Love is such a Tired Clichè

Chapter 4: Pocket Paper Towels

"Bye, Matt," I say as he walks up his driveway.

Matt is the only person (besides myself) who walks home on a daily basis, so I often find myself ranting about annoying teachers or unexpected tests with him. But now, I had the rest of the walk by myself. Really, though the walk isn't that bad, and I will probably be doing it again today.

I jog up my driveway and unlock my door. The air-conditioning hasn't come on yet, but that doesn't matter. I decide that I am going to go back to school and play wallball. Why? Because there's nothing to do at home.

I snatch up my stick and ball and proceed out the door and down the street, keys around neck. As I jog, I notice the same that I tripped me up earlier and promptly tackle it.

Once at the school, I make my way over to the tennis courts, where there is a nice sizable wall. U flip the ball out of my stick, onto the ground, up to the wall, and back into my stick. Good, back into a routine after a day of abnormalities. I mean, I'm most definitely not what one would consider normal, but today was weird even for my standards.

After ten minutes of these pop-flies, I switch throws and began tossing the ball straight at the wall. I let it bounce once on the ground before catching it again. Similar to before, I decide to do about a sixth of an hour of these. Before I can begin, however, a voice jolts me out of the activity, now etched into my muscle memory. 

"Hi, Peterson!" Mrs. Grewal shouts.

I am about to bid some sort of greeting when I realize that this is a seriously inopportune time to say "hello." My ill-timed ball smacks the corner of my lips, splitting it and grinding the inside of my cheek against my braces. Damn, that hurts. I wince in pain, but notice a salty substance filling up my mouth at an alarming pace. I spit out a mouthful of it onto the ground, just to make the observation that it is in fact blood. Lovely.

Meanwhile, Grewal has jumped out of her black Mercedes SUV and had began jogging toward me.

"Are you okay, man?" she asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

I tentatively poke around the inside of my mouth. Finding that all of my teeth are there and my braces are fine, I spit out another mouthful of blood. I notice that my inner cheek is bleeding, although the stream seems to be lessening.

"That answer enough for you?" I reply, suppressing the groan that rises when I move my busted lip.

"Umm, no." Grewal pulls a paper towel from her pocket.

I take it, but ask," Why in the cheese do you have a paper towel in your pocket?"

She lifts an eyebrow. "Says the one who had three pencils, two cords, multiple papers, and a pair of earbuds in her pockets for the majority of year. Now, if I'm going to have you in my car, you better get that bleeding under control."

True. "Touché," I say, my voice muffled from the napkin. "Wait. Your car...?"

"Well, I'm not going to let you bleed to death trying to walk home or anything," Mrs. Grewal rolls her eyes.

I try to grin but the pain is too much, so it looks more like a tight-lipped grimace. Besides, the paper towel probably covers the view anyway.

"Home or hospital?" she quieres.

My brain must be addled with pain or maybe fatigue, because I just stare at my teacher blankly.

"Do you need stitches?" Grewal grumbles in exasperation.

"I doubt it," I say. But my lip is swelling rather quickly.

"Let's go then," she ushers me towards her car. "Here's another paper towel."

I take it gratefully, check that I have my keys, stick and ball, and toss the bloody makeshift bandage away.

The whole ride home, I try to focus on the beautiful air-conditioning on my face, but my lip is bothering me too much.

"Here's my house," I announce.

She eases into the driveway, and glances at me at she parks.

"Your lip is bleeding again," Grewal comments. "How about I stay with you until your parents get home?"

"Fat'll be a fwhile," I respond doubtfully, my speech now muffled both by the swelling and the napkin. For some reason, this strikes me as hilarious, and I burst out laughing. I only sober up after the pain grows too great. "D-don't you haff a famivy to get home to?" I pull the napkin away from my lips this time.

She gives me a look. but says simply, "To be honest, I'm glad of a break."

I make an attempt to smirk, but again it probably looks weird.

As she steps out of her car, I check that I have my stuff and lead the way up my driveway.