Did he really hurt his shoulderat a job?”I ask Collin during film class that afternoon.
“That’s what he said.”Collin doesn’t look at me when he answers.His eyes remain on the screen.I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else or even look at me.
I don’t usually doubt Jonathan.Jonathan shows up with cuts and bruises all the time for whatever reason—a fight, an injury on one of his dad’s construction jobs, playing football, wrestling with Collin or doing some other adrenaline-seeking stunt.He once broke his arm falling out of a tree when we were twelve.I’ve never had a reason to doubt him before or even considered that he may be lying.But this feels different.
The cut lip after a fight he didn’t get into.The dislocated shoulder after he was called to the office.He was accused of breaking a guy’s arm, but Jonathan’s dad cleared him—and never bothered to tell Jonathan.It feels off.
Or I’m connecting dots that don’t exist.
“Will you bring donuts for the car ride in the morning?”Collin asks, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts.He’s leaned in close to not be overheard by Mr.Godfrey, who roused from his nap to scan the class for others who may have nodded off.
“Uh, no,” I whisper back.“I’m driving.You can get your own donuts.”
Collin grumbles, “How can I?I don’t have a car.”
“Yes, you do,” I taunt him with a bratty smile.“You just can’t drive.”
“Funny,” he gripes, not appreciating my humor.
Iarrive the next morningwith breakfast sandwiches that Magda was kind enough to make and to-go cups of coffee.
“You are the best,” Collin declares from the back seat.
“You didn’t have to walk to Collin’s,” I tell Jonathan as he buckles his seatbelt.“I could’ve driven to your house to get you.”
“This is fine.You’re already going out of your way,” he says.“I should be able to drive in a week, I think.Shifting shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Really?”I ask, knowing nothing about dislocated shoulders.Should I have looked it up, or is that overstepping?
“Yeah.I only have to wear the brace until I go back to get it checked by the doctor on Monday.Then I’ll have physical therapy to work it back to full range of motion.Just can’t move it around too much or lift anything in the meantime.”
“Oh,” I say, a little disappointed that the rides to school are already coming to an end.
“You can still pick me up,” Collin declares.“As long as you keep bringing these sandwiches.They’re amazing.”
I glance at him in the rearview mirror.“How many did you eat?They weren’t both for you!”
He looks guilty.“Well, they were good.”He offers Jonathan a half-eaten one.Jonathan declines with a raised hand.“Sorry, man.”Collin finishes the second sandwich off with a couple of bites.
I roll my eyes.
Is that what you’re wearingfor your first date?”Danika asks while we walk to gym together.
“Is it bad?I wasn’t sure what to wear.I should’ve asked.But I didn’t.And he’s just wearing jeans and a T-shirt.I feel overdressed, but we’re leaving right after school.How am I supposed to dress for asurprise?Surprise could mean anything.And I don’t have a section in my closet that sayswear for anything.”
“Did you breathe at all during that entire freak-out?”Danika laughs.“You look pretty.”
Jonathan said the same thing after I took off my jacket when we arrived at school.His exact words were, “Wow, you look really pretty.”He sounded surprised, like he didn’t realize I was pretty until today.What does that mean?He only liked me for my personality before today?Is that good?I can’t decide.
I play with the cuff of my chiffon peasant blouse that’s tucked into tweed shorts.I haven’t worn tights outside of ballet since I was a kid, but it’s too cold for bare legs, and it makes the outfit look more sophisticated with the lace-up boots.I nearly forgot I had these shorts until I dug through my closet.Not everything makes it onto a hanger, and I’m always discovering clothes my mother bought for me.I prefer cultivating my eclectic, bohemian style by scouring vintage shops.
I know I promised I’d organize my room if my mom didn’t catch Jonathan hiding under my bed, but that’s going to take an entire weekend.Or several weekends.I keep telling her to stop buying me clothes I’ll never wear—until she makes me wear them at some ridiculous event.
“Want to come over before the showcase tomorrow and help organize my closet?”I ask Danika with an exaggerated, toothy smile and a flutter of lashes.
“Your closet scares me,” Danika says, not at all swayed.
“I’ll let you have whatever you want that still has tags on it.”If I’m left to organize it on my own, it’ll never get done.
