Better off Friends
Page 57
That’s because of your actions, not mine.
Whatever, Floyd.
Oh, you’re going to pay for that.
I have no doubt.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Oddly enough, starting off a new year with knee surgery wasn’t as bad an omen as I’d originally thought. I did get to miss the first week back at school, so no complaints from me on that one.
Sure, I was a huge pain after my injury because I was in so much pain. I went through my five stages of grief: I was mad, then upset, followed by angry, which blossomed into frustration, which eventually turned into depression.
But then Macallan came along, as she so often had, and wouldn’t put up with any of it. If I complained, she wouldn’t let up until I either got over myself or laughed. She carted me back and forth to school. Helped me with my books, cooked for me, did everything I needed, and she didn’t complain once. Unless, of course, I complained. Which was often.
There was something about her help that calmed me. I didn’t like having my mom fret over me. I didn’t want Dad to think I was soft, even though he understood the severity of my injury more than anybody. And I hated thinking that the guys felt they had to take care of me.
Oh, yeah, and Stacey. I liked having her around, but things with Macallan were different.
For a second, on New Year’s Eve, I thought she was going to tell me that what she wanted was me. That she wanted to kiss me. She only paused for a couple seconds, but in that short amount of time, I managed to get my hopes up to a ridiculous height.
She was one of the last people I saw before I was put under for my surgery, and one of the first people I saw when I woke up. She took the day off school to be with my parents and me. She brought me my homework all week and did these hilarious reenactments of stories involving my friends.
She even took me to physical therapy. Which I was grateful for, because physical therapy sucked. It hurt. It was the most frustrating thing ever. I had to relearn how to use my knee. Something as simple as bending was painful and difficult. If Mom had been there, she would’ve been worried by the pain I was going through.
But Macallan stood there and helped me when I needed her. She did her homework while my therapist was working on me. And she gave me the strength to not give up, throw a fit, or cry. Which I wanted to do on a daily basis.
After a particularly painful session, Macallan sat next to me during my ice and stim.
“How you feeling?” she asked.
“Better,” I lied.
Kim, my therapist, set up my stim machine. “He had a good day today. I have total faith that he’ll only be in his brace at the dance in a couple weeks.”
“That’s great!” Macallan gave me a big smile.
Kim patted her on the shoulder. “You may need him to lean on you more when you dance, but you know how boyfriends can be.”
Macallan gave Kim a puzzled look. “Um, yeah, but Levi and I aren’t …”
“Oh!” Kim looked at both of us. “I thought, um, I didn’t mean …”
How often had this happened to us? Too often to count. It made sense that Kim would think Macallan was my girlfriend. I’d told her that I had a girlfriend, I’d talked about Macallan a lot, Macallan was always here with me. But I racked my brain trying to think if I had brought up Stacey by name. Surely, I couldn’t have neglected to mention her name.
“Sorry,” I apologized to Macallan. Like it was my fault that people always assumed we were together. But maybe it was.
She shrugged it off. “It’s okay. Maybe if you’d let Stacey come with you …”
I knew I was an awful boyfriend to not let Stacey help me. But I liked having this time with Macallan.
“Anyway” — she sat upright — “today was pretty epic at lunch. Keith was all ‘me want food, me hate food in cafeteria, me deserve better.’ ” Whenever Macallan imitated Keith, she pretended he was a Neanderthal, which maybe wasn’t far from the truth. She hunched over and stuck out her jaw. “Then Emily was like ‘Oh. My. Gawd. You’re, like, a picky eater for someone who thinks pizza is a vegetable.’ ” And whenever she pretended to be Emily — or any girl, really — she put on a Valley Girl accent, twirled her hair, and made her eyes really wide.
It was incredibly entertaining and made the silliest high school encounter hilarious. It was better than actually being there.
“You’re such a Mean Girl,” I teased.
“Hey, I’m telling it like it is.”
“So what else happened today?” I asked. I was heading back to school on Monday and wasn’t really looking forward to it, even though I knew it would be good for me to have some normalcy again. I couldn’t continue to live in my Macallan bubble, no matter how much I wished I could.
She hesitated. “Well, actually …” She bit her lip; it seemed like she was a little nervous. “You know Alex Curtis?”
Alex Curtis? He’d graduated the year before. He’d been on the basketball team, and was really good. We’d hung out a few times this summer before he’d headed off to Marquette.
“Yeah,” I said, harsher than I meant to sound. Alex was a good guy, but I didn’t want Macallan to think so.
“Well, I ran into him a couple days ago and we were talking, and, um, our moms were good friends.” I could tell Macallan was stalling. “Yeah, so he’s going to be around for the dance and offered to take me.”
Macallan was going to the winter dance with a college guy? A college guy she apparently had a history with? A college guy she’d talked to a couple days ago without mentioning it to me?
Whatever, Floyd.
Oh, you’re going to pay for that.
I have no doubt.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Oddly enough, starting off a new year with knee surgery wasn’t as bad an omen as I’d originally thought. I did get to miss the first week back at school, so no complaints from me on that one.
Sure, I was a huge pain after my injury because I was in so much pain. I went through my five stages of grief: I was mad, then upset, followed by angry, which blossomed into frustration, which eventually turned into depression.
But then Macallan came along, as she so often had, and wouldn’t put up with any of it. If I complained, she wouldn’t let up until I either got over myself or laughed. She carted me back and forth to school. Helped me with my books, cooked for me, did everything I needed, and she didn’t complain once. Unless, of course, I complained. Which was often.
There was something about her help that calmed me. I didn’t like having my mom fret over me. I didn’t want Dad to think I was soft, even though he understood the severity of my injury more than anybody. And I hated thinking that the guys felt they had to take care of me.
Oh, yeah, and Stacey. I liked having her around, but things with Macallan were different.
For a second, on New Year’s Eve, I thought she was going to tell me that what she wanted was me. That she wanted to kiss me. She only paused for a couple seconds, but in that short amount of time, I managed to get my hopes up to a ridiculous height.
She was one of the last people I saw before I was put under for my surgery, and one of the first people I saw when I woke up. She took the day off school to be with my parents and me. She brought me my homework all week and did these hilarious reenactments of stories involving my friends.
She even took me to physical therapy. Which I was grateful for, because physical therapy sucked. It hurt. It was the most frustrating thing ever. I had to relearn how to use my knee. Something as simple as bending was painful and difficult. If Mom had been there, she would’ve been worried by the pain I was going through.
But Macallan stood there and helped me when I needed her. She did her homework while my therapist was working on me. And she gave me the strength to not give up, throw a fit, or cry. Which I wanted to do on a daily basis.
After a particularly painful session, Macallan sat next to me during my ice and stim.
“How you feeling?” she asked.
“Better,” I lied.
Kim, my therapist, set up my stim machine. “He had a good day today. I have total faith that he’ll only be in his brace at the dance in a couple weeks.”
“That’s great!” Macallan gave me a big smile.
Kim patted her on the shoulder. “You may need him to lean on you more when you dance, but you know how boyfriends can be.”
Macallan gave Kim a puzzled look. “Um, yeah, but Levi and I aren’t …”
“Oh!” Kim looked at both of us. “I thought, um, I didn’t mean …”
How often had this happened to us? Too often to count. It made sense that Kim would think Macallan was my girlfriend. I’d told her that I had a girlfriend, I’d talked about Macallan a lot, Macallan was always here with me. But I racked my brain trying to think if I had brought up Stacey by name. Surely, I couldn’t have neglected to mention her name.
“Sorry,” I apologized to Macallan. Like it was my fault that people always assumed we were together. But maybe it was.
She shrugged it off. “It’s okay. Maybe if you’d let Stacey come with you …”
I knew I was an awful boyfriend to not let Stacey help me. But I liked having this time with Macallan.
“Anyway” — she sat upright — “today was pretty epic at lunch. Keith was all ‘me want food, me hate food in cafeteria, me deserve better.’ ” Whenever Macallan imitated Keith, she pretended he was a Neanderthal, which maybe wasn’t far from the truth. She hunched over and stuck out her jaw. “Then Emily was like ‘Oh. My. Gawd. You’re, like, a picky eater for someone who thinks pizza is a vegetable.’ ” And whenever she pretended to be Emily — or any girl, really — she put on a Valley Girl accent, twirled her hair, and made her eyes really wide.
It was incredibly entertaining and made the silliest high school encounter hilarious. It was better than actually being there.
“You’re such a Mean Girl,” I teased.
“Hey, I’m telling it like it is.”
“So what else happened today?” I asked. I was heading back to school on Monday and wasn’t really looking forward to it, even though I knew it would be good for me to have some normalcy again. I couldn’t continue to live in my Macallan bubble, no matter how much I wished I could.
She hesitated. “Well, actually …” She bit her lip; it seemed like she was a little nervous. “You know Alex Curtis?”
Alex Curtis? He’d graduated the year before. He’d been on the basketball team, and was really good. We’d hung out a few times this summer before he’d headed off to Marquette.
“Yeah,” I said, harsher than I meant to sound. Alex was a good guy, but I didn’t want Macallan to think so.
“Well, I ran into him a couple days ago and we were talking, and, um, our moms were good friends.” I could tell Macallan was stalling. “Yeah, so he’s going to be around for the dance and offered to take me.”
Macallan was going to the winter dance with a college guy? A college guy she apparently had a history with? A college guy she’d talked to a couple days ago without mentioning it to me?
