Coincidences

Act XI

So that's how it feels like to have a broken leg. It hurts so bad.

I had my dad drive me to school this time. Zoey tagged along, too. We had casts covering our limbs, and it was annoying as hell. I had to learn to use the stand things, the ones that help you walk if you broke your foot. I don't know what they're called; Dr. Reed must have told it to me at some point, but I don't recall.

We entered the school, and everyone put their eyes on us. Our classmates came to see us, complimenting our wraps of gauze and cement. They treated us as celebrities. They obviously didn't know it was torture.

One of them exclaimed, "You saved her, didn't you?"

Another said, "Oh, yeah. That's true."

And another joked, "Well, it must be love or something."

The rest laughed. Zoey and I weren't amused.

The math teacher joined in, "Of course, one plus one is two, and one times one is one." The class clapped at the teacher, impressed. I didn't get the joke though. He, then, turned deadly serious and commanded, "Now, back to your seats." I struggled to do so.

For the rest of the day, I was stuck explaining other people about the being of my cast. As we left the building, I saw Zoey had a catastrophic day as well.
Mrs. Hudson came to pick us up instead of my dad. She cheered us up, announcing with a lively voice, "Who wants curry?"

It started to drizzle. We scrammed to their porch, as Linda dug into her purse in search of her keys. After twisting the knob open, we hurried inside and shook our coats dry.

She took off to the kitchen. "Sit down, rest, watch something," she said, hastily.

"There's Netflix," Zoey informed. So we chilled. Not metaphorically.

She set up the movie with her left hand, unable to use the other. Linda served us some chicken curry, the meal still steaming hot. I took a mouthful of the spicy delight. My taste buds danced a whole party away.

"It's delicious!" I marveled.

She humbly said, flattered, "Oh, don't lie."

A scream from the speakers shooed Mrs. Hudson away. Apparently, she chose a horror movie. She excused herself upstairs. "I have no nerve for horror," claimed Linda.

I shove another bite. She did the same, but she had her tongue burned. She swallowed the food immediately and coughed. I patted her on the back, instructed her to take it easy and gave her her drink. She let her plate cool.

I finished mine quickly, around the first ten minutes of the movie. She then ate hers and also finished it in an instant. We fully concentrated on the film.

It reached the climax of the plot, our adrenaline flowed rapidly through our veins. She clung tightly onto my shirt and hid her face behind my back. My friends could mistake that as a girl begging for attention, but I easily understood her. I was about to faint, too.

Jumpscare.

She hugged me tighter and copied the same thing the protagonist's girlfriend did. I didn't know how to deal with the situation. Her face was bright red—and so close to mine. Her lips trembled.

What am I thinking? I don't like her like that. Yet, I notice my tsundere personality and took back what I said. She's cute and all; I'm not just ready though.

The death of the main character marked the end of the movie, with him turning into a zombie like his whole family. Our brains couldn't handle the scare it gave us.

We still had spare time left, so we decided to play. We got bored playing rock, paper, scissors, because we kept doing the same thing. She later showed me a game of Twister as a laugh. Then, we took markers and doodled over our blank casts. She drew a cat, and I colored in a harmless emoji and scribbled a get well message.

We eventually gave up. Exhaustion overpowering us, we both took a snooze on the sofa. She leaned on me, and I rested my head on hers.

_________________

I woke up on my bed. It seems Dad carried me home in my sleep. I rose and looked over the window. She just woke up, too. She managed to wave at me, and I waved back. She rubbed her arm, maybe because sleeping with a fractured bone is certainly not comfy.

I grabbed my notebook and looked at the empty entries. I really was knocked out for 3 days.

I wanted to get up, but my stands were placed across the other side of the room, by the door. I had no choice but to shout.

"Dad, help!"

No response. I looked at the clock. It was past ten. Luckily, it's Saturday, so no worries, aside from the fact that I can't stand up. I turned to see if Zoey was still there. Thank goodness she was. I tore a sheet of paper from my notebook and desperately wrote, in big capitalized letters, "I CAN'T STAND UP!!!" I was sweating in panic.

She disappeared. I was hoping she got the message; if not, I'll have to crawl my way to my phone.

She didn't come. Looks like I have to, after all. I rolled down the bed. As I fell, the stands, or whatever they're called, collapsed, too. I slithered through the hardwood floor and reached for my phone. After countless minutes of trying, I lost hope.

Thud. A door was just shut downstairs. I heard footsteps headed towards me. Zoey did come, but, at the moment she entered my room, she tripped over the, uh, ...I give up, and crashed into me. Unbearable pain shot through my brain, and I barely contained my scream.

Mrs. Hudson came in to the scene, a quite unusual one, actually. To come see your daughter on top of the neighbor's son. What a way to start the day.

"What happened here?" Linda demanded, hands on her hips.

I complained, "I... can't feel... anything." My blood stopped flowing.

"I fell," Zoey said. Well, that'd ought to explain everything. They helped me up and handed the..., seriously, why do I even bother. Crutches. There we go. We paced slowly down the stairs and settled in the kitchen.

"I have leftovers from yesterday," said Linda. I remembered the curry and started to salivate. We left and promised to bring the meal with her.

I sighed and laid my head on the table. Zoey tapped me and said, "I'm sorry. I was clumsy. I ended up hurting ourselves."

I nodded forgivingly and yawned.

I watched Zoey play with her arm, messing with her idle fingers. The drawing from last night was still there. The emoji, or to specify, the one with hearts as eyes, glared at me with a different impression. The red ink smudged over the black and yellow, fusing into a brownish orange. I should have waited for each color to dry.

The pot of warm chicken curry arrived with the familiar aroma. Gluttony knocked on our door. Zoey and I devoured the tender meat and, satisfied, retreated to the sofa.

I think it's our natural instinct to crash into the sofa. While we rested there, she asked me, "When will our casts be taken off?"

Good question. "Let's take our guesses at the same time," I suggested. "Three, two, one..."

"Four weeks."

Just as I thought. There was no shaking off the odds. No matter what I say, it'll always be the same. Thanks, universe.