Paraplegic

by Troy Dearbourne

  Mother calls from downstairs as I lace up my Converse. "Kenzie, you're gonna be late for school!"

  "I'm fine, mom!" It's only a little past seven thirty, and first period isn't until eight. Truthfully, I am deliberately procrastinating in hopes I will arrive at school the same time Xander does and be able to walk in with him. I'm not actually sure where we're at with each other, relationship wise. We've never actually been on a date. I should clarify, we've never actually been on a real date. There was this one time in late freshman year when a hurricane came through resulting in a countywide blackout. Xander and I somehow came across one another struggling to find our way out of the school. We eventually wandered into the school's gym, and that was the first time I witnessed his skills on the basketball court. We soon stopped trying to locate the exit and decided to wait in the gym for the lights to come back on. I happily watched Xander run drills on the court during that time.

  Mother calls to me once again, shouting yet another warning that I will be late if I don't hurry. I huff at her parental tone, but yield to it at the same time. I check my reflection one last time to ensure I look my absolute best.

  And of course, I do.

  Chapter 3

  Mother is sitting on the couch in the theater room with her laptop, one leg tucked underneath her, while the other is propped up on the coffee table. She tells me to have a great day, basically her go-to sentence since my first day of school, and I proceed to the garage, stopping by the kitchen to grab the car keys off the wall rack.

  The garage door shudders and hums as it rolls up. I squint just a little as the light bursts into the dark room. It's a three car garage, but we only own two vehicles. Father drives a silver Porsche, which is what he takes to work, and mother drives the Benz. The Benz was first father's car, but upon landing his current job at the firm, he bought the Porsche as a present to himself. He said he wanted to make his image appear more proficient, but I know it was truly because he's wanted a sports car all his life. Since the time that I've had my license, the Benz has languidly gone from being mother's vehicle to mine. The only time she drives anymore, it seems, is when she makes the weekly grocery run.

  The engine roars to life as I turn the key. I consciously make an effort to back out of the driveway slowly, turning my head in each direction to make sure there aren't any other cars passing by. Father will ground me til I'm thirty if I scratch this thing, or worse, wreck it entirely. The neighborhood is just waking up. Most of our neighbors are elderly, so they're early risers; mainly because they go to sleep at like, six every evening.

  Mr. Driscoll, our next-door neighbor, who I believe is a retired orthodontist of thirty-five years, waves to me as I drive by. I lightly honk the horn in greeting. He turns back to his car and loads a set of Callaways into the trunk, preparing for an early round of golf, I presume.

  Our house rests between the 15th and 16th hole of Emerald Fairways Golf and Country Club. It's a Tudor-style home: six bedrooms and eight bathrooms with an ellipse shape swimming pool. The problem, in my opinion, with the suburbs is that every house within the community looks identical one to another. Each lawn is kept manicured and greener than a stalk of celery. Every driveway is paved with multicolor stone pavers, and each mailbox is enclosed within a brick structure with the resident's surname hanging from a laminated sign.

  Stardust High is only an approximate four miles from our house. Calculating an extra five minutes for the reduced speed school zone, I should be there ten minutes before class, and with any luck, pull into the parking lot the same time as Xander. But as I make my way down the last street, I see that it's backed up bumper to bumper with school buses, which is weird. It's never this backed up.

  After a couple minutes of standstill traffic, the car behind me grows impatient. The driver holds their fist to the horn for a long while. I look in my rearview and see a boy, about my age, driving it. Looks like a beamer, black and shiny. He revs his engine, then propels the car forward, breaking abruptly, inches away from rear-ending me. He does this two more times before jerking out into the other lane, passing me. I come to a halt, tires squealing and skidding on the asphalt as he slides into the slim space in front of me. My fist impacts the horn, "What's wrong with you, you selfish jerk!" I know he can't hear me, but it feels therapeutic to release an outburst, even if it doesn't change the outcome. The boy does it to the driver in front of him and the one after that before cheating his way into the school parking lot. Seeing his success, I'm almost envious I didn't think of using such tactics myself.

  After several more minutes of stop-and-go motions, the traffic wasn't subsiding. Students ranging from freshman age to senior status poured out of the long line of school buses. I glance down at the digital radio clock on the dashboard; class is going to start in less than seven minutes and I still haven't even made it into the parking lot. Coming from the other direction, I see Xander pop a wheelie over the curb, bypassing all the traffic, and skid across the sidewalk into the parking lot. The sun glistens off his shiny helmet, while the black visor hides his face from view.

  No! I'm gonna miss the opportunity to walk into the building with him. And this is the last day of school, too. I'll never get another chance. This isn't happening! He parks his motorcycle next to the curb of the school's entrance, where it is clearly written with white paint: Emergency vehicles only – no parking. Ooh, he's such a bad boy. And he always seems to slither his way out of getting fined.

  It takes another four minutes and a whole lot more honking before I'm able to cruise into a parking spot. I grab my backpack from the backseat and hop out, hoping to catch up with Xander. He had taken his sweet time in securing his helmet to his bike and stuffing his fingerless gloves inside his black, leather jacket, not to mention checking his appearance multiple times in the side mirrors. But still a few hundred yards away, I watch him pass through the glass doors and into the school. Stupid traffic. Stupid people. Stupid . . . something! With an irritated huff, I swing my backpack over my shoulder and hasten toward the entrance.

  School buses take turns pulling up to the curb, unloading dozens of students. Looks like everyone's gonna be a little late today. One bus in particular pulls up and Stardust High's basketball team, the Shadow Hawks, leap off the bus. They look like an army of crusaders marching into battle, each one wearing their scarlet and gold letter jackets. The Hawks' cheer team, more formally known as the Blue Jays, hops off the bus behind them. A girl with brunette hair fixed in pigtails enthusiastically waves a pair of turquoise pompoms in my direction. "Hey, Bestie!" sprinting towards me.

  "Hi, Aurora." She slaps her arms around me in a tight embrace. I release a small groan from feeling my rib cage collapsing inward.

  Aurora Ardenaux, Co-caption to the cheerleading squad, and my best friend since the day she puked on me in kindergarten. It's kind of a long story. Day two of kindergarten: twelve of us kids sat in a group circle with our teacher explaining how the sun gets its energy. Aurora had been timidly playing with a stack of counting cubes and nibbling on her snack when the teacher called on her. I, much to my misfortune, was sitting next to Aurora within the circle. You should have seen the horrified look in her eyes as she stared back at us. She was so nervous having all the attention focused on her. Her tiny hands trembled as she glanced from one kindergartener's face to another. She opened her mouth to speak, but words weren't the only thing that came out. Yep. All over my new sundress that mother had bought me the week before. Nothing brings two people together like already been chewed Cheetos.

  Aurora excitedly jumps up and down, repeatedly clapping her hands together. "Guess what, guess what, guess what?"

  "Your parent's bought you tickets to a Justin Bieber concert?"

  "Eww. No!" She unzips her backpack and pulls out an iPhone, which is housed in a sparkling case. "My parent's got me the newest iPhone as a graduation present!" She holds it up in display.

  "Oh, that's so cool." I fake my interest. I guess I can't really blame her for being
excited. It's not something I would get excited about; I get a new phone practically every six months, but I also know the Ardenauxs live hand-to-mouth, so it's a rare event for Aurora to receive something special. I think her dad still stocks shelves at Wal-Mart or something, and her mom works as a checkout clerk there, too. It's kind of weird how Aurora and I became friends. We're not really all that much alike or even into the same things. She's more of a tomboy, Swiss army knives and capture the flag battles is more her thing, whereas I prefer things like nail polish and prom dresses. Honestly, when I asked her to join me for cheerleading tryouts in our sophomore year, I was surprised to hear her agree.

  "We have to take a picture!" She yanks me in close, jamming our cheeks together. "Cheese!" we gleefully scream. "Aww, we look so cute! I'm gonna send this to you." My phone jingles seconds later. "So what'd you get for graduation?" her emerald eyes light up with curiosity.

  "Dunno. I haven't been given anything as of yet. Pretty sure my lame parents forgot to get me something."

  "Oh, I'm sure they will. Maybe they're just waiting to surprise you?"

  "Uh, yeah, I won't hold my breath."

  Jace Thompson, the Shadow Hawks' point-guard, rushes in front of us to open the school doors. "After you, ladies." He waves us inside with a smile. I return the smile, tossing my hair in a flirtatious manner as I brush by him.

  The school hallway is stuffed with students. It's times like these that I'm reminded how much I don't like people. If no one is standing around admiring my beauty, then what good are they to keep around?

  A group of nerds are standing in a circle, gawking at the cover of some new comic book. It's so stupid. They're practically salivating over a stupid character, someone who doesn't even exist. Sooooo juvenile. You would think after four years of high school some people would learn to grow up.

  My nose twitches at the all too familiar scent of Gucci cologne. With a quick scan of the crowded hallway, I spot Xander casually leaning against one of the school lockers talking to Samantha Strauss. My fingers clench with jealousy. Samantha is probably the prettiest girl in school, besides me of course. She has olive tone skin with raven colored hair, which today is held together in a French braid. Her petite height makes her look like a child in comparison to Xander's stately frame. I don't like her. Never have. She's Greek, I think. Not that I don't like Greek people, I do, I guess. I just don't like her. Her presence is . . . irritating. Xander says something, which makes her laugh. My jealousy spikes. Samantha's laugh is this lighthearted, bubbly kind of laugh. As much as I don't want to admit it, it's kind of a cute laugh. Why can't she sound like a starving hyena or something?

  My locker is six down from Samantha's. I turn around and begin walking backwards, pretending to not notice where I'm going. The back of my shoulder bumps into Xander's. "Oh! I'm sorry, Xander. I didn't see you standing there."

  He looks down at me and grins. "No worries." I feel my insides flutter.

  Samantha gently taps me on the shoulder. "Hello, McKenzie," her eyes crinkle as her perfect lips reveal a set of straight, white teeth.

  "Oh. It's you. Hi, Samantha."

  She clasps her hands together and rests her chin on her fingers. "Xander and I were just talking about how fast time has flown. I can't believe tomorrow's graduation day! It feels like just yesterday I moved here from San Diego and walked through the doors of this place for the first time."

  "Uh, huh. Yeah. Whoop-dee-do for you." I turn my attention back to Xander. "So, you nervous about the big game tonight?"

  He stuffs a hand inside his jeans pocket. "Nah. Coach has us running some new plays and screens to trip up the Knights. Should be fun."

  "Speaking of fun, Hollywood Ending is just a few weeks away. You going with anyone special?"

  He leans forward, the scent of his cologne growing stronger. "I am now," a smile finishes his words. The bell signaling first period shrills throughout the hallway. All the students frantically rush to their desired classrooms. "I guess that's our cue. Hey, I wanna tell you something later. I'll see you out on the court, okay?"

  "I'll be waiting." He leaves in the direction of Mr. Harold's chemistry class. I flash a smug smirk at Samantha before heading to English Lit.

  As I turn around, some girl flies from around the corner and collides into me. I'm shoved backward, slamming the back of my head into a locker; the girl tumbles to the ground, her textbooks scattering across the linoleum floor. "Watch it you little freak!" The girl hides her face from me and hurriedly picks up her books.

  Aurora hears my screech and rushes over. "What happened? Are you two okay?"

  "No! This oaf wasn't watching where she was going." I rub the back of my head.

  "Sorry," the girl mumbles, still gathering her textbooks from the floor. Aurora kneels down to help her.

  "Here ya go." The girl grabs the books from her hand, then darts down the adjoining hallway. Aurora stands to her feet. "I don't think I've ever seen her before."

  "So! It's a big school. There's gotta be like, five thousand students here or something," still rubbing the back of my head. "She's probably just a nobody. Forget her. We need to get to class before we're given the tardy slip on our last day."

  Chapter 4

  First period moved slower than a snail. Second period wasn't much better. Aurora and I share all the same classes, except for our majoring subjects. I'm majoring in photography, whereas she's majoring in audiology. I guess she wants to help the hearing impaired or something. It's a nice thought, I suppose. For as long as I can remember Aurora has been selfless and encouraging to those around her. She'd be good at it, I have no doubt.

  Third period rolls in and I feel all giddy inside. World History is next; my least favorite subject, but Xander being in the same class makes up for it. I take a seat second row from the front. Xander casually strolls in a few seconds later carrying a single textbook and notepad tucked between his arm and ribcage, plopping down in the seat by the window. Aurora sits down in the chair behind me.

  Mr. Petrelli opens up with a greeting and then a long-winded farewell, wishing us all the best on our college lives. Well, those of us who will be going on to college. He starts getting all emotional, saying how he's been a teacher for nearly fifteen years, the faces he's seen, the minds he's edified, and how he will miss teaching this class of students. I want to speak up and tell him that after today I will forget his name, his face, and that stodgy Ben Stein voice of his, but I swallow my words.

  We open our textbooks to Petrelli's appointed page; the room suddenly filling up with the sound of papers ruffling, and begin reading about the war of 1812. I attempt reading the opening paragraphs several times, but my attention drifts each time, envisioning what tonight will be like and how everything will unfold. The Hawks are playing against the Westbrook Knights; a formidable team with a skillful lineup, but not nearly enough skill to overpower my Hawks. Each team had battled other schools from all across the state, and were now ready to face one another for the championship. I mentally rehearse how I will throw myself into Xander's awaiting arms as he and the rest of the Shadow Hawks take turns thrusting the trophy above their heads, confetti showering us from above.

  I'm yanked out of my fantasy with a tap to my shoulder. Aurora is guiding my thoughts to what Petrelli had just said. I look up, his firm stare is directed toward me. How long had I been daydreaming? "Um. Can you repeat the question?" I recruit the most innocent voice possible.

  He removes his square-lens glasses and rubs his eyes. There's a red mark on his nose from where the bridge of the glasses had been resting. He sighs, letting the oxygen drain from his lungs for a good three or four seconds. "One thing I will not be missing is your lack of studious effort, Miss Barlow." A ripple of soft laughter wades through the classroom.

  I feel my cheeks grow warm. "Excuse me?" My voice comes out a little stronger than expected, but it gets the rest of the room to shut up quickly. "I've faithfully sat here for four years listening to you drone on about pointl
ess things. Therefore, I am very studious thank you very much!"

  "If you are indeed as studious as you profess, then you shouldn't have a problem giving me the answer to my question." My palms grow moist, and I rack my brain for an answer, or at the very least a legitimate excuse. After a few seconds of utter silence, he shakes his head. "I'm disappointed in you, Miss Barlow." He scans the faces of all other students and raises his voice, "Let this be a lesson to the rest of you; if you go through life letting your mind wander, not harnessing it and focusing on what is important in life, you'll never make it." He looks back at me again. "You will simply waste away your life on fantasies, and wake up to reality one day realizing you've grown too old and too set in your ways to ever change."

  "Says the guy who can't even find his own butt in the dark with a flashlight." The entire class chuckles, then immediately stops as Petrelli shoots a glare around the room. He then stands from his chair, his fat roll protruding over his belt-line. "That is quite enough!"

  "I've always wondered, is your entire family a victim as well, or was it only you who got beat with the ugly stick?" The room breaks out in a range of indistinct tones and murmurs. All eyes are now glued to me, each one gaping at my bold retorts, waiting on the edge of their seat to see what will fly off my tongue next. I'm a bit curious myself. From the corner of the room, Xander shakes his head in amusement.

  Petrelli marches over, his belly jiggling in sync with his motions. I expect him to scold me some more and slap me with detention, but I honestly don't care. The biggest game of the year is tonight and there's no way Coach will allow the game to start without the Blue Jays' head cheerleader. It might take a little bit of eye-batting and sweet talking, but I'll wriggle out of it. I'm not the least bit worried.