Break(44)

“You’re the talk of the nurse’s station,” she says.

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Everyone’s gossiping about your little mission.”

“It’s not a mission,” I slur, my head in my pillow. “Just a few broken bones.”

“Are they hurting you?”

I hold up the hand. “Just this one.”

“Want anything for it?”

I shake my head.

My blood pressure’s low, and I’m staring to wonder if it has anything to do with my stomachache and headache and overwhelming dizziness.

“You’re not feeling well,” she says. “Do you want a nurse?”

“I just want to sleep.”

And I do, and then I wake up to the welcome home party for Leah. I stumble out of my bed into the common room, barefoot, scrubbing my eyes with my pulsating hand.

“Jonah!” Leah throws her broken and unbroken arms around my neck. “Look!” she shows me the cast, the marks where Tyler and Stephen and Belle and Annie have already signed their names.

I sway and they pull me onto the carpet.

“I feel so much better,” she says.

I say, “The point isn’t to feel better.”

“But I do.” She flexes her good arm. “I feel . . . stronger. Don’t you guys? I did it for you guys.”

Everyone nods.

Leah’s smile grows. Her mouth is too big and she’s all lit from inside. She looks like a jack-o’-lantern.

“Not feeling well,” I mumble.

“Oh, Jonah.” Leah collects me from the floor and steers me down the hall to my room. The hallway stretches in front of me like a tendon. “You’ll be okay,” she says. “It’s just been a while since you’ve broken anything, yeah? Feeling a little withdrawn?”

“Don’t need to break anymore.”

“Shh. It’s okay.”

I sleep like a tiger and then someone’s hands are on my shoulders, and I just want them to leave me alone. I don’t want to think about this. I’m so sick of thinking.

“Jonah. Jonah.”

It’s Tyler. I sit up. My eyes sting like I’ve soaked them in acid.

Tyler’s a film noir character in the half-light from my window. “Look,” he says, and holds out his hand.

His ring finger is bent and swollen.

I grab his hand and dig around in my backpack until I find a roll of medical tape. “You’re going to be fine,” I say. “Don’t let the doctor see. Please. Please don’t let him see.”

He smiles like a maniac. “Jonah,” he says. “The good of the group, right? You’re a f*cking genius.”

Then it’s Halloween.





thirty-eight


JESSE. I WALK OUT OF ARTS AND CRAFTS THE NEXT morning, not perfect, but not altogether worse for wear, and there he is, chatting with Mackenzie at the desk while he signs the visitor’s clipboard.

I approach him. “You skipped school to be here?”

He shrugs. “At least there’s no chance of Mom and Dad bothering us. And there’s a notable lack of shrieking babies.”

“Rather extreme, brother.” I remember last time and say, “You want to go outside?”

I take him through the back doors, out to the courtyard. We sit on the rickety bench, and Jesse drags a stick across the ground.

“They really give you a lot of freedom, here, don’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Couldn’t you just run away?”

I point toward the gates that block us from the real world and shake my bracelet. “Sensors go off if I get too close. It’s an illusionary freedom. How’s everything?”

“Fine.” He takes my arm and compares my crazy-bracelet to the med-alert tags on his wrist.

“Healthy?”

“Yes, Jonah.” He shakes back his tags and spies the basketball by the side of the court. “Hey, you want to play?”

“Is this just revenge for asking if you’re healthy? Okay. I didn’t mean it. I don’t care if you’re healthy. Want a peanut butter sandwich?”

“Shut up.” He stands up and throws the ball at me. “Let’s go.”

Jesse got taller than me when we were six and seven. That was also the last year I could beat him in any kind of sport. But I give it my all, just like always, because it’s what he expects even though I’m not feeling very basketbally at the moment. And it’s not as if I can move much.

He fakes left and almost sends me toppling. “Reflexes, brother. Haven’t improved, haveya?”

“Oh, hush.”

He holds the ball over his head. “No toes. Can’t jump.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Don’t.” He dribbles right and throws the ball toward the hoop like he’s punishing it. It sinks right through the net.

He smiles and flicks a bit of sweat off his forehead.

“You terrify me.”

He retrieves the ball and offers his other arm to me. “Want to go? I’ll pick you up.”

“You could not pick me up with one arm.”

“Hell yeah, I could.” He grabs me around the waist, under the sling, and lifts me a full foot off the ground. “Hurting your ribs?”