Now that actually calms my panic. I can’t hide my smile as I respond. “Yeah. I’m pretty excited.”
The first summer of the pandemic my parents put together a little activity bingo game for me, Jake, and Axel, that we could do at home, with prizes and everything. Every summer since—with Axel working for his uncle and Jake working on some film or photography thing—I’ve been doing it alone. It sounds silly, but I’m looking forward to spending the next two months doing my little nerd quests.
“Dad said he’ll have the board ready this week,” I say. “I’ll keep you posted on my progress.”
“Yeah, I want to hear all about it. I asked Esther if she wanted to do something like that and she said she was gonna spend the whole summer trying to land her three-sixty.”
“It’s important!” Esther yells from the living room.
“We’ll help you, E,” Jake says as he walks over. I nod in agreement. Getting Esther’s skate skills up will be a group effort. I hug Miss Kelly good night and high-five Jake. I’ll see them all again for our weekly trip to the skate park in a few days.
On the drive home, it’s hard not to freak out over MissKelly’s assignment. I know she’s right. I need to start putting myself out there, showing my art to more people than the other kids in my art class and my parents. I need to learn how to do more than “mm-hmm” and nod when I’m around unfamiliar people. I need to prove to Miss Kelly I can do this. As soon as I stop being so scared.
4
Saylor
I have to give Cristine Ford her credit. Someone called her before the ambulance even showed up, and by the time I was carted off to the hospital, my mom was already on her way to the airport to catch the last flight from LAX to SFO. That’s what Coach Synthia tells me when I finally come to. I fainted twice, apparently. My arm is definitely broken and I effed up my face, which I’m sure will impact my future as an up-close face model. I’m admitted because I have to wait and see two surgeons in the morning.
My arm is in a temporary brace. I feel like I got hit by a car and not like I tripped over my own feet. I fall asleep eventually, and when I wake up Coach Synthia is gone and my mom is sitting beside my hospital bed. The TV is on, the volume low, but she’s looking at her phone. Of course she looks camera ready. Makeup done, blond hair up in a perfect ponytail. She’s in her usual color scheme: light-washed jeans, a white shirt, and a camel cashmere wrap. Tears rush to my eyes and I’m not sure why. I’m so annoyed with her because really this is all her fault. But I’m also glad she’s here. I sniffle a little too loud, and suddenly all her attention’s on me.
“Oh hi, honey,” she says, her voice soft. She reaches over and strokes the back of my good hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Fabulous. Glamorous. Stupendous,” I manage to say. “On top of the world. I’m too pretty to be in this much pain.”
“How does your face feel?”
“Like I ran into a fence, but fine otherwise. Did Coach tell you what happened?”
“Just that you fell.”
I bite my lip and wonder if I should even bother telling her the whole truth. If I should tell herwhyI was so distracted that I forgot how feet are supposed to work. How this time she’s gone too far with the oversharing and ruined my ability to run and dribble a ball at the same time. But then I glance at the television and the little clock on the screen says it’s two a.m., and I can’t move my whole left side, so it’s not the best time to pick a fight with my mom.
“Yeah, I fell pretty hard. Tripped on a fast break.”
“Aww, honey. Remember when Rando broke his leg on that fast break against the Heat? It happens.”
“I know,” I choke out. She’s right, but Ryan Rando was playing for the rookie of the year title. Not fleeing from his own mom-induced embarrassment.
“I talked to the doctor, and they said it’s not the worst break they’ve seen, so that’s good.”
“I guess,” I say, trying not to cry. “I think my arm would have to be torn off for it to be the worst they’ve seen.”
“You haven’t lost your sense of humor. That’s agreatsign. I’ll get word to your sisters in the morning, but Papa sendshis love. He said he’d call you on his way to work in the morning. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”
I look down at my legs, draped in scratchy hospital sheets and a thin blanket, and think about what I should be doing right now. Sleeping peacefully in my dorm room, dreaming sweet dreams about our three-on-three team winning our scrimmage by a shocking fifty points. I shouldn’t be in a hospital bed.
“Do you know when I can go back to camp?” I ask my mom.
“Oh, Say. I think camp’s done, honey. I think after they patch you up, we’re heading home.”
I know she’s right. I can play basketball with a messed-up face. Might even give me the intimidation edge. I can’t ignore my arm, though. It’s throbbing a little even with the pain meds they gave me, and it’s wrapped in like twenty-eight feet of gauze with two splints for that added flair. Still, I book a ticket on the SSDelulu. I’m going back to camp.
“I wanna hear what the doctor says.”
“Okay. Why don’t you try and get some sleep? You want me to sing to you?” she says with a devious smile. My mom has a lot going for her, but her singing voice sounds like a bird gasping for its last breath.
“I love you, Mom, but I’ll pass.”