The Only Exception

by Abigail Moore

  “What for?” I ask. Before she can explain, my grandparents enter the room, with Sawyer and McKayla behind them.

  “Family only,” the nurse demands. I get the feeling she says this a thousand times a day with the trained look she gives my friends.

  “No,” I interject. “I need them too.” She looks at me and glances at my knee.

  “Fine, but only for a few minutes,” she informs. Sawyer and Mac rush to my side. Sawyer casually slips his hand into mine again and I smile slightly at him and mouth “Thank you.” He nods in response and gives my hand a squeeze.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Maverick, your granddaughter’s knee has been severely dislocated and there appears to be something wrong with her cartilage. To properly set it to actually heal and not cause her more pain, we need to do surgery as soon as possible.”

  “Well, I suppose if that’s the way you have to do it,” Papaw replies, glancing at me.

  “You’ll need to sign some papers and choose a method of anesthetics,” she adds. “We can either put her to sleep with general anesthesia, or she can stay awake and we can inject her knee with local anesthesia.”

  “No way,” I reply. “I can’t be awake.”

  “Listen to her,” Papaw agrees. Grammy and Papaw each give me a kiss, and then follow the nurse out to file paperwork. I’ve had general anesthesia before and it’s disorienting, but not bad enough to make me want to be awake and alert when they cut open my knee. Mac gives me a hug.

  “Make sure he’s not worrying about me the whole time at his party,” I tell Mac.

  “I’m not going back,” he protests. “I’m staying here until your surgery’s over.”

  “What good would that do? I won’t even be awake for hours,” I retort. He hesitates.

  “Fine,” he decides, then he laughs. “Maybe you should stop hanging out with me. I seem to be very hazardous to your health.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” I reply, smiling. He follows Mac out of the room, casting me one last glance.

  Several hours later, I wake in a different room. My arm is sore from being poked and prodded and, to my dismay, has a needle stuck in it, and my knee, to say the least, is not comfortable, but much better than it was. My arms prickle with goosebumps from the temperature and the thin hospital gown I’ve changed into doesn’t do much to help. My grandparents sit in chairs in opposite corners of the room, with my grandpa at my side watching television on the flatscreen mounted high on the wall and my grandma underneath the TV, reading a book. A vase of the prettiest red roses I’ve ever seen sits on the table to my right, with a little card sticking out that reads: “Sally’s parents banned her from regionals for daring you. I’ll come see you soon. Get better, Madame Banshee. Love, Jerkface.” I smile and giggle a little bit.

  “Hey, you’re awake,” Grammy greets softly upon hearing me giggle.

  “What time is it?” I ask groggily.

  “Almost one in the morning,” Papaw answers, yawning. He looks just as tired as he sounds.

  “You guys can go home and catch some sleep, you know,” I tell them.

  “We wanted to be here when you woke up,” he says.

  “Sawyer and his mom and dad came by earlier,” Grammy informs me. I smile.

  “I noticed,” I reply, nodding at the flowers. Grammy smiles.

  “He wanted to stay until you woke up too, but his parents made him go home and get some sleep,” she says. “The way he looked at you, I don’t think he’ll be getting any sleep tonight.” I feel myself blush. What is it with the blushing this summer? I almost never blush, and I’ve probably blushed a hundred times since I got here.

  “So what’s up with the knee?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Set back in the groove and they’ve added a little bit of cartilage on one side to fix your chondromalacia,” Papaw tells me. “As soon as you recover, you should have a perfectly normal knee.”

  “Which is when?” I inquire, dreading the answer. I can already guess that I’m down and out for regionals.

  “They said recovery should be about six weeks, but I’d be careful about surfing. We’ll get you trained up, but I don’t know about any more competition,” Papaw replies.

  “So no regionals.”

  “No regionals. Probably.”

  “Great,” I huff. “Do either of you have my stuff?”

  “Sawyer brought your clutch and shoes over,” Grammy answers, handing me the clutch. “I washed your dress out with bleach and it will be fine. The leggings, however, are shredded.”

  “Thanks. That’s okay, I never wear them anyway,” I reassure her, reaching for my phone. Clicking the power button, I see that my guess was correct. That cheeky boy. My background is a silly selfie of Sawyer and going into my contacts, I don’t find a Sawyer Hensley, but someone entered a new contact called “Jerkface.” Hm, I wonder who that could be (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).

  I tap out a text message to Jerkface’s cell phone number. “Just woke up. Text me when you’re up. Thanks for the flowers :-)”

  “Alright, Kiddo,” Papaw says, standing. “You okay here? You’re going to be here for three or four days.”

  “I’ll be fine. Go get some sleep,” I assure. They both plant kisses on my forehead and leave. A minute or two after they leave, my phone buzzes. “Haven’t been able to sleep at all. Can I come see you?”

  “Visiting hours are over,” I text with a little emoji sticking it’s tongue out at him. “I’m going to be here for 3 or 4 days though. You can come see me tomorrow.”

  “That’s not going to help me sleep,” he texts, accompanied by a sleeping emoji.

  “Would talking to me help?” I ask. He texts back a thumbs-up and my phone starts to ring. I answer immediately. “Hey, Jerkface.”

  “Hey.” His deep voice sounds rough and sleepy.

  “Why can’t you sleep?”

  “I’m…” He hesitates. “I’m worried about you. You freaked me out, you know, falling off the roof and nearly tearing your leg in two.”

  “For the record, it was already loose and just got knocked out of the joint,” I console. “I’m okay, really. Not fond of hospitals or needles, though, both of which I have to deal with right now.”

  “I feel really bad for not sticking up for you to Sally,” he confesses.

  “You didn’t have to,” I reply. “And you did. I was just too cocky to stand up for myself.”

  “I know, but I should’ve done more,” he combats. A short silence ensues.

  “Do you want to come watch a movie tomorrow? Visiting hours open at eight, I think,” I inquire. “I have DVD player here in the room.”

  “Sure. Why don’t we pick up where we left off with Divergent?” he asks. I smile.

  “Of course,” I answer. “Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow. If I’m asleep, wake me up. Trust me, I won’t care.”

  “Okay,” Sawyer says. “Goodnight, Annie.”

  “Goodnight, Sawyer.”

  The next morning, my eyes flutter open to meet a pair of familiar brown eyes staring at me. “Morning,” I yawn. “You know, I told you you could wake me up.”

  “I know,” Sawyer replies, smiling. “You looked too peaceful. I thought you could use the rest.” I smile and feel my cheeks get hot, even though the rest of me is cold. Just then, a nurse enters the room to check my vitals.

  “Today, we’re going to have a physical therapist come in and help you start rehab,” she informs me. “We might take you off the IV pain meds and give you oral meds instead too.”

  “Okay. How soon could I get the IV out?” I ask anxiously.

  “How much pain do you feel right now on a one-to-ten scale, one being no pain, ten being you feel like you’re dying?” she asks. I think for a second.

  “It’s about a two,” I reply.

  “I’ll talk to your doctor. We’ve been slowly reducing the amount of medication going through the IV all night, so we could take it off
you as soon as you’re comfortable if he okays it,” she says. I nod.

  “I don’t like needles and I want to wear a sweatshirt,” I inform her. “I’d be comfortable taking it out now if I could.” She leaves to go get the doctor as my grandparents enter the room.

  “Hi Sawyer,” Grammy says. “Hey sweetheart. The nurse told us you want to get rid of the IV?”

  “A. S. A. P.,” I reply. “I can’t have a needle stuck in my arm for much longer.”

  “Okay, darling,” she consoles. “The doctor’s coming. Don’t worry.”

  “Guess we’d better wait until they’re done with all this to watch the movie,” he suggests. “You said you’re cold?” I nod. “Hang on a minute. I’ll be right back.” He heads out the door. A second later, it opens again.

  “Hey, Andrea, how are you?” the doctor asks upon entering, consulting his clipboard. “How’s the knee?”

  “It’s okay. I’d like to get the needle out of my arm, though,” I reply. He nods and asks a few questions while he fiddles with the machine I’m hooked up to.

  “Well, I’d say we can take you off this bad boy and let you start taking pain meds orally,” he finally announces. “You want me to take it out now?”

  “That’d be great,” I reply. He turn off the machine and slowly removes the IV needle from my arm, sticking a bandaid on after.

  “Just let a nurse know if you need something,” he replies, exiting.

  “So Sawyer’s here,” Grammy observes. I nod.

  “He came as soon as visiting hours started,” I reply with out a doubt. “I texted him last night and he couldn’t sleep. He wanted to know I was okay, so I called him and we agreed to watch Divergent this morning.”

  “Oh, okay,” Grammy replies, smiling. Sawyer enters before I can ask her why she’s looking at me weird.

  “Sorry, had to run out to my car for something,” he says. Grammy and Papaw smile at him.

  “Well, I guess we’ll leave you to it,” Grammy sighs. “Annie, call us if you need anything. Your parents might call at some point, because we talked to them last night before you woke up.”

  “Okay,” I say, nodding. “Love you.”

  “Love you too,” they reply, heading out.

  “You still cold?” Sawyer asks, standing and putting in the DVD in the player. I nod.

  “Yes. It’s like a freaking meat locker in here,” I affirm.

  “Here,” he says, grabbing a black mass of fabric from the chair he previously occupied. As he unfolds it, I discover it’s a sweater, which he helps me put on. It’s a big black knit sweater that smells like cologne and a little bit of hair product. The scent is soothing and comforting.

  “Thanks,” I say. “If the chairs are uncomfortable, I can scoot over if you want.”

  “Nah, I’m good,” he replies, hitting a few buttons on the DVD remote. About five minutes later, he stands up. “Okay, no. I’m not good. These chairs are about as good as rocks for seating. Scoot.” I laugh and scoot over, making room for him to sit. It’s a little squeezed, so he puts his arm around my shoulders. I snuggle into his shoulder, feeling more relaxed than I have in a long time.

  A little later, my phone rings. It’s my mom, so Sawyer pauses the movie and decides to go get a soda from the vending machine. He points at me as if asking “you want anything?”, to which I say “Dr. Pepper.” He nods and leaves as I answer. “Hello?”

  “Honey! I was so worried about you! Grammy and Papaw said you fell off a roof and dislocated your knee and had to have surgery and-“

  “Mom, I’m okay,” I cut her off. “I’m fine. I’m in the hospital watching a movie with a friend. They took the IV out and my knee really doesn’t hurt that bad right now.”

  “Mac?” she inquires.

  “No, Mac’s coming later I think,” I reply. “It’s Sawyer, the boy I told you about.”

  “The one who’s an idiot? Or the twenty year old?”

  “The one that’s my age,” I answer.

  “Oh, so he’s not an idiot any more?” she prods.

  “Mom, it’s complicated,” I reply. Just like the rest of my life.

  “Well, have fun sweetheart,” she sighs. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I echo. “Bye.” I hang up and decide to call my dad, as Sawyer isn’t back yet.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey Dad.”

  “Hey, sweetheart! What happened? Your grandparents said you fell off a roof?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay though,” I assure. “Sally Emerson dared me to walk the ridgepole of my friend Sawyer’s garage, which I did, then twisted my leg funny at the edge and fell off. I hit my knee on the way down.”

  “Ouch. Feel better kiddo. At least you got the competitions out of the way before this happened. Let me know if you need anything,” he instructs. “I love you.”

  “Love you too,” I echo as Sawyer reenters the room, thinking of regionals. “Bye.”

  “One Dr. Pepper,” he says, handing me the bottle of soda and taking his place beside me, hitting play and placing his arm around me again.

  Okay. Maybe he isn’t such a jerkface after all.

  Thirteen

  I wake up warm and cozy, still wrapped in Sawyer’s arms. I’m not quite sure when I fell asleep, but I must’ve been more exhausted than I thought. I almost never fall asleep during movies. I yawn and move my head back just slightly to look up at Sawyer. “Hi.”

  “Hey, you’re awake,” he says happily. “Mac texted you to see when she could come and I texted her back that she could come when you woke up.”

  “Thanks,” I respond. “And thanks for letting me sleep. I needed that.”

  “No problem,” he replies. “I’d better go. Training for regionals.”

  “Have fun,” I quip. He gets up to leave when I remember the sweater. “Oh, don’t forget your sweater.”

  “Keep it,” he says. “I hardly ever wear it anyway, and it looks good on you.” I smile, twisting the ends of the too-long sleeves around my hands.

  “Thanks,” I reply, smiling. He smiles back and leaves.

  A few minutes later, McKayla arrives and gives me a hug. She sniffs around me. “That’s not your sweater,” she states, pulling back and pointing at it. “It wasn’t in your closet yesterday and it smells like cologne. Who’s is it?”

  “Oh, it’s Sawyer’s,” I tell her. “I was cold earlier and he went out to get this from his car for me.” She laughs and makes the face that reminds me of the one she made when she wouldn’t tell me what she was giggling about at Junior Champs. “What?” I demand. “What are you so crazy about?”

  “Can’t you see it?” she inquires. “You and Sawyer.”

  “What about Sawyer and I?” I ask.

  “You like each other!” she exclaims.

  “What?! I don’t like him, not like that!” I defend.

  “Well, he likes you,” she comes back. She sits down on the edge of the bed. “You can’t tell me you don’t like him.”

  “I don’t!” I repeat.

  “Unbelievable,” she laughs. “He’s your very own, real life Mr. Darcy and you don’t even know it.” I open my mouth to retort but nothing comes out.

  We move on and have a fun time hanging out together, but I can’t get what she said off my mind. I still can’t get it off my mind three days later when I’ve been released from the hospital. My grandmother stands at the kitchen counter making sourdough bread, having just watched Pride and Prejudice again with me. I sit at the kitchen table with my leg propped up on a few chairs and wrapped in ice, twisting the sleeves of Sawyer’s black sweater around my hands, pondering whether to ask my grandmother about it or not.

  “Grammy?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?” she replies, glancing up from her dough.

  “Do you think anyone would ever fall in love with me?” I say tentatively. “Regardless of whether I wanted to fall in love or not.”

  “Oh, most d
efinitely,” she responds confidently.

  “Why do you think so?” I inquire.

  “My darling, you underestimate yourself. You are beautiful, kind, loving, sweet, smart and a good friend. You’re just the kind of girl a boy would fall head over heels for.” Her eyes flick down at my sweater and smiles as if she knows who I have in mind. I heave a sigh.

  “I told McKayla I don’t like him, but I don’t know,” I say, looking down at my sleeves. “I don’t know how I feel about him. I like having him as a friend, and I like the feeling of being around him. I like…” Things keep coming to me, and it seems that now I’ve begun, I can’t stop. I shock myself with how much detail I can go into. I’ve paid more attention to him than I thought I did. “I like the way he smells, and the way he gets so worried about me, and the little tiny waves in his hair. I like how it feels when I’m wrapped up in his arms. I like playing movie trivia with him and how he’s so competitive. I like how much his eyes remind me of the sea. But at the same time, I’m scared.”

  “Andrea, you don’t need to be scared,” she advises, smiling. “You need to be cautious. When you aren’t careful is when you get hurt. When you are scared, though, it could hurt you even worse. My advice, sweet girl, is to be cautious, but listen to your heart as well as your head.”

  Two weeks later, I’m standing on crutches on the Hensleys’ porch for the eighth time since my knee injury. Sawyer has made it a point to help me not be bored out of my mind, so either he’s come over to my house or I’ve gone over to his house almost every day since I was released. Melissa, as she has told me to call her, opens the door with a smile and helps me in. Sawyer is kneeling down by the large DVD cabinet underneath the TV mounted on the wall and must hear my crutches on the wood floor. “Spiderman or Captain America?” he inquires.

  “Ooh, tough,” I say, pondering the choice. I think about it as I situate myself on the couch. “Spiderman. I’m in an Andrew Garfield/Emma Stone kind of mood.”

  “You read my mind,” he agrees, popping the disc in the player and coming to help me get comfortable. He kneels down and pulls the ottoman a little closer for me to prop my feet up on, then helps me finish wrapping an ice pack around the joint and strapping it down with Ace bandages.