Grace

15. A Reminder

It was raining.

Water poured down his face, trickling down his neck and soaking his t-shirt collar. But he heard no thunder, no patter of raindrops. The concrete beneath him was hard and dry. He could feel the heat of the sun on his arms. Yet water continued to fall on his head.

"Jordan, wake up."

A girl's voice. Grace. With some effort he opened his eyes. Her pinched, worried face swam into view. She was kneeling over him, a half-empty water bottle in her hand.

"Jordan? Can you see me?" as if he had gone blind.

"I'm fine," he mumbled. Making his mouth form words was exhausting.

She shook her head. "You're delirious." She waved three fingers in front of his face. "How many fingers do you see?"

"Three." Jordan blinked, becoming adjusted to the light. The sun was beginning to set behind a mass of dirty grey clouds. His head throbbed above his left eyebrow. When he breathed his ribs screamed in complaint. He was pretty sure movement of any sort would cause him to fall apart.

"What happened?" he asked finally. His brain felt like it had been zap-fried and then left to whither in the sun.

Grace's gave him an exasperated look. "That's what I was going to ask you! Dude, you rush out of the school looking like you're planning to murder someone, I go nearly crazy looking for you, and then I find you half an hour later lying in a back alley looking like you got run over by a tractor..." She drew a shaky breath. "I-I thought you were dead."

Remembrance rolled over Jordan like Grace's metaphorical tractor.

"I'm not the one who's dead," he muttered. Ignoring Grace's confused, worried face, he slowly maneuvered his body into a sitting position, gasping as each small movement triggered a bruise and made it ache. It was mostly his side, where he had been kicked. His head throbbed even more when he achieved vertical position.

Wordlessly Grace handed him the water bottle, and he drank gratefully. When he had finished, she said softly, "Tell me."

Jordan rubbed his temples with his dirty hands, wondering where to begin.

"They ripped up your picture," he said finally.

"Who, Dylan and his minions?"

"I'm really sorry, Grace. I mean, you worked so hard on it..."

She was white. "You- you idiot!" she sputtered, " I can't believe- You fought them over my stupid drawing? You're worth way more than some piece of paper, Jordan!"

She took a deep breath, obviously trying to get her temper under control. "Besides... I scanned it into my computer before I gave you the original. I do that with all my finished work."

Jordan was silent. Of course she did. He rubbed his swollen eyes and tried to feel embarrassed, but all he came up with was emptiness, dull apathy. Nothing. He didn't know what to do now, especially when it didn't seem to matter what he did.

Grace was looking at him like she wanted to help him but didn't know how.

"You look terrible," she pronounced, pulling out her phone. "I'm calling 911. What they did to you counts as assault. This can't go on."

"No!" said Jordan, more forcefully than he intended. More attention, more trouble, was the last thing he wanted. "I'll get blamed. I attacked first. And I did some damage myself, before I blacked out."

Grace stopped dialing, bewildered. "But we have to do something!" she said helplessly. "Besides, your mom will probably call 911 when she hears about this anyway."

"She won't hear about it," said Jordan flatly.

"Don't be silly. As soon as she sees you she's going to freak out. Anybody would."

"You don't know my mom." He slowly started to get up, and Grace quickly grabbed his arm to help him. Together they hauled his battered, aching body upright. Jordan almost blacked out again as the blood rushed down from his head, but found he could stand well enough. Amazingly, all his bones except his fiberglass-encased finger seemed to be intact.

"Look, Grace, the best thing you can do is keep this quiet, okay?"

Grace bit her lip. He could tell she was having an internal struggle with herself. She searched his face with her grey-blue eyes, as if trying to probe inside his soul. Finally, she sighed. "Fine. But stay away from Dylan, and don't ever scare me like that again. Next time I'm going to call whether you started it or not."

Jordan managed a half-smile. "Thanks Grace."

She looked him over again. "And you should get some ice on that eye, and your other eye, and your nose..."

He waved a hand to stop her. He pretty much needed ice all over his body. "I'll be fine," he lied.

Grace looked like she wanted to say something more, then seemed to think better of it. She reached up behind her neck and undid the cross necklace she always wore.

"Here, I want you to have this." She handed it to him. Jordan hesitated. "I don't wear jewelry."

"You don't have to wear it. Just keep it, as a reminder."

She looked so earnest that he decided to humor her. Reluctantly he took the necklace. The thin metal chain was warm from Grace's skin. The cross pendant was silver and there was a tiny human figure hanging from it, also made of silver. His arms were outstretched and his head bowed. Jordan slid the necklace into his pocket.

"A reminder of what?" he asked.

"That He knows what it's like to suffer."