by Jeff Shelby
I sat up and looked at her. “Okay.”
She hesitated, blinking several times. “I'm not going back to school.”
“Ever?”
She shook her head. “No. I'm not. I don't think I'd ever be allowed to be normal again. And no matter how much I want to make sure I get through this, going there every single day would just be toxic.” Her mouth tightened into a firm line for a moment. “I tried to fight through it and act like it didn't bother me, but it did. It does. And it would if I just kept going back.” She shook her head. “So as much as it feels like quitting, I need to get out of it. I'm gonna finish this semester online and maybe do the spring online, too. I don't know. I'm not thinking too far ahead.”
I nodded. It made sense. I'd wondered why she'd come to school after it happened because people sucked and just made it worse. I knew she was stubborn and trying to act like it was okay, but it would've bothered anyone. Anyone.
“That's probably a good idea,” I said. “Not like you'll be missing much, anyway.”
She eyed me. “I think I'll miss you.”
I hesitated. “No, you won't.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “You're going to tell me who I can or can't miss?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m telling you I'm not going back, either.”
She raised the other eyebrow. “You're not?”
“No,” I said. “For pretty much the same reasons you said.”
I wasn't. My dad and I had already talked about it. We didn't know what was going to happen with the basketball program, but we knew that I wasn't going to be a part of it ever again. I had one year of high school left and if I healed right, I'd still be able to play my senior year. I still wanted to play. I didn't want to give up.
But I also didn't want to be stuck with people looking at me the same way they were looking at Amy. I wanted to think I was tough, too, and could take it, but I knew that in the end, it would wear me down. It wasn't what I wanted.
The fact that Amy wouldn't be there was kind of a weird bonus.
She was quiet for a while and I forced myself to forget the past for one second and just focus on the present. The here and now. The fact that she was sitting in my living room. Talking to me. Taking care of me.
I liked sitting with her. I liked being with her.
And I wished nearly everything from the past few weeks were different.
“I had one reason that I told my mom I wanted to stay,” she finally said. “One reason that I wanted to stick out this semester.”
“What?”
The corner of her mouth turned upward. “I changed my mind about the Winter Ball.”
I didn't get it. “What do you mean?”
“I sorta wanted to go,” she said. “With you.”
A smile forced its way on my face. “Really?”
“Really.”
“You said there was no way you were going.”
“Because I was pissed,” she said. “I was hurt. Embarrassed. Had nothing to do with going with you. Even if that's how I made it seem.” She paused. “But the more I thought about it, the more I started to change my mind. Just as a big ‘fuck you’ to everyone. Then when you were in the hospital and I kept thinking about what they did to you, I wanted to do it even more.” She smiled again. “Just both of us up there, giving them our middle fingers.”
“I kind of like that image,” I said.
“Me too,” she said, nodding. “A lot.”
I smiled at her. “Good to know.”
She stared at me. Her expression was different. The sadness was gone. Well, maybe not gone, but muted. Her features weren’t drawn as tight, and her smile was relaxed. Happy.
“So you would've gone?” she asked. “With me?”
I nodded. “For sure.”
She smiled again. “Good to know.” She glanced at her phone. “I think I'm supposed to give you some medicine now.”
I threw my head back. “Jesus.”
“Your dad gave me the schedule,” she said, standing. “I don't want him to fire me and not let me come back.”
I sat up. “You're gonna come back?”
She ignored my question. “Where are the meds?”
I pointed over to the kitchen counter. “Two jars over there.”
She walked into the kitchen and messed with both of the containers. She came back and handed me half of a pain pill and an antibiotic they were giving me to make sure the cuts on my legs wouldn’t get infected. She handed me the bottle of water from the table. I dropped the pills in my mouth and took a long swallow, then handed her back the bottle.
“Anything else?” she asked.
I shook my head.
She stood there for a second, her hands on her hips, looking at me.
And it hurt. I wanted to go back to the party again and just start everything all over. I wanted a do-over. And I knew we couldn't get one.
She turned around and pushed the coffee table away from us, then sat down on the ground with her back against the sofa.
“This feels like the closest I can sit to you,” she said. “With your legs all stretched out.”
“You don't have to sit on the floor.”
“I want to,” she said.
“Okay.”
We sat there in silence.
“You want me to find something to watch?” I asked after a while.
“No.”
“Okay.”
Silence again.
“I want to be in a place to like you, Brady,” she finally said. “And not as a friend. I mean like you, like I did before all this happened.” She hesitated. “But I don't know how to do that right now.”
I wasn't sure what to say to her, so I kept my mouth closed.
“I mean, it's crazy to me that we're home alone and the thought of doing anything other than sitting here with you scares the shit out of me,” she said.
“We don't have to do anything,” I said quickly.
“I know we don't,” she said. “It's that I want to, but don't know how.” She tilted her head back against the sofa and her hair fanned out so that it just brushed my thigh. “I don't know how to turn that switch back on. And not to just turn it on, but to turn it on with you.” She laughed to herself, shaking her head. “I totally wanted to hook up with you that night.”
That night.
That goddamned night.
“Me, too,” I said. “Like you don't even know.”
“I figured if I had enough to drink, I'd just sit down in your lap and kiss you and you wouldn't have any time to turn me down,” she said.
It was my turn to laugh. “I wouldn't have turned you down. I was just too chicken to do it first.”
“I'll bet you're a good kisser,” she said.
Warmth washed over my face.
She turned to look me in the eye. “I want to kiss you. Some day.”
I wanted to kiss her right then, but I got it. “Okay.”
She squinted at me. “You'll probably have a girlfriend by the time I'm ready.”
“I don't think so,” I said.
She frowned. “Why not?”
I gestured at my leg. “I'm not going anywhere. Be a little hard to meet people.” I looked at her. “And I don't want to.”
She looked at my leg, then back to me. “So if I keep coming over to Brady-sit you, then maybe it'll happen.”
“You could always just smash my ankle if I'm healed and you still aren't ready,” I said. “That way I'd still be immobile and you could still Brady-sit.”
“Smashing you in the ankle wouldn't get me fired?”
“Not a chance,” I said, shaking my head. “You're the best Brady-sitter I've ever had. And the only one I've ever wanted to kiss.”
Her eyes glistened, tears glossing over them again. It was the kind of moment in a movie where we would've kissed and we would've lived happily ever after. I wanted that moment super bad, but I knew it wasn't happening. At least not right then. Because real life doesn’t work
that way.
She spun slowly so that she was facing me, her shoulder now next to the sofa. She hugged her knees to her chest. Tears danced slowly down her cheek, but she managed a smile. She lifted her hand, hesitated, then slowly folded it into mine. Her fingers were warm and soft and I didn't know what to do, if I should squeeze her fingers tight or if I should let her make the first move.
She did. A gentle squeeze, her fingers threaded with mine.
“I'm serious,” I said. “The only one.”
Her fingers tightened.
“Good to know,” she whispered.
THE END
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