“Same,” Malcolm grumbles.
Steven walks over to Travis before putting on gloves, and then starts examining him—opening his eyes, checking his pulse, listening to his chest. Garrett hovers over the couch, balancing on his good leg while Devon backs up against the wall, arms crossed. They both watch anxiously as Steven does different maneuvers to assess the state of Travis.
“He’s going to be fine. He may have re-broken his nose though,” Steven says, taking off his gloves. Devon and Garrett both let out a big sigh of relief.
“I’m not paying to fix it this time,” Sam says standing in the doorway.
“You’re his guardian, correct?” Steven asks.
“Unfortunately.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Fart wad’s my nephew.”
“He may have a concussion. You’ll need to monitor for vomiting and confusion. Ice his face and tell him to lay off the peppermint vodka.”
“Seriously, I can smell it from here.” Malcolm rubs his nose.
“Thanks for coming, Dr. Jones,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Not a problem, and please, call me Steven.” He grins.
Malcolm rolls his eyes. I smile and nod as he leaves.
“Alright, are you guys good? You need a ride?” Sam asks Garrett and Devon.
“I think we’re okay, I can drop him off on my way home.” Garrett starts putting on his jacket. “Sorry about all of this.”
“You’re not the one who needs to apologize,” Malcolm says, staring at Devon.
Devon doesn’t say anything as he walks up to Sam and shakes his hand. Sam accepts it and nods—a mutual understanding in their unspoken words. Devon rushes out the door, without saying a word to Malcolm or I. Garrett fist bumps my arm as they leave.
“Sam, I’m so sorry—”
“Ben, don’t. You are not responsible for these boys. They make their own decisions and they gotta deal with the consequences. I try to tell this idiot that all time,” Sam says, throwing a blanket on top of Travis.
“He’s right." Malcolm pipes in. "You gotta quit letting these kids make you feel like you owe them anything.”
“I know, I just remember being a dumb kid and making one mistake that had a lasting impact. I hate to see that happen to them.” My voice cracks at my own memories.
“That was a long time ago, Ben. You’ve paid your dues.” Sam pats me on the shoulder. “You learned from your mistakes, they will too. They have to.”
Malcolm and I say our goodbyes to Sam and weave back through the crowd. “What are we going to do about DJ? He won’t listen to any of us,” I say.
“He’ll come to his senses eventually, they always do. Use this as a teachable moment.”
“How can it be a teachable moment if he doesn’t want to learn?” I ask, irritated. “You’re theteacher, help me figure this out!”
“Coming from a teacher-turned-vice principal? You don’t need my help.”
We walk out of Wafflin’ to the parking lot. As we approach our cars, I see a note left on my windshield. I pinch the bridge of my nose, probably hate mail from the car I hit.
“Looks like someone left ya somethin’,” Malcolm says, grabbing the note. “Secret admirer, huh?”
“Doubtful.” I snag the note from his hands. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Malcolm chuckles and heads to his truck. I wince at the piece of paper in my hand, afraid to read the angry words someone more than likely left behind for me. I probably deserve it though. Should’ve left a note or insurance information but these kids had me flustered. Now I’m the jerk who hit a car and ran.
Relief washes over me when I read the note:
You owe me a bumper. Come over for dinner sometime and we’ll call it even. – Steven
