Heteroflexible

Crossing the gym one-legged takes an eternity, by the way. And after that eternity, I finally push through its doors—which feel twenty times heavier—and hop my way down the long hall.

I stop in front of a water fountain, holding it for support.

I try my weight down on that whiny ankle again.

Pain. Throb.

“Fuck you,” I yell down at it. “Just fuck you, you whiny thing.” I push away from the fountain and start to hop again, making my way down the hall—which seems to stretch on forever now.

When I reach the one lit-up office down the dark hall, I find my brother at a computer, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stares at a screen full of spreadsheets and numbers. He glances over at me, seems for a second to want to make a joke, then sobers up at once. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Danced too hard,” I growl.

“Jimmy, for Pete’s sake, really?” He gets up from his desk and rushes to me. “Sit down, sit down,” he tells me, throwing an arm over my back and guiding me to a chair. My weight drops into it, and he gently picks up my bad foot by the heel, then tries to remove my shoe for a closer inspection.

I shout out when the pain hits me. “Tanner, what the fuck?!”

He stops at once, flicks his wide-open eyes up to mine. “Dude, we’ve gotta get you to the clinic if it hurts that bad.”

“I’m fine. It’s … fine. I just need to—” I wince when he adjusts his hold on my ankle. “Need to ice it and keep off of it for the rest of the day. This happens all the time. It’s a dancer thing.”

Tanner twists up his face. “Dancer thing? Really?”

“Yeah, sure. Toe injuries. Ankle rolling. Whatever. I’m fine. I’ll just …” I gesture tiredly at his computer. “I’ll just sit here while you finish up your stuff. I’ll be fine.”

“You realize I’m a coach and former football player and deal with injuries all the time, right?”

“Nah, totally forgot.” I wince again, all the nerves in my ankle shouting at me in a pulsing, thumping chorus.

Tanner sighs. “Jimmy, you want me to get you some ice? The teacher lounge is just down the hall,” he points out, poking a big thumb over his shoulder. “Just five seconds away.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Tan, I’m fine.”

“I’ll get you some ice,” he decides anyway, hopping to his feet and charging through the door before I can protest.

Typical Tanner.

I bite the inside of my cheek and scowl at my stupid feet. What did I do wrong? I keep asking myself over and over. I try to replay my dance moves in my head, but I was improvising so fast, and going at it in such an out-of-body way, I can’t even determine if it was a leg twist or a foot jab that did the trick. Or neither.

I feel my phone buzz. I yank it out of my pocket at once.

BOBS

What are you doing at Spruce High?

What lovely timing, right? I type out a response.

ME

Came here with my brother. So many memories here. Also I think I just broke my ankle.

BOBS

What??? Are you OK??

I smirk, then decide to play with him a bit.

ME

No, man. U should prolly come over when U get off work. I need a thorough foot rub.

There’s a long pause after he sees the message. Then I watch him type, stop, type, stop, then type again. And finally:

BOBS

Nice try. Not funny, btw.

I try on a smile, but feel a pinch of awkwardness in my chest. Again, I can’t help but feel like Bobby is completely shrugging me away like some pariah who’s gone and done something utterly unforgivable by all the laws of man.

“I just kissed you,” I say at my phone, annoyed. “That’s all. What’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

Then I wince when I forget about my ankle for a second and let it touch the ground.

If he had answered sooner, you never would have gone into that gym.

I clench my eyes shut, frustrated.

My brother is back the next second with a pack of ice. After a second of me holding it against my ankle, a permanent grimace painted over my face, Tanner lets out the world’s longest big-brother sigh, throws me a harsh look, then says, “Yeah, this isn’t gonna do. We’re going to the clinic. Now.”

Two and a half minutes of arguing and nine minutes of very awkward hopping through the school later, we’re back in Tanner’s Subaru and driving down the four quick blocks to the clinic.

Tanner sweet-talks the woman at the front desk, Marybeth, who’s going on about something to do with the doctor being out for lunch. “But Trey’s in the back. Maybe he can give him a quick looking at before the doctor does? Run an X-Ray?”