do. Mrs. Hidalgo likes it when I put the telenovela on for her in the afternoon, even if she can’t exactly say so. And the bedpans always need washing, so…”

  At that, Bryce burst out laughing, picturing the awful hum of the fluorescent lights and sickly smell of the neurology wing. Carter laughed, too.

  Carter helped her down the pathway and opened the door for her. Bryce got in the car.

  Carter turned over the ignition a few times. “I guess there’s no point in convincing you to bring your chair.”

  “Nope. It’s inside, where it belongs.” Bryce tapped the dashboard. “Let’s go!”

  Ten minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of Los Pollitos. “Is the food here good?” Carter asked, peering through the windshield.

  “I don’t know,” Bryce said, opening the car door. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll call you when I’m done.” But before she could climb out, he was on the passenger side, offering her a hand.

  He walked her to the entrance and pulled open the doors with their chili-pepper handles.

  “Wait, you’re coming in?” She turned to face him.

  He stood, hands in his pockets, looking at her. He pursed his lips and shrugged.

  Bryce took her hand off the door. “You don’t need to come in.”

  Carter scratched his chin. “First of all, you can barely walk. Second of all, I am a free citizen and can go wherever I want.”

  She looked around. No sign of Gabby’s or Greg’s cars, or at least the cars they used to have. She did need help walking.

  Then she heard Carter mutter behind her, “Third, I want nachos.”

  She laughed as he helped her through the open door.

  he dimly lit restaurant smelled like spice and meat cooking. Laughter floated from the scattered tables. A mousy-haired hostess approached, smiling nervously. “Are you Bryce Graham?”

  “Yeah,” Bryce said, trying to smile back. “I’m looking for my friends? They’re, um—”

  “They’re here. Come with me.”

  Bryce was almost putting her whole weight on Carter’s forearm, but there was nothing much she could do about it. They followed the hostess through rows of booths, hearing Bryce’s name murmured in low voices.

  Bryce licked her dry lips. This was it.

  Gabby and Greg sat shoulder to shoulder at an elevated table near the bar. Their heads were close together, as if they were whispering. They didn’t see her at first.

  Gabby was beautiful. Her black hair was out of its usual braid, flowing, and her features had become more refined, high cheekbones and large eyes, lips tinted with a darker color than her favorite bubblegum gloss. She wore a turquoise wrap dress and ballet flats. She was describing something to Greg with hand gestures, her face lit up.

  Bryce let go and approached them in small, shaky steps. She waved to Carter slightly as he backed away somewhere. She was in another world now.

  Greg had filled out, and his hair was longer. He nodded at what Gabby was saying, but didn’t look at her. He stretched his arms behind his head and put them back down, rubbing his eyes with his palms. Gabby laughed, trying to pull his hands away from his face, shakin
g him to “Wake up!” Greg laughed with her, still rubbing his eyes.

  Suddenly Bryce was standing right in front of their table. She tried to pull down her T-shirt over her shorts, but Gabby spotted her and screamed.

  She leaped off her chair and wrapped her long arms around Bryce’s neck.

  “Hi, Gabby,” was all Bryce could say.

  She smelled the same, like shampoo and lavender, and Bryce wanted to go back to her room and lie on the floor while Gabby lay on her bed, talking up to the ceiling. Why don’t we talk like they did in the olden days? Gabby used to sigh. Like, then, instead of “please,” they said “prithee.” Prithee, she would repeat, and laugh. Prithee, prithee, prithee…

  Greg beamed at Bryce. She didn’t have to think about whether or not she would kiss him, because he began his tight hug with his mouth on her cheek, and ended it with a kiss on the other. She felt his stubble between her jaw and her neck, his back muscles against her palm. He stepped away, putting his hand through his blond hair the way he always did when he was nervous.

  “Oh my god,” the three of them kept saying. “Wow.”

  When they finally sat at the small table, they had to laugh. The world had become their own for a few minutes, and now they were back in a restaurant, and people were staring. Carter sat by himself a few tables away. He lifted his soda in Bryce’s direction and gave a small smile.

  “So, you can walk, first of all,” Gabby said, gesturing to Bryce’s legs. “How is that possible?”

  “Gab, let her off the hook for a second.” Greg addressed Gabby, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Bryce. She bit her lip, looking down when she met his intense, deep-blue gaze. “She just sat down.”

  “No, it’s all right,” Bryce said. “I’ve had to work my ass off,” she began, and at the sight of them sitting there, waiting, everything poured out of her. She told them about waking up, about the hospital, about Carter and Dr. Warren. They listened, commenting and laughing at all the right moments. They waved away the waitress. They asked questions.