FIVE YEARS EARLIER
My friends are fighting to sign my cast at lunch on Monday when I return to school from the hospital. We’re in the cafeteria, huddled around our usual table, and a black Sharpie is being passed around as I hold my wrist out. Meghan is bent over my arm, her tongue out as she focuses on surrounding her name with black, squiggly flowers. I almost beg her not to because it’s sort of lame, but I keep quiet and let her do her thing. Flowers are at least better than the self-portrait Rachael has attempted to draw.
“My turn,” Jake says, reaching over to pluck the Sharpie out of Meghan’s hand. He’s sitting cross-legged up on the table and he bends forward, grabbing my arm.
“Nothing stupid,” I warn him. Last time, he drew a pair of boobs, and Mom scribbled over it when I got home. The design of my cast ended up looking crap after that, and this time, I want it to look pretty cool. It could be the last cast I ever wear.
It’s been three nights since Dad last laid a hand on me. He hasn’t hurt me since the moment he promised me he never would ever again. I’ve been watching him closely over the weekend, noticing the way he never comes too close to me and always thinks first before opening his mouth. He still expects me to work hard, which I do, and even when he got frustrated at me last night, he only walked away.
I think this is really it this time. I think the bad nights, the worst nights . . . I think they might be done for good. I think it might be over. Maybe this time, his apology really is the last. We can go back to the way we used to be, the way we should be, when he would help me out with my homework, when we would watch TV together, when we would play out in the backyard . . . when he would actually act like a real father who loves his son.
I feel hopeful. I feel almost . . . happy. Not entirely, but happier than I’ve felt in a while.
“There you go,” Jake says. There’s a mischievous smirk on his lips as he sits back. I glance down at my cast, and honestly, I have no idea what he’s even drawn. It looks like some sort of satanic devil, and underneath, he’s scrawled: Remember Jake is cooler than you. It’s not even surprising, and it’s not enough to ruin my good mood.
“Sweet,” I say, grinning back at him. His smirk falters, as though he’s disappointed I’m not throwing my lunch at him. I take the pen from him and offer it to Dean. “You wanna sign it?”
“Yeah,” Dean says. He shuffles in closer to me, takes the pen, then picks out an empty spot on my cast. As he writes, he asks, “How did you even break it again?”
“You do know it’s Tyler you’re talking to, right?” Rachael cuts in, rolling her eyes at Dean. “Accident prone.”
“Yeah, basically,” I agree with a laugh. Little do they know, I’m no longer going to be clumsy. No more bumps and bruises. No more excuses. No more lies.
Dean finishes signing my cast. He’s written his name and then underneath, he tells me to get better soon. No boobs or Satan. Dean is too nice for that. I glance around the table, and everyone has signed my cast except for one, and that’s the new girl, Tiffani. Although, she’s not really new anymore, and she’s been joining us at lunch for the past couple weeks. She’s sitting at the end of the table, quietly watching the rest of us in silence, chewing her lip.
I look straight at her, hold up my wrist, and give her a small smile. “Can you sign it?”
“You want me to?” Tiffani asks, widening her eyes in surprise as though she hadn’t been expecting me to ask. I figure she considers us as her friends, so it would be rude not to.
“Yep.” I grab the pen from Dean and stretch across the table, offering it to her, and she takes it from me as she gets to her feet. She grabs her bag and walks around the table, then sits down on the corner of it as she reaches me. Her hair falls over her face as she scribbles her name, just Tiff with a small heart next to it. Then, she tosses the pen down onto the table, reaches into her bag and pulls out a lipstick. We are all watching her in silence as she paints her lips a dark pink, then she gently reaches for my wrist with both hands and lifts my cast up. She kisses it, right above her name, her blue eyes looking back at me.
“Unique,” she says with a smile as she lowers my arm back down. “Like me.”
“Hey,” Jake calls out across the table. “I think my lips are broken. Do you wanna sign them too?”