Miss Personality

How to Hate Crutches

Luckily, one of the people that my parents trust the most lives right next to us.

Our doctor.

My parents heard all the crashing and snapping and thumping from me falling down the stairs.

My mom ran down to help me while my dad sprinted out the front door to Dr. Brom's house.

With only seconds of looking at my ankle, my mom realized that she couldn't move me to a couch, but she did grab me an ice pack for my ankle, which was, by the way, turning a strange assortment of colors.

While I was waiting for my dad and Dr. Brom, I discovered something else.

I couldn't move three of my fingers. My pinkie, ring finger, and middle finger on my left hand could only bend slightly down and it hurt like crap to straighten them.

Great. Four broken bones in about three minutes. New record for me.

Strangely enough, my head felt perfectly fine. I could remember everything perfectly, so I knew I didn't have a concussion. I think my huge bun cushioned my head from the steps.

Best thing that's happened to me all day.

Soon enough, Dr. Brom and my dad appeared, both of them looking slightly frazzled and extremely worried.

Dr. Brom confirmed my ankle and fingers, then ran back over to his house to grab some crutches, gauze, and finger splints.

He said that my ankle would take a couple months to heal, and it would be a good three weeks before I would be able to bend or straighten my fingers again.

Grand. Absolutely grand.

The next day, a Monday, I woke up early to get ready for school and figure out how long it would take with my ankle and fingers.

It takes a lot longer than usual.

The beginning of getting ready is still simple enough. I can get out of bed and brush my teeth. I figured out the easiest way to put on my clothes. I now have to wear either tank tops or tighter shirts so that with the crutches in my arm pits they wouldn't scrunch up my shirt.

My makeup took a little bit longer, but it was bearable.

I usually braid my hair in some way for school, but I use my pointer fingers and middle fingers, and one of those wasn't available. I had to opt to put my hair in a ponytail, since it was a hot day and I didn't want my hair sticking to my back.

I realized that I only had ten minutes to eat breakfast and pack my bag before I had to get out the door.

Once I had hobbled down the stairs, I started on the eggs that had been set out for me. I then went and shoved a stack of folders, binders, and papers into my designer shoulder bag, grabbed my keys from the counter, and scurried out the door.

I stuck my crutches in the back seat, put on my seat belt, and went on my way to school.

As I "walked" through the halls of Letterigde High, I tried to ignore the whispers and the stares.

At parties, it's okay for people to whisper what they think about me. At school, it's not. I care what people think.

Lydia carried my books for me since we had the same classes together and her locker is next mine.

At lunch, I spotted Quincy sitting at a table with the other jocks. He looked back at my table and saw me smiling at him and so he flashed me a smile. He made a quick 'Call me' sign by his ear then mouthed the word 'Later'.