SIDEKICK

Chapter Three: Next Phase of Friendship

CHAPTER THREE

Next Phase of Friendship

From that moment on, we became friends. Turns out, Peter doesn’t have any friends either. He transferred from his old school up in England because his dad wanted to practise American law.

Oh yeah, his dad is a criminal attorney and his mum’s a plastic surgeon from what he tells me.

We got talking after a while. We’re into the same indie band and interests.

One time we’re at Starbucks, and two girls walk past us. I check them out, especially the one with dark long hair, red dress. Peter hits my shoulder and his eyebrows rise up at me. We both grin.

Same taste in girls too.

Keith and the rugby team still try and get at me, but Pete stands up for me. I’m still too much of a coward to stand up for myself and seeing him so confident hurts my pride. But it’s better than it was before.

Turns out, Peter sucks at music. Luckily, it’s one of the few subjects I’m good at. I help him out with his composition work and theory, in and outside of school.

A few months after we meet, he invites me over to his house.

“My parents want to meet you,” he tells me.

“Huh,” I’m surprised. “Okay. Why?”

 He rubs the back of his head and chuckles, “They just want to. Plus, I’ve got a piano at mine, so you’ll help me out with my music assessment, yeah?”

I say okay. After school, we get on the subway together, and we end up in Manhattan, very different from the Brooklyn I’m used to. Another subway and a few blocks and we both end up in Park Avenue.

We enter through the glass doors of a high rise, greeted by the doorman. I notice he checks out Peter’s ass when we walk past.

Peter leads me into the elevator and presses the 32nd floor. The doors open, we get out and he leads me to his door.

I watch as he pulls out a key and unlocks the door. It swings open, and instantly I’m uncomfortable.

The place is not furnished for someone in a wheelchair. There are glass and porcelain decorations everywhere, most particularly a giant glass statue of a peacock in the small hallway. In fact, my chair only just fits through and I have to stop when I get to the peacock.

“Sorry,” the peacock wobbles slightly. “I’m gonna break the thing.”

“Oh, right.”

As a cripple, since I can’t use my lower limbs, my body has ended up using the muscle in my legs as an energy supply. They’re like twigs and since I’m thin, I weigh as much as a girl in middle school.

As our friendship has progressed, there are times where Peter is required to carry me.

This was one of them.

He lifts me out of my chair and carries me, legs scooped up and all to the end of the hallway.

We make it to his living room, where his parents are drinking scotch from a fancy scotch bottle next to the couch. They look up when they see Peter and we freeze when they lay their eyes on me.

Well, this is awkward.

***************

Peter’s folks are nice.

We all sit on the couch, chatting as his parents get to know me. Dr Diane Gosling M.D, Peter’s mom, is obsessed with my nose.

“I simply adore it,” she gushes. “Are you sure you haven’t had surgery?”