Creating a New Neverland

Ch.8- Counting Our Stars

I tug on Jesse's shorts to help me up. He falls again. Laughing, I push my self up and regain my balance. My feet are covered in water, rubbing against the plastic of my waterproof flip flops. Jesse is still lying on the ground with his eyes closed; no laughter. I nudge him and laugh. Why did he have to just lay there? He didn't respond. I nudge him again, then once more. The laughter ceases from my lips.

"Jesse?" I say panicky,"Jesse answer me. If this is a game stop now."

No response.

"Jesse, I'm calling the police. Get up now if it's a joke."

Still nothing.

I search around for my phone. Oh God. When he fell back down he must have hit his head. I can't find my phone anywhere. Jesse has his peeking out of his swimsuit pocket. I snatch it and slide to the emergency call screen. He doesn't flinch. Quickly I dial 9-1-1.

"Hello, what is your emergency?" a female operator answers.

"Um, I'm with a boy who I think is unconscious," I stutter into the phone's speaker.

"Is he breathing ma'am?"

I can see the slight movement of his chest

"Yes," I say cautiously into the phone, the words escaping, only to cause my lips to seal shut to prevent any panic, sadness, or anger from passing through them.

"Is there any blood, or bodily fluid, near the scene?"

"No. Just water on the ground from the pool."

"Were you a witness to this event? Did you see how the boy was knocked unconscious?"

"He slipped and hit his head, I think. I was here, but I wasn't paying much attention," I say as I regret the earlier moments that caused this to happen.

"Where is your location?"

"Ocean Fortress Hotel, on Gregor Lane. By the outdoor pool."

"An ambulance is on its way."

"Thank you," I whisper into the phone, it barely squeaking out.

The operator tells me not to hang up with her until the ambulance arrives. I stay clutching the phone so tight that there are red indentations forming on my water-wrinkled palms.

My stomach drops a hundred feet below me every second that the ambulance isn't here. The operator gives me slight advise to keep him alive and from further injuring himself. The whole time I remind myself to breath.

Finally I hear the squeaking of wheels and running pairs of feet. I jolt up. Two men with a yellow stretcher burst through the door.

"They're here," I say into the phone and hang up.

Immediately the crew sets off to work with securing the oblivious Jesse in the stretcher. His head and limbs dangle helplessly in several positions. I follow them, not leaving Jesse's side. They wheel him into the lobby where hundreds of eyes lock on to us and watch our every movement. They swivel with the every turn we make. I spot my mom in the crowd, holding my dad's hand. She has a worried look in her eye, then she shapes her fingers into a phone and places them by her ear. Next, she points to herself. She wants me to call her as soon as I can.

"One, two, three," I hear the two men say, followed by the loud sound of the stretcher being lifted into the back of the mobile.

And then I follow one of them into the back, sliding next to Jesse. The man in the back with me places an oxygen tank over Jesse's nose and mouth.