The Boy Who Broke My Leg

Chapter 8

The following Monday I'm so ready to go back to school. Honestly I'm so bored of Netflix and adult coloring books I'm actually excited about the prospect. I grab a pair of denim shorts from my wardrobe, making a mental note to buy non skinny pants after school. I should've ordered some last week. It's even colder than last week. I'm contemplating putting on a knee high sock to keep my bare leg warm when there's a knock at my door. "Come in."

My dad pokes his head through the door. "The kid stopped by. Told me to give you this and said he'll be waiting in the car to give you a ride to school downstairs."

I open the paper bag to find three pairs of sweatpants with tags on them and smile.We'd been texting a lot through the week and I'd mentioned how I had to buy pants. He probably knew I hasn't actually bought any yet cuz I'm lazy. 

"I made pancakes for breakfast", my dad says. "Hurry or you'll be late."

I change into a dark grey pair of sweatpants and head into the kitchen where a stack of slightly burnt, lopsided pancakes sit. I drown them in syrup. They do taste slightly burnt but I give my dad a thumbs up anyways. He looks relieved. I put on my backpack, grab my crutches and return his goodbye and hurry out the door.

Alistair's parked in the fire lane again. When he offered to give me rides to and from school for a while I agreed because it makes more sense than Kayla having to drive the extra few miles out of her way.

"You do realize they can still give you a ticket even if you're sitting in your car", I say as greeting when I open the door. I've gotten enough practice with my crutches so I can easily balance one crutch against my side, open the door and hop in smoothly without falling over. I consider it an accomplishment. "And if you're burning money on ice cream and sweat pants for girls you probably won't be able to pay it."

"First off it's a singular girl. And I'm rich enough to buy 5 dollar drugstore sweatpants thank you very much", he retorts as he starts driving.

"If I ever get diabetes in my old age I'm blaming it on the daily pints of ice cream you're delivering to my doorstep", I inform him.

"Like you wouldn't be buying ice cream if I wasn't."

Fair point. "I might be but I have somebody to blame so obviously I'm going to take it."

"I can't risk cutting you off and getting sued", Alistair defends. "Plus you seem very ungrateful for a girl who's getting free ice cream and clothes,"

"Sweatpants aren't clothes they're ugly leg cloth bags", is my strong counter argument.

"They look fine. The left leg looks fine I mean. The half rolled up sweat pant and half plaster isn't a great look. But then you've never had great fashion sense to start off with so won't hurt."

Oh yeah, we've reached the roasting stage of friendship some point along the week.

"Like you'd even noticed I exist before last week much less my fashion sense", I point out. "Which is perfectly fine thank you for asking."

"I knew you existed. We have history class together. And I think I saw you at Bradley Deson's party last year. That was literally the only party I've been to so I don't know about any others."

I'd been to so many parties last year that I have no idea which he's referring to. But sounds likely that I'd be there. I wonder if he's noticed I talk to like one person now. He must have. Thankfully he doesn't acknowledge it and we mindlessly chatter till we reach school.

After a brief argument about who gets to carry my backpack, Alistair throws it over his free shoulder and we make our way inside. I don't know if I'm being paranoid but everyone seems to be staring at us. I keep my eyes trained on the ground and concentrate on not face planting with my crutches. 

Our high school has 3 flights of stairs, but thankfully has an elevator for staff and emergency purposes such as this. Which prevents Alistair from carrying me up approximately 60 stairs, as he ever so kindly points out.

My first class is Algebra with Mrs Karrington. My enthusiasm from earlier has dissipated now. Alistair walks into class with me and drops my bag next to me when I sit down.

"You got history next hour?"

"Yep", I answer. "And don't you dare run across the school trying to get here before second period so you can carry my backpack because I know you're thinking of it."

He gives me a sheepish smile which confirms my theory. "See you in an hour."

..//..//..//..//..

"Why do you look like that?"

"Look like what?"

"Your face."

"That's very descriptive your adjective usage is on point", I grumble.

"So what's wrong", Alistair asks as we both pull out our history books. He's saved me a seat next to him.

"Algebra is wrong", I reply. "Nothing makes sense. Last week integration was just lists of formulae and now it's like multiple squiggly line thingies and there's numbers at the ends on the line and there's exponents and trigonometry and I have to get my average up to a B at least cuz I got a frickin C on the last test cuz-"

"I can help you", Alistair interrupts my rant.

"Wha?"

"Tutor you. At for the integration portion. If you don't know integration you're kinda screwed for the next few chapters."

"And I'm assuming you got a perfect score on your test?" I ask with an eyeroll.

"Nope B+. Only cuz I was wracked with guilt over breaking this girl's leg and couldn't study", he says.

Ugh people who can score well without studying are God's favorites it's so unfair. "So tell me more about this girl. She sounds nice."

"She's really not. She threatens to sue people if they don't offer her sacrifices of ice cream and is too stuck up to offer help from anyone", Alistair says with a half smile. I open my mouth to retort but the teacher starts the lesson and I have to let him win.

A strip of loose notebook paper lands on my desk. 'You free after school today?'

I grab a pen and reply. 'Yeah but I have tap dancing class at 6 and Irish jig lessons at 7 so we'll have to fit it in before then.'