“Dammit,” he mutters. His face is bright red, and he won’t meet my eyes. “I think it might be sprained.”
“Shit, what should we do? What do you need? Should I call someone? Take you to the hospital? What about a doctor?” I ask, but he shakes his head adamantly. “Well, how were you planning on getting home?”
He nods toward the skateboard. “Same way I got here.”
I hear a couple whistles in the background and glance over to the group of skaters hovering a few feet away.
“Parker, who’s the babe?” one calls.
I didn’t think it was possible, but Parker somehow looks evenmoremortified, and he ducks his head.
“Let me give you a ride,” I say, ignoring the stupid boys. “We can stop by the house to grab your check, too, if you want. And maybe some ice.”
He shrugs, still not looking at me. I totally understand why he’s embarrassed—I’d probably feel humiliated in his situation—and I hope it didn’t do any lasting damage to our budding friendship. “Sure.”
Parker gives a haphazard wave over his shoulder to his group of friends, who keep wolf-whistling and jeering, and limps beside me toward the car.
“Parker’s got game!” one calls after us.
“Who knew?” yells another.
“Sorry about them,” he mutters as soon as we’re safe inside the car with the doors shut. “They’re idiots.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” I say, laughing it off, and I twirl my keys around my finger, debating if I should mention his arm. My mouth opens without my permission before I can make a decision. “Sorry if this is super inappropriate to say, but I didn’t realize…I didn’t know about your arm.” I give it another quick glance, unsure if I’m being rude. “I know that sounds crazy. I must be oblivious or something.”
He shakes his head, strands of dark hair flopping into his eyes. He pushes them away with his non-prosthetic hand. “Nah, it’s not you. I kind of didn’t want you to know, so I hid it.”
I blink at him in confusion. “You hid it? Why?”
“I don’t know. People can be…weird. I just want them to treat me normally sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t have treated you any different, Parker,” I assure him.
“Yeah, I know. But people do. Girls do,” he mutters, almost as an afterthought.
“Well, they’re idiots. Trust me.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.” I start up the car, crank the air-conditioning, and pull out of the lot in the direction of Mel’s. “Can I ask…is it totally bad form to ask how you lost it? You don’t have to answer if it is.”
“Shark attack.”
My face pales. “My god, Park-”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I’m kidding. I was born without it. You should have seen your face.”
“Not funny,” I say, smacking him lightly on the shoulder as we stop at a red light. I glance over at him again, so many questions on the tip of my tongue. “So, have you always had the prosthetic?”
“Not this one specifically, but since I was little, yeah.” He holds the arm up, twisting it in the light. I can’t quite place the material, something durable, like plastic, but with very little shine or reflection. He opens and closes the robotic fingers, stretching and flexing them while I watch in complete awe.
“Wow,” I gasp. “That’s incredible. How do you do that?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but it’s some kind of cutting-edge robotic technology. Landon invented it.”
My eyes snap up to his. I’m certain I misheard him. “Wait,what?”
“The prosthetic. Landon invented it.”
