Sometime later Jasper came back with three cans of soda. I almost never had soda—the moms had been strict about junk food growing up—but Conrad accepted his gratefully, so I did the same thing, right down to mimicking his nod.
“Thanks, man,” he said to Jasper.
“Thanks,” I repeated and took a sip before I set it aside. The last thing we needed was me hyped up on sugar and caffeine.
We watched a bad true-crime show on the waiting-room TV and generally avoided talking to one another. My mom messaged that she didn’t know much more than that he was stable and getting tests, which I shared with the others, who nodded, then went silent again. I wished yet again for the sort of social ease people like my sisters had. They’d know how to cut this tension, get the other two talking. Anything to make this feel less funereal. Someone must have texted Payton, who stopped by on the way to a graduation party, bringing sandwiches that we all picked at. Shortly after Payton left, Professor Herrera came back out in time to claim one of the remaining sandwiches.
“He has a broken collarbone, a broken hip, and shoulder and knee injuries,” he reported, sinking into one of the empty chairs. “No concussion that they can see, but they’re working on admitting him now, getting him comfortable before surgery in the coming days. I know you’ve all probably got places to be, but he did say he’d like to talk to you once he’s in a room.”
“Don’t worry, sir. We can wait.” Conrad didn’t bother looking at either Jasper or me, not that I would have objected. My guilt over what had happened kept clawing at me, making it hard to think. And while I didn’t think that Professor Tuttle would be able to make me feel any better, I wanted to see him, see if there was anything we could do for him.
“Yeah. I told my folks I’d be here awhile. They wanted to know if there’s anything they could do, and Mom said to tell Professor Herrera that she’s making an extra lasagna tomorrow for you for when he comes home.”
“Your parents are good people, Jasper.” Professor Herrera gave a weary half smile before standing. “And I’ve told you before, Julio is fine. Gus doesn’t need all that Professor Tuttle business either. You guys are friends now, not simply students.”
“I don’t think I could ever get used to that.” Conrad’s laugh was brittle, but I had to agree. I didn’t have his propensity to tack “sir” onto the end of sentences, but I also couldn’t see either of them as anything other than professors. As Professor Herrera walked away, I tried thinking of him as Julio. Nope. It simply didn’t compute. It made me strangely warm, though, knowing that Professor Tuttle thought of us as friends, and that made it easier to keep waiting.
Finally after several episodes of some courtroom drama on the waiting-room TV, Professor Herrera reappeared. “He’d like to see you now. They’ve given him some medication, but he’s remarkably alert considering what he’s been through. Still, let’s not keep him too long.”
“Understood, sir.” Conrad led the way as we followed Professor Herrera away from the ER, down several corridors to a hospital room. Not the ICU—a regular room with two beds, one of which was empty. Professor Tuttle looked smaller, lying there in a blue hospital gown, and older too. Professor Herrera was probably early sixties like my moms, but Professor Tuttle was more like midseventies, a fact that I often forgot because he brought so much energy to the classroom and the game.
“This is not your fault,” Professor Tuttle pronounced as we lined up in front of the bed, Conrad closest to him, continuing to look as though he’d flunked every final and lost his dog the same day.
“Yes, it is,” he said miserably.
“I was foolish, forgetting the box upstairs and not waiting for help. And now I’ve ruined all our plans.”
“It’s okay.” Jasper’s sigh echoed that of Conrad, who was now studying his beat-up sneakers. “They can probably use me around home anyway. It’ll work out.”
“No, no, you are not staying home.” Professor Tuttle’s voice was surprisingly firm, given his situation.
“Last-minute plane tickets…” Conrad shook his head. “Not happening, sir. Sorry.”
Nothing that had happened in the last few hours had made me any more capable of flying, despite how disappointed I was. I had wanted that victory so, so badly. I swore I could almost feel the trophy slipping through my fingers. I, too, shook my head.
“It’ll be okay.” There. See? I was capable of the feelings-sparing white lies that other people could reel off so easily. Occasionally.
“No, it won’t. And I’ve been talking to Julio in between tests. I want you to go. Take Black Jack with our blessing. Julio’s going to give you cash for gas. I was always planning on paying for that myself.”