by Ally B
“Did you remember to cancel practice?” Max asks Bill.
“Shit.” He pulls his phone from his pocket. “They can just work out anyway, right?”
“Not without an adult.” Max reminds him.
“Isn’t one of them eighteen? Tommy has to be. The kid looks thirty.”
“Dad,” Max sighs. “just cancel it.”
Bill sighs before typing away at his phone. It takes him a while, but he sends out the message.
“Hey, kid.” My mom’s voice rings out over the beeping of machines. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” He attempts to make a joke.
Bill glares at him, but my mom just rolls her eyes. “You should get some sleep. Your surgery is slotted for nine-thirty tonight.”
“And they’re really going to make me sit in a hospital bed for four hours?” Max asks.
“How else would you rack up insane hospital bills? I have to get paid somehow.” She jokes.
“Have you heard anything about Camila’s surgery?” Bill asks her.
“It’s just preventative.” She shakes her head. “Blame me for having her go in so quickly. I just didn’t want them to let her sit there while bone fragments move around.” She looks at me. “This kid had it pretty rough because they didn’t make the call fast enough.”
Bill looks a bit less stressed now.
“Any news on what they’re doing to him?” Bill changes the subject.
“Just some pins and then a cast after the swelling subsides, I’d imagine.”
Bill looks from Max to Mom. “How long is that going to put him out for?”
“At least six weeks. Longer if he tore ligaments.”
“Tendons.” Max butts in.
“Longer than six weeks.” She corrects herself.
“Probably should’ve held off on the whole car accident thing until the end of the season, huh?” Max makes yet another poor joke.
“Would’ve been nice.” Bill shakes his head, slight amusement on his face.
“Phoebe, Jerry texted me to let you know he went back to the planetarium.” My mom speaks up.
“Oh shit,” I mutter, earning a surprised look from Bill. “Say thanks for me?”
“Language.” She rolls her eyes, typing something quickly before shoving her phone into the pocket of her pants. “I’ve got to get going, but I’ll text you as soon as she’s out of surgery.”
“Thanks, Anna,” he says. “Really glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” she says, walking to Max, “you’ll be fine.”
Max nods, “I know.”
She pats my back and leaves the room in a hurry.
“Phoebe, I hate to do this to you, but would you mind staying?” Bill asks. “Someone needs to be with Camila, and I don’t know—”
“Bill?” I cut him off. “You’d have to kick me out.”
“Don’t worry. I will.” Max jokes.
“You skipped school for how many days to sit with her in the hospital after her accident?” Bill raises an eyebrow.
“This is payback,” I add.
Max sighs. “This is going to be a long night, huh?”
“Get some sleep, kid,” Bill suggests.
“I’m sure I’ll get plenty during my super fun surgery.” He fakes enthusiasm. “You’ve gotta email the recruiter, huh?”
“Not saying anything until we have to,” Bill says immediately, clearly having thought it through. “You’re going to be good as new in a few weeks, and you’ll be back to playing club until you head to California in the summer.”
Max nods, letting out a deep breath. “Lying?”
Bill corrects him. “We’re not saying anything that isn’t true by saying nothing at all.”
“Have you told anyone?” Max asks.
“Just your abuelita, but it’s not an issue if people know.” He shrugs. “You’re not exactly going to be able to hide a cast.”
“You wanna tell everyone for me?” Max asks me.
I nod, opening Snapchat, “who?”
“The team?” He asks his dad, who shakes his head.
“Just your friends. I’ll tell the whole team.”
Max looks to me. “Jackson, Tommy, and Riley.”
“Violet, Kendall, and Ava?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He nods.
I quickly make a group chat with the six of them and send a message.
Lunch table + Ava
Hey guys. - Phoebe
Just wanted to let you all know that I’m in the hospital with Max right now. -Phoebe
He and his mom got in an accident. - Phoebe
Both of them are going to be fine, but Max is definitely out for the season. - Phoebe
Broken ankle. - Phoebe
Please don’t freak him out or make him any more upset than he is. - Phoebe
I read all of the messages to Max except for the last part.
“You going to move Riley up or Jackson over?” Max asks his dad.
“Worry about you.” Bill sighs.
“I’m not letting you guys lose to McArthur.”
“You can micromanage the team when you’re out of the hospital.” Bill scolds.
I feel my phone vibrate in my hand a million times, knowing the group chat is going crazy.
“You going to answer those?” Max asks.
“Do you want me to?”
He scoffs with a slight smile, “not really.”
“Then, no.”
Max and Bill come up with a message to send the soccer team as I try to keep up with my own group chat.
Lunch table + Ava
Holy shit. - Jackson
Are they okay?????????? - Ava
A legit thought you were joking - Vi
Holy shit - Vi
Can we come? - Vi
Is his mom okay??? - Kendall
R u ok???? - Vi
Fuck. - Tommy
Camila is in surgery, but she’s fine. - Phoebe
Max has surgery at 11 - Phoebe
They have surgeries at 11 at night????? - Vi
That’s what you’re worried about??????????? - Kendall
Can I come see him? - Jackson
“Is Jackson pissed?” Max asks, glancing at my phone.
“No one is pissed.” It’s an assumption based on Tommy’s response, but still. “He wants to come see you.”
Max looks to Bill for an answer.
“No.” Bill shakes his head. “I don’t know how you’re getting this miracle late-night surgery, but I don’t want to piss anyone off.”
Max almost looks relieved, but he shakes his head at me. It’s happened before. Anytime he’s hurt or upset, he doesn’t want anyone to see. Whether it’s hiding limps from rolled ankles, not crying at school when he found out his grandmother died or acting like he’s not in pain when he gets hit or kicked—he doesn’t like to look weak, and the hospital gown doesn’t exactly make him look like a badass.
“You should sleep for a bit,” Bill repeats.
“I’ll sleep all night.” He defends.
“No, you won’t.” Bill shakes his head.
“Max?” A nurse pokes her head into the door.
“Yeah,” Bill answers for him.
“I’m Maggie. Just wanted to talk to you about a few things regarding your surgery,” she says as she enters the room. She’s an older woman, her white hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her eyes are tired, but there’s still a smile on her face. “I’m going to assume you’ve eaten today?” She asks, attentively holding a pen to her clipboard.
“Yeah.” He nods.
“I figured. We’re going to have to push you to four tomorrow morning, just to make sure there are no complications with anesthesia.” She scribbles something down on the paper. “We’re going to keep you here overnight, though.”
“I’m good to stay with him, right?” Bill asks.
“He’s seventeen, so yes.” She looks to me. “Are you his sister?”
Bill and
I exchange a glance. “She’s h-”
She cuts him off. “She’s his sister. Got it, I’ll get you guys another chair.” She rushes out of the room.
“I like Maggie,” I say to Max.
“She should’ve kicked you out.” He shakes his head.
“And I should’ve kicked your ass,” Bill chimes in.
Maggie brings another chair in and sets it on the other side of Max’s bed. We all thank her as she leaves.
“Your mom is out,” Bill says, checking his phone and looking back up to Max.
“I’m fine. Nothing’s happening here for a while. Text me with updates?”
“Yeah,” he says, hurriedly leaving the room.
I sink back in the chair, yawning.
“You don’t have to stay,” Max says to me. “I’ve got a Phoebe.” He gestures toward the Friends reruns playing on the tiny TV on the wall opposite his bed.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got to get my payback.”
“I was twelve.”
“And I had just undergone a super intense surgery.” I defend.
“The Jell-O was worth it.” He shrugs.
When I’d gotten into my accident, my mom had found out through a call from the ambulance to the ER to tell her she had an incoming twelve-year-old with spinal damage. She had just gotten to work. When it was me wheeled in, she immediately texted Camila, asking for her to grab Jack from the house. Max insisted on coming with Camila and stayed at the hospital until visiting hours ended, but he was back bright and early the next morning. Camila and Max were there whenever my mom needed to go home and shower or (rarely) sleep, even if that meant Max skipping school. He didn’t seem to mind that part.
Or the sugar-filled Jell-O he stole from my tray of bland hospital food every day.
“What can I do?” I ask him.
“You don’t have a charger, do you?” He asks me, holding up his shattered phone. “I want to see if it’s actually gone for good.”
“I can ask my mom.” I offer, pulling out my phone and sending her a quick text.
“What is everyone saying?” He nods to my still-vibrating phone.
Lunch table + Ava
See????????? - Vi
This is why we can’t let feebs drink! - Vi
Bad things happen! - Vi
The balance of the universe is off! - Vi
We need to pour one out for the dead ghost homies!!!! - Vi
Or burn an ouija board! - Vi
Or sacrifice a small animal! - Vi
Did you really just spell it feebs? - Kendall
How do u spell it????? - Vi
Ya what? - Jackson
Did u really just write ‘ya’ instead of ‘yeah’? - Vi
Did you rlly just send a text with full punctuation (making it a sentence) without capitalizing the first letter? - Jackson
It’s Pheebs I think. - Riley
Bc her name is Phoebe not Foebe - Riley
Like Phineas and Ferb. - Tommy
But billie eyelash’s brother is finneas???? - Ava
****eillish - Ava
****eilish?? - Ava
There u go ava - Kendall
Punctuation PLEASE! - Jackson
“Absolutely nothing.” I huff, handing him my phone.
“I think Vi’s onto something,” he says, handing me my phone back. “You drinking did all of this.”
“Blame whoever decided jungle juice was a good idea.” I roll my eyes.
“I blame cracker boy,” he grins, using my mom’s nickname again.
I shake my head. “Whatever you say, mad-Max.”
“Don’t even.” He warns.
“Maxine? Maximilian? Maxi-pad? Maxwell coffee?”
“That one was weak.”
“I wish there was a shorter way to say Max from the Goofy movie.” I shake my head.
“Max from the Goofy movie is a legend, can’t even use that one as an insult.” He grins, and it’s goofy, his meds are definitely starting to kick in. “Why haven’t we done Max and Roxanne for Halloween yet?”
“You may look like a skater dog from the nineties, but I’m more of a Goofy than a Roxanne.” I laugh, knowing I look nothing like the over-sexualized dog in one of Max’s favorite movies.
“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “That would be the easiest costume ever.”
“And no one would know who we are.”
“We can carry around a picture.” He jokes. “Who cares if people don’t know about A Goofy Movie, they have bad taste anyway.”
“Go to sleep.” I scold.
“Okay, Bill.” He rolls his eyes. As if on cue, I get a text.
Bill Sanchez
She’s out of surgery. The surgeon says it went fine, still asleep right now. I’ll let you guys know. - Bill Sanchez
“See?” I hold out my phone to Max. “All good.”
He sighs. “I wish she was awake.”
“Was she after the crash?” I ask, taking his hand in mine again, and he links our fingers.
“Yeah, she’s the one who called 911.”
“She’s really going to be fine,” I reassure him. “She won’t be able to work for a few weeks, but that’s all. The two of you will get to stay home together.” I try to make light of the situation, but he clearly doesn’t find it too exciting.
“I’m not missing the McArthur game.”
“That’s four days after you have surgery, Max.”
“I’ll be on crutches anyway.” He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.”
“There’s no way you’re going to that game.”
“There’s no way anyone will be able to stop me.” He gives me a goofy grin. “It’s my left foot. I can still drive.”
“Drive what?” I ask him.
His face falls, which I can’t help but find funny. “I’m kidnapping Rosie.”
“If you’re even cleared,” I emphasize. “I’m sure your dad will let you ride with him. If not, I guess you can ride with me.”
“You guess?”
“If you’re lucky.” I can’t help but smile as he rolls his honey-brown eyes over-dramatically, trying to suppress the smile pulling at his lips.
“Can’t miss the dance either.” He sighs.
“You’re going to hobble around a dance on crutches?” I joke.
“I don’t want to piss Ava off.”
“You asked her?” I don’t know why I’m surprised. I told him to. Right?
“Yeah. She came to help set up for your party, and I just asked. I figured it was getting too close.”
“Oh.” I look into my lap, wondering why I feel so weird about something I so strongly wished for. “Why don’t you sleep? Your surgery is early.”
“Why don’t you sleep?” He turns it back on me.
“I’m busy babysitting.” I huff.
“You’re a brat.” He rolls his eyes.
“Sleep,” I demand.
“Promise you will if I do?” He asks.
I nod in agreement.
“Promise.”
“I promise.” I roll my eyes.
“Night, Pheebs.”
“Night, Max.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
“Don’t be sorry. Go to sleep.”
“I know how hard accidents are for you.”
“The accident wasn’t what freaked me out, Max. It was because it was you.” I feel pressure behind my eyes, knowing very well I’m about to look like an idiot. “Stupid.” I sniff as a single tear falls down my cheek.
“You aren’t allowed to be sad.” He wipes the tear from my cheek. “It makes me feel like a dick.”
“You are a dick.” I can hear the tears building in my voice, but I scrunch up my face and squint the tears away. “Go to sleep.”
“You go to sleep.”
“We’ve been over this.” I groan. “Goodnight.”
“Love you.” He squeezes my hand.
“Love you, too,” I say softly, squeezing his hand back.
; I wake up, head resting on Max’s hand when Mom and the surgical staff come in.
Sitting up, I see Bill standing next to the other side of the bed. Max opens his eyes and looks at me.
“You’ve got this,” I whisper as I stand to move out of the way, fighting tears as I watch them work.
He finally looks away from me when his dad says his name.
“Mom awake?” He asks in a sleep-heavy voice.
“Should be soon,” Bill winks.
I never wish for time to stand still. I typically wish it away.
Right now, I wish I could freeze time, because I’ve yet to break down, and I know it’s coming.
Columba
The Dove
Bill has been bouncing between Camila’s room—waiting for her to wake up—and checking in to see if Max had woken up yet. I know he’s exhausted, because I am, and I’ve been in his room the whole time waiting for him to return.
It seems cruel that Camila just woke up when I see Max’s eyes begin to flutter open.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him.
“Shitty.” He groans. “Really shitty.”
“Can you even feel your leg?” I ask him.
“Nope.” He pops his p. “Not at all.”
“Does anything else hurt?” I ask, remembering what his doctors had said.
“Just my ankle.” He sing-songs, trying to hide his pain in humor.
His clear daze reminds me of when he got his tonsils out in the fifth grade. He was loopy coming out of surgery. I don’t know why I expected any different this time.
“I think you should get some sleep,” I tell him.
“You should get some sleep, actually.” He corrects me, but his slurred speech isn’t convincing.
“Just take a nap. Your dad will be here when you wake up.”
“My dad wants to kill me,” he says groggily.
“Your dad doesn’t want to kill you,” I reassure him.
“He was living vicariously through me, and now he has no one to live vicariously through. Who’s he going to harass? Mia? She’s seven.” He honestly sounds like a TV version of someone who just got their wisdom teeth out, and has a mouth full of gauze, but I try to take him seriously.
“He can still live vicariously through you.” I nearly make myself laugh.
“I’m not even going to get into Stanford anymore, so how’s he gonna do that?” He raises his eyebrow.
