“Yeah, I guess.”
Nate’s sitting in the chair, nursing his arm. Under the harsh lighting in Bob’s office, I can see that something’s seriously wrong with his wrist. It’s like the bone is more pronounced, like it's poking out at a weird angle. He offers me a weak smile before dropping his eyes.
Once Bob is done fussing at me, I go to finish cleaning myself up in the bathroom. The dingy mirror shows that the cut across my eyebrow and some bruising on my jaw are the worst of it. The back of my head is killing, but as I gingerly explore the area with my fingertips, there aren’t any cuts there. For a few extra seconds, I just stand at the sink, dreading going back out there.
I can’t believe I got him hurt.
An ambulanceand a police car show up. The police ask me questions while the EMTs look us over. Nate’s immediately taken into the ambulance and I’m separated from him while the cops ask me the same questions over and over.
“Who were the guys who jumped you?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “Just some guys.”
Bob gives me a side-eye.
“Just some guys knew where you worked and jumped you for no reason?” the cop asks.
I hear one of the women who stuck around to give evidence tell a female cop that it sounded like a homophobic hate crime. My face flushes. Is everyone in work going to know I’m gay now? Will someone tell my ma? Nate’s in an ambulance, maybe with a broken wrist because of me, now my ma might find out from some woman at the grocery store that her son’s gay, the same way I found out about Dad’s cancer spreading, because I was too chicken shit to tell her myself.
The cops sigh and close their notepads. “If you don’t give us any information, we can’t do anything to help you.”
“I’m sorry.” I shrug. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know the guys, they just jumped us, I’ve never seen them before.”
When they put me in the ambulance with Nate, I can’t even look at him. I’ve never felt more ashamed in my life.
15
NATHAN
Ipush down my panic over the searing pain in my wrist. The last time I dared take a peek at it, the bone looked all weird and was definitely not where it was supposed to be. I don’t think it’s going to be any different when I look at it again.
Evan is sitting in the ambulance on the bench opposite mine, his head down. His eye and lip are already starting to swell.
We play Cornell tomorrow. We’re in the middle of the Ivy and weeks from regionals and I’ve probably broken my wrist. Even if it’s not broken, it’s definitely sprained—and I won’t be holding a racket by my first match. My eyes fill and I sniffle and wipe my face with the back of my hand.
We’re separated at the hospital while I go to get some scans. The painkillers the EMT gave me are starting to kick in. The pain is subsiding a little and I feel woozy. But that panic is gnawing at the back of my head. Clawing to get out.
“Where’s Evan?”
“Your friend’s just getting some tests. He took a fewknocks to the head. We want to make sure there’s no concussion.”
“I don’t know if he has insurance.” I don’t think I was supposed to say that, but the meds are making my tongue loose. The nurse props my pillow up, her expression never changing from neutral. “Don’t you worry yourself about it, we’ll figure all that out later. You just relax and wait for the doctor.”
I’m taken in for a scan before being chaperoned back to my bed. When my phone is returned to me, I have a ton of missed calls and messages from my mom.
Fuck.
I hit call, still feeling a little out of my head.
“Nathan, Jesus, why didn’t you answer your phone? We’re on our way back.”
“On your way back from where?”
“The Bahamas!”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
