A Shattered Moment (Fractured Lives 1)

“Brat Pack?” I asked, as understanding dawned on me after all these years. I guess that was where our parents had gotten the group’s nickname.

“Yeah. This one has Matthew Broderick in it. Trust me, it’s a classic. On Wednesday you can come over and watch it,” he added smoothly.

“I thought you had class Wednesday evenings.”

“Nope. I’m good. So, what do you think?” he asked, pulling in front of my building.

I hesitated before agreeing. I wasn’t entirely sure what his definition of our forming relationship was. For the most part, he was sticking to our claim that we were just friends. Every once in a while he found excuses to touch me, or hold my hand, like he had while we were eating, making me wonder if he wanted something more. Of course, that could be me misinterpreting things.

Trina was in our room for the second night in a row when I arrived. I was startled to see she had moved all her stuff back in. She was busy hanging a poster above her bed of a hunky guy wearing nothing but boxer briefs. I took in the chiseled chest and defined six-pack with appreciation.

“Oh, hey.” I had surprised her, causing her to drop the poster on the bed.

“Hey. How’s it going?”

“Okay. I figured it would be nice to sleep in my own bed for a change,” she said, explaining her appearance. She looked uncomfortable, like she expected me to object or something.

“It’ll be nice to have some company,” I responded, smiling. “In more ways than one,” I added, looking at the poster she had picked up and smoothed onto the wall above her bed.

“I’ve been dying to hang him up since my friend from high school sent it to me last month. I figured he could be our inspiration.”

“That works for me,” I said, dropping my backpack on my bed. “Do you need any help?” She unrolled another poster and made a move to hang it over her desk.

“That would be great.” She smiled gratefully as I held the poster while she taped the corners down.

As we spent the rest of the evening setting up Trina’s side of the room, we discovered that we shared many of the same interests. It was a conversation we should have had two months ago, but we made up for lost time. We played music as we chatted, mocking popular songs that we secretly loved even though they had dumb lyrics.

“When I was younger, I thought one of Taylor Swift’s songs had the line ‘one-eyed jeans,’” I admitted as she started to giggle.

“What’s the real line?”

“‘Worn-out jeans.’” She chortled loudly. I couldn’t help laughing with her. I gasped, clutching my side. “Sadly, I still say one-eyed jeans, even now.”

“That’s hilarious. We have to play it now,” she said, clapping her hands as she bounced up and down on her bed.

Still laughing, I pulled the song up on my iPhone and plugged it into her stereo. We both sang it loudly before collapsing on my bed in laughter.

Eventually we wore ourselves out and turned off the lights under the pretense of going to sleep, but we ended up talking late into the night. It reminded me of my last sleepover with Tracey. As I lay in the dark after Trina conked out, I mulled over my feelings in my head. Deep down I realized the reason I’d kept everyone at arm’s length since the accident was because I felt it would be the ultimate betrayal to my friends to allow myself to care about anyone else. Like I would be turning my back on all our memories.

I fell asleep before I could reach a true conclusion on how I felt about the recent changes in my life. My last coherent thought was that Tanya would have a field day when I saw her next week. She’d been waiting for this moment.

The next morning Trina dragged me down to the dining hall for breakfast. I tried to decline, but our newfound friendship made it hard to ignore her pleas. My normal paranoia over everyone staring at me had me shaking slightly as we entered the large room. Trina noticed my stress and linked her elbow with mine so we could walk together.

“If they’re looking at you, it’s because you?

??re drop-dead gorgeous.”

“You’re high as a kite,” I said, following her to the cereal bar.

“Don’t be dense. And before you say anything else, if you try to spit out some line that you’re not pretty, I’ll have to throat-punch you. I hate when girls do that. If you’re beautiful, own it.”

Laughing at her threat, I grabbed a banana, a carton of milk, and a mini box of Frosted Flakes. “I’m not saying I’m ugly or anything, but you said I was ‘drop-dead gorgeous.’ That’s so an exaggeration. Runway models are drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Fine. You’re prettier than a toad. Is that better?”

“Much,” I said, handing my meal card to the cashier.

I waited close by for Trina before heading to a table. Everything in me wanted to slink off so I was no longer standing conspicuously out in the open. After what felt like an insane amount of time, she finally finished paying for her food and we headed off to find a table. Trina’s name was called out several times as we wove our way through the maze of tables. She acknowledged each greeting, but didn’t stop to talk, which I was grateful for. Being so exposed was making me tense and slowly sucking away the confidence I had just gained back the night before.