Short Stories - Chapter 17: Chapter 17

I wanted to scream with joy as I pulled it out. In my hands was the key to Isaac's victory.
There was a VCR in the room—funny, those things actually still exist. So I pushed the tape in, and on the TV's massive screen, an image came to life. An image of a perfectly empty alleyway, with a time stamp that read one in the morning.
So I fast-forwarded through, slowing again at nighttime.
And I watched it happen. I watched a boy in a basketball uniform—the footage was fuzzy, but I could make out the number on the back of his shirt: 17, Isaac's number—walk distractedly down the alleyway. And then, not a minute later, entered two other uniform clad boys. Numbers 12 and 28, Calum and Luke respectively. What was even better, Luke turned around at one point—perhaps to ensure no one was behind them—and gave a view of his face that, although blurry, was most certainly recognizable. I saw them begin to run, and watched as Isaac turned around in alarm, seemed to try to say something, and then began to run as well. But I stopped the video there, because I didn't want to watch anymore. I didn't need to.
I pulled the tape out, feeling the same kind of adrenaline rush I felt whenever we won a basketball game, magnified a hundredfold. And I ran—down the hall, down the stairs, out the door, to my car.
I wasn't done yet, though. My conscience weighed on me like an anvil—sometimes I wished I could be as carefree as Callie, but it just wasn't in my nature. So I left the tape on the seat and went back inside the house, this time to the kitchen. I pulled three water bottles from the fridge and dropped them inside a relatively large cooking pot—I couldn't find a bucket, so that would have to do—and made my way back up to Calum's room.
He seemed to be stirring as I entered, which was a relief. When his eyes focused on me, they seemed confused. "Where'dya go?" he drawled drowsily.
"Just downstairs," I told him. "Can you sit up for me?"
Still seemingly half-asleep, Calum pushed himself into an upright position, with some help from me. I set the pot on his lap, placing two of the bottles on his nightstand and opening the third, which I handed to him. I took hold of the two tequila bottles on his bed.
"Drink a lot of water, okay?" I said. "And stay upright. If you feel sick, that's what the pot's for."
As much as I hated Calum, the idea of leaving him with potential alcohol poisoning to choke on vomit in his sleep was beyond cruel.
He nodded, taking a gulp of the water before noticing my retreat and saying, "Leaving already, Matthews?"
I came up with a lie on the spot. "Yeah, my dad just texted me. Bit of a family emergency."
"Damn," Calum breathed. "Didn't even get any head."
Which did a pretty fast job of deleting any pity I'd been feeling. "Later, Berkeley," I said, holding back a roll of my eyes.
I was halfway out of the room, however, when Calum called out, "Wait."
Mentally cursing, I turned slowly to face him and plastered a smile onto my face. It wasn't returned.
"You did something."
Shoving my hands awkwardly into my pockets, I said, "What?"
He sat up a little straighter, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I fucking knew it!" he said. "I knew it was weird, but I thought . . . but here I am, on the verge of passing out, and you look like you haven't had a drop . . . what the hell did you do?"
"I haven't done anything," I insisted sharply. "You're drunk, Calum, you're being an idiot."
"Yeah, I am drunk!" he was raising his voice now. "That's exactly what you wanted, isn't it? To get me drunk and - and - what the fuck did you do?"
He began pushing himself upward, trying to stand. But he moved too fast, and before his feet touched the ground, he was bent over the pot, vomiting. I chose to make my escape, hoping he wouldn't remember in the morning. Then I was gone, speeding toward Isaac's house at nearly two in the morning.
The door was unlocked when I got there, and two heads instantly snapped toward me from the living room couch—Isaac and Callie, waiting as promised.
Nobody said a word. They just stared at me, fear and hope and anticipation in their wide eyes. Slowly—for the dramatic effect, of course—I revealed what I'd been holding behind my back.
Callie screamed so loud, Isaac flinched away from her. But he was laughing and cheering as she jumped from the couch and tackled me in a hug that nearly made me drop the tape.
She yanked it from my grasp. "This is it? The real thing?"
"This is it," I nodded excitedly as she practically shoved it back into my chest. "I watched it and everything."
She squealed and did a little happy dance and hugged me again. I looked over her shoulder at Isaac, who was sat on the couch and was staring, transfixed, at the tape, like he couldn't believe it was really there in my hands.
"I've gotta go," Callie said quickly, "because I told my parents I'd be back by midnight and my phone hasn't stopped buzzing since 12:30."
She hurried over to where Isaac sat and attacked him with one of her death-hugs—which seemed to do the job of snapping him out of his daze—and, with a final kiss on the cheek for me, practically skipped from the house.
Isaac was laughing after her, and when the door had shut behind her, he turned to me. I waved the tape and he eagerly beckoned me closer; the moment I joined him on the couch, he gave me a hug almost as deadly as Callie's.
He leaned back only to pull my face to his in an excited kiss. "You're—the—best," he said, with a peck between each word.
I offered him the tape, and he hesitated before taking it—almost as though he was scared it would go away once he touched it.
And then he was holding it, and he was smiling real big, and I felt really, really proud that I'd been able to put that much joy on his face.
"So," I mused, entwining my hands behind his neck. "What's next?"
Isaac stared at the tape for another long moment, as if he couldn't pull his eyes or his thoughts from what seemed to be, after so many defeats, a solid victory. When he finally did set it down on the coffee table, he turned his attention to me, and his eyes glimmered with something that looked quite a bit different than excitement when he looked at me.
"Well," he drawled, a look in his eyes that told me he knew exactly what was happening next. One of his hands reached under my thigh to pull my legs up onto his lap, then settled on my hip. "Prom is next Saturday, so mom and I have got to somehow manage to get an appointment between now and then."
I nodded, silently urging him to continue. "And she and I were talking, and . . . well, this will probably be the last appointment—not including if I have to go in for touch-ups, of course—in a while. I'll get the temporary prosthetic, and I'll use it for however much time there is between now and when the case is over."
"How's all that lawsuit business going?" I cut in.
Isaac rolled his eyes, which told me enough. "It's annoying as hell, there are so many steps . . . Don't worry about it, though. My mom and I will figure it out. She and I had a long chat the other day about, like, being an adult and shit, and she made me realize how risky the whole loan thing is, and we agreed to hold off on it as much as possible. Instead—instead, I agreed that she could help pay for this last appointment if I don't have enough, as long as I can pay her back once I get the money."
"Makes sense," I said, but he gave me a pointed look.
"That goes for you, too, you know," he said, and before I could interrupt—which I was whole-heartedly planning to do—he cut off my attempt and continued. "I am giving you every dollar you gave me. That's not a question, Matthews."
The tone in his voice was final; I decided against arguing and said, "Fine. I'll take your money."
"Technically, it's your—"
So I kissed him, because I'd learned that it was a rather effective way of shutting him up. Judging by his satisfied hum and the way his grip tightened on my hip, he didn't mind too much.
But when he leaned back, he was frowning. "You smell like Calum," he said unhappily. I lifted the collar of my shirt to my nose, and got a whiff of what was unmistakably Calum's douchebag-cologne. "How far did you guys . . . ?"
"Matters were kept above-the-belt," I promised. Judging by his grimace, he wasn't too comforted.
"He didn't hurt you at all, did he?" he asked sharply, and I couldn't help but love the protective edge of his voice. I shook my head, and some of the tension left his shoulders. "I can't believe that bastard got to have his way with you for so long."
"To be fair, for most of it he was passed out and I was searching his house. It wasn't that long," I pointed out; Isaac's responding expression distinctly said, but it still happened. "I hated every moment of it, you know."
He nodded. "I know, I trust you," he said. "I just can't stand that he, of all people—"
"Isaac," I groaned. "It's okay." Of course, I saw why he was upset—nobody would like the thought of their boyfriend making out with their enemy, especially when that enemy was, despite his awful personality, a very attractive guy. But, as cute as jealous Isaac was, the ordeal was over with now, and I wanted to forget it. "Let's not talk about him. He's gross and, quite frankly, not worth it. Instead we should talk about happy things—like the fact that I'm the best boyfriend ever."
Isaac laughed; his concern slowly left the features of his face, but I saw some unhappiness lingering in his eyes. I knew he would get over it eventually, though, so I didn't press the matter. "You really are," he said, and though I'd been asking for it, the words still made me blush. He kissed my cheek, then leaned back against the couch, causing my hands to fall from his neck to his chest. "Sometimes I cant believe it, you know?" He was looking at the wall, an absentminded smile on his lips, as if he was talking without really thinking. "Us, I mean. You. I spent a lot of time after the accident thinking nobody would be able to be, you know, attracted to me."
I hummed, my fingers tracing shapes into the material of his shirt. "Isaac, I'm pretty sure everyone is attracted to you. Literally everyone."
Isaac gave a small laugh, and I glanced at his face to see that his cheeks had gone rosy. "Sure, fine," he said. "But there's a difference between wanting to look at someone and wanting to be with someone, you know? And I guess I always figured no one would want to put up with all of the complicated shit that comes with dating an amputee, and that no one would every really see past my imperfections, and—"
I looked up again from his chest, halfway through tracing the shape of a heart. "What imperfections?" I asked.
"Exactly what I mean," he said fondly, lifting a hand to my cheek as his eyes roamed my face. "I must be a wizard or something and not know it yet. How the hell else did I manage to snag a guy who's hot as fuck, an obnoxiously good person, and who sees me for me?"
There was something weird tugging at me from somewhere behind my chest. It was a strange feeling, and it was new, but I didn't mind it. "I'll tell you how you did it," I said, suddenly giddy.
I felt as though I was floating in a cloud, with no one around for miles other than Isaac. The sky was our domain, and nobody on Earth could touch us from here.
"With this right here." I lifted my finger to trace his mouth rather than his chest. He was smiling big, biting down on his bottom lip, the same way he had the very first time we'd met in macroeconomics.
It was something he did a lot, and it was something he did without realizing, and it was something he did that I absolutely loved. There were a lot of things about him, I was finding, that I loved.
Principal Rixon looked mildly affronted to see Isaac and I storming into her office unannounced on Friday afternoon.
"You boys need to set an appointment before you—"
I was hardly listening as I slid the VHS across her desk.
"You wanted proof that you could work with," I said. "Well you cant argue with this."
Isaac and I were high-fiving as we left the office a few minutes later. We knew that nobody, not even Rixon, could try to weasel Calum and Luke out of punishment after that—and we were pretty sure that she'd done exactly that the first time, probably because she knew he was her boss' stepson. She was out of luck this time, though.
And just in case there was any more funny business, my dad, who was rather good with electronics, had copied the footage onto several DVDs, so that we weren't reliant on the single tape.
Calum and Luke were as good as gone, and at the music club meeting that day, there was quite the party to celebrate it. I wasn't sure who's idea it was to bring food, but I wasn't complaining as I stuffed my face with Tostitos and watched people sing happy, victorious songs—the last of which was, of course, a messy, whole-group attempt at We are the Champions.
I had an extra skip in my step as I walked through the halls on Monday morning. My self-satisfied stroll was quite rudely interrupted, however, when I felt a strong grip tug at the back of my shirt. Before I knew what was happening, my back had been slammed against a locker, and Calum Berkeley had a tight grip on my collar.
Action in the hall stopped and heads turned to view the commotion as Calum snarled, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Why are you still here?" I bit back, ignoring what he'd said entirely. I could feel him push harder, and internally winced as the lock dug into my back, but I kept a straight face.
"Today's my last day," he said, lowering his voice. "How the fuck could you do that to me? You fucking played with me and you—"
"Are you seriously talking to me about morals?" I snapped, feeling white-hot anger rise to my head like steam. "You?"
"What you did was a whole new level of fucked up," he said, and I scoffed.
"I can't hardly see how leaving you blue-balled was worse than putting someone in a wheelchair for months."
"Lower your voice!" he hissed, glancing around nervously. "I swear to god, Matthews, you're gonna pay for this."
"Said every bully ever," I said dryly. "Seriously, do you guys have a website where you get your lines or something? Maybe JackassUnited?"
My mocking tone and lack of fear clearly weren't making things better, but I couldn't help it. I was enjoying myself too much.
"I should knock your teeth out right now," Calum growled; I raised my eyebrows, unimpressed. I bet he got that one from JackassUnited, too.
"And why is that?" I asked, tilting my head innocently with mock interest.
"I could give you ten reasons."
I faked a gasp. "So you've finally learned to count past 5?" I asked, pleased to hear watching students laugh as Calum's face screwed up in anger. "Congrats!"
The laughter died, however, when he reared back with one arm and sent a punch directly at my nose.
He was predictable, though, and I moved out of the way just in time to hear his fist collide mostly with the locker behind me, though a stinging in my ear told me he hadn't completely missed.
Before he could aim another blow, a voice behind us caused him to jump away from me as though my skin had burned him.
"Mister Berkeley, stop it this instant!"
It was Mrs. Pragsburg, my wretched macroeconomics teacher. Calum turned his glare on her but stormed away, and as he disappeared, I looked at her with false affection and made a heart with my hands. "I knew you loved me after all," I cooed, and she looked like she deeply regretted stopping me from getting my face dented in. True, she hadn't done anything to actually punish Calum, but that was more than I could expect at this school, so I chose to be grateful. After all, he was already expelled, anyways.
"Get inside," she snarled at me and, turning to the other students in the hall, who were now gossiping feverishly over what they'd just witnessed, hissed, "Get to class! All of you!"
The crowd quickly dispersed as I strolled rather lazily inside, taking my sweet time and feeling good that Calum had, for once in his life, been caught in the act. Isaac entered the class a minute later, and when he saw my smug grin, he knew I had a story to tell.
Coach just about threw a fit when Calum and Luke told her that they, as of tomorrow, would no longer be students of Westview. As they spoke, they avoided my eyes, but I glared into their backs nonetheless, feeling very satisfied with myself, and I saw Isaac doing the same.
Of course, Coach wasn't mad because she'd miss them. Quite the contrary—the final game of the season was tomorrow night, and if Thunder-Cunt and Cum-Dumpster weren't there, it was bound to go rather less well than she'd hoped.
This had, after all, been our longest season in years, purely because our team had been winning so many games that we were actually in the position to compete for state champion. Even better, the game tomorrow would take place at Westview—to win a home game that defined us as the best team in the state would bring Nars glory she hadn't seen in years. And without two of her best players, we were put at a disadvantage in what would already have been our most difficult match.
I didn't care. As a matter of fact, I found it funny, the way Coach's face went from pink to red to purple, before settling at a nauseous green. She deserved it, too.
Tuesday went very quickly, and before I knew it, I was back in our locker room at four that evening, getting prepared for a game that was supposed to reflect the culmination of months of hard work. Despite all the pressure placed on the event—all day I'd been getting 'good-luck's from students and teachers and finding advertisements of the game posted around the school—I wasn't worried. Winning this game seemed, to be completely honest, of little importance to me.
As the team ran onto the court for warm-ups, there was an uproar from the already-assembled crowd. There was nearly an hour left until the match started, yet several rows of the bleachers were already occupied by students sporting red and gold in their clothing, in their hair, and on their faces. A group of nine dumbass guys ran into the room with no shirts on, each bearing a single letter of the phrase Go Eagles! painted in red on their chests.
I wasn't paying much mind to the crowd, though. I was more focused on Isaac. Or, well, his absence.
"Coach, have you seen—"
She placed her whistle between her lips as if I wasn't even there—no doubt she was upset with me, probably having guessed I was partly responsible for the loss of Calum and Luke—and blew into it so hard that I, standing right next to her, felt a sharp pain in my head.
"Alright pansies, I want three laps, and I don't want to see anyone jogging!"
Clearly, she wasn't going to be any help. Isaac was probably just late.
But warm-ups continued with no sign of him. Isaac was always at the games far before they began, and yet there were only ten minutes left and there was no sign of him. Five minutes . . . two . . .
A whistle blew, and Coach called us back to her to discuss the lineup, which was considerably different with the absence of two players. She made no comment about Isaac—she was unfairly cross with him, too, I suspected—but I couldn't stop my eyes from glancing over every time the doors to the gymnasium opened. If he wasn't here, where could he be?
There was an obvious answer, but I didn't want to consider what it would mean if it were true. If Isaac wasn't here, and Calum and Luke were out somewhere as well, free to do whatever they wanted to him . . . surely they'd want revenge . . . and what better time to get it than when I was occupied with a game . . .
My anxiety followed me onto the field as the game began, but I was quickly forced to push thoughts of Isaac to the back of my mind, because the team we were playing left no room for distraction.
I played my heart out. Not for Coach, but for myself; this could be the last real basketball game I ever played—I wasn't intending to play in college. And this was a chance to show that I was just as good as Calum or Luke—to show that, even without our star players, this team could put up a fight.
And we did. By half-time, everyone who'd been on the court was panting like crazy, but we were all grinning, too, because that had been one hell of a half, and we'd been doing great for a team short two. The scores were nearly tied, with our team only a point behind, and I was proud to say that I'd been responsible for most of the points we'd earned.
Unfortunately, though, we were playing a team that had its ideal lineup on the court. And so, the game ended just as the first half—with our team only a point from tying.
But I was smiling despite the loss, because I'd just had more fun during a game than I'd had all season. The other players sulked about, still clinging to their wish for victory, and Nars was absolutely raging, but I could only think about how much I'd enjoyed myself, and how proud my dad had looked in the stands, and how Isaac and I could relax now that the season was through.
With that thought, Isaac was quite suddenly pushed to the front of my mind again, and I felt anxiety settle over my shoulders once more as Coach ushered us back into the locker rooms without a single word of encouragement.
After showering and changing out of our uniforms, most of the boys went straight to the center of the locker room, chatting loudly, congratulating each other on a good season, and enjoying their last moments as a team. I, however, went straight to my bag, where I pulled out my phone to see three missed calls from Isaac.
Cursing under my breath, I sat on the bench of the locker row, called him back, and pressed the phone to my ear, speaking the moment I heard its ringing halt. "Where are you? What's—"
"I'm going to the doctor's office," Isaac said quickly. Judging by his voice, it didn't sound like anything was wrong . . .
"Why? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, and I realized that his voice sounded, if anything, happy. "We're going to get my leg."
For a moment, I paused, thinking I must have heard wrong. Intelligently as always, I said, "Huh?"
"My mom kind of surprised me," he explained, and I could hear his excitement soaring with every word. "Turns out, she made the appointment a week ago without telling me."
I was quiet as I let that sink in. When it did, my first thought was holy fuck, and I jumped from the bench as if it were covered in needles.
"Isaac, what the fuck?" I half-exclaimed, half-laughed. "Wait, are you there? Am I missing it? Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—"
"No," Isaac laughed, "We're still on our way. You might want to hurry, though."
"Say no more," I said as the excitement in his voice seemed to seep through the phone into my body. I hung up, grabbed my bag, and practically ran away from the lockers to the exit. I could feel eyes on my back, and could imagine what my teammates were thinking about their captain suddenly running out without so much as a 'goodbye', but I just really, really didn't care.
I sprinted to the parking lot and nearly barreled over my dad, who was stood by my car and seemed to be waiting for me.
"Woah," he laughed, reaching out to help me straighten myself. "What's the rush?"
"I've gotta go—"
"You were awesome out there, Ryan," he said, beaming proudly. "I'm so glad I—"
"Thank you," I said hurriedly, "But I have got to go. Isaac is—he's getting his leg!"
My dad's eyebrows shot up. "Right now?"
"Right now," I said, nodding feverishly. "So I love you," I said, "but we'll talk later."
My dad was laughing as I hurried past him into my car and slammed my foot on the gas, only to realize that I hadn't yet started the car. Yelling a string of very creative curses that I was sure he could hear, because he bent over with laughter outside, I fumbled to find my key and jammed it into the ignition. When the car actually started this time, I gave a triumphant shout and sped straight out of the parking lot, nearly running over one of my teammates in my haste.
I sped all the way there, a solid twenty miles above the speed limit. I kept checking the time . . . 6:36 . . . 6:51. . . 7:02. . .
And just when I knew I couldn't be more than three minutes from Dr. Pam's office, I heard sirens sounding behind me and looked in my rear view mirror to see cars pulling over, each ignored by the pursuing police cruiser until it was right behind me. I pulled over and the cruiser did the same behind me, so I parked the car with a loud exclamation of something along the lines of "Cock-juggling ass rocket!"
The officer, a stern-looking man with graying hair and a patchy beard, seemed quite ready to tell me off. Before I knew it, I broke into an explanation of why I'd been speeding so much. I quickly regretted it.
Not because the officer was unsympathetic. No, on the contrary, he seemed to understand quite perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that he began telling the story of the day he drove seventy on a forty-five road because his wife was in the hospital, giving birth.
The story seemed to go on forever. I forced a few smiles and nods to look as though I was paying attention, all-the-while glancing again and again at the time. I wished he'd just give me a damn ticket, but he didn't seem to have any intention of doing so, and, too many minutes later, he let me off the hook.
I continued at the speed limit after that, taking another five minutes to get to the office. I must have looked crazy to others in the parking lot as I leaped from my car and raced through the doors, but I couldn't help it. Isaac was getting his leg, and I'd be damned if I wasn't there when he took those steps he'd been dreaming about.
The receptionist seemed quite affronted to have an eighteen-year old kid practically run up to her desk, pant where he was going, and race off before she'd said a word. I wound the corridors, looking for the familiar room, and skidded to a halt when I saw the plaque reading Dr. Pam on one of the wooden doors.
When I pushed open the door, three heads turned to look at me. One was the doctor herself, looking quite amused. One was Lonnie, who was smiling with eyes full of tears. And the third was Isaac, sat on the examination table, his legs dangling over the edge. Both of them.
His temporary prosthetic was very different from his old, permanent one. Mainly, it didn't have the same coating that gave it a shape imitating that of a regular leg. But it didn't matter. It had every function necessary to allow Isaac to walk for a while, and that was all he needed.
I couldn't help the smile that spread over my face as I bent over, grasping my stomach and trying to catch my breath. "Did I . . . did I miss . . . anything?" I panted.
The sound of Isaac's familiar laugh had me glancing up. He was grinning, laughing, looking as happy as I'd ever seen him. "Not too much. We were waiting for you," he said, and my heart swelled.
"Wait no longer," I said giddily, approaching the spot where he sat.
And so, with all three of us watching, Isaac pushed himself down slowly until both of his feet connected with the floor. He straightened his back, and he was standing. Tall as ever, handsome as ever, and more radiant than ever.
Lonnie seemed to lose whatever self-restraint she'd been harboring in that moment. With a soft cry she practically flung herself at Isaac, who was already unsteady and would have probably fallen if the table hadn't supported his weight from behind.
"Woah, mom," he laughed, "You're gonna—"
But then he was shutting his mouth and screwing up his face as she showered his cheeks and forehead with kisses, and Dr. Pam and I exchanged a laugh as his neck and ears began to turn red with embarrassment. "Mom," he groaned, but it was a few moments before she let up.
"I'm sorry," she sniffed, wiping furiously at her cheeks. "I can't help it . . ." Then her eyes landed on me, and I stumbled back as she tackled me in a hug that threatened to squeeze every bit of life from me. "Oh, thank you for everything!" She exclaimed. "You are a wonderful boy, you know that? A wonderful, wonderful boy! I couldn't have picked someone better for Isaac myself!"
"Mom!" Isaac said again, the red now reaching his cheeks.
"Okay, okay, I'll s-stop," she laughed sheepishly, letting go of me. "I believe there's p-paperwork to be filled out?" She looked to Dr. Pam, who glanced between Isaac and I and seemed to see where Lonnie was going.
"Right, of course," she nodded, a small smile on her face. "Why don't we fill it out in the hallway?"
"Great idea!" Lonnie said, turning to leave, but not before shooting my a sly wink.
When the door had shut behind them, I stepped toward Isaac, who still wore that unbreakable smile. He opened his mouth to say something, and so did I, but neither of us seemed able to find suitable words.
So he chose actions instead, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist as I threw mine around his neck, and for a long moment, we just stood there, hugging and smiling and rocking a bit. I could feel his nose pressed into the top of my head, and his hands gripping the back of my shirt, and I knew that every bit of stress and money and exhaustion was worth this win.
I felt the pressure ease as he leaned back, moving his hands to the sides of my neck, looking at me as if he'd never seen me before.
"I know you're tired of 'thank you's," he said, his voice slightly hoarse, "But . . ." He shook his head, like he was trying to shake himself from a dream. "But I wouldn't be standing here with this leg if it wasn't for you, and . . ."
I could tell he was at a loss for words, and that was okay, because I knew exactly what he was trying to say. Leaning forward—and upward a bit—I pressed my lips softly against his. A little victory kiss.
I took his hands in mine, pulling them away from my neck and intertwining our fingers, as he leaned back. Just as I had the last time we were in this room, I began taking small, slow steps back.
With each step back that I took, he took a step forward, and though I knew he was struggling to use a muscle that hadn't been utilized for weeks, there was an excited determination in his eyes.
"How are you feeling?" I asked as we slowly made our way through the room.
"Honestly?" he'd been watching his feet with every careful move, but he looked up when he spoke to me, grey eyes twinkling. "Like the luckiest guy alive. Awesome mom, awesome leg . . . awesome you."
Lucky. Isaac Bernstein was really, really lucky. And somehow, I was lucky enough to have him.
I hadn't even realized that we'd been picking up speed until we were going a little too fast, causing Isaac to stumble into me. "Woah," I chuckled, catching him by his sides, gripping his waist to steady him. "I've got you."
Isaac laughed slightly, his hands holding my shirt for support. "I know you do."
And though he'd said it rather lightly, I felt there was something more to his words when I looked into his eyes. Suddenly I found myself glued to where I stood, unable to do much more than look back at him, smile, and say, "Good. Don't ever forget it."
Then, out of the blue, Isaac blurted the words, "I love you."
My chest constricted at the unexpected confession. From the surprise in his own eyes, I could tell that he hadn't been planning to say it. But I could tell that he didn't regret it, either. That was, to me, one of the best things about him; he always faced his feelings unapologetically, whether or not he expected them to be reciprocated.
He didn't have to worry, though, because I'd just as soon thought this as the words "I love you, too" came flooding, uncontrollably, from my mouth.
Isaac was beaming, and so was I, and I was wondering if anything could make the moment more perfect when he leaned down and kissed me hard, swiftly answering my question.
His hands held me tightly, and mine him, and he kissed me in a way that told me he really, truly loved me. The intensity was there, the same blood-red that I imagined love would be if it had a physical form, and I knew that the only thing that pulled us apart was the fact that his mom and doctor were right outside and could walk in at any moment.
Still, as soon as the contact was gone, I wanted it back. So I pushed a hand into his hair and pulled him back for another kiss, though brief, and muttered the words, "Dance with me," against his lips.
The confusion on his face as he leaned back was enough to make me laugh.
"Come on," I grinned. "We've got to practice for prom."
He nodded, then seemed to freeze as the real meaning behind my proposal sank in. "You mean, you want to . . ?"
I knew what he was asking, though my answer was a bit more confusing than the question. In truth, I hadn't had any desire to come out until I was in college, far from this place. And I didn't know if I really wanted to deal with the reaction. But I did know that I wanted to go to prom with a date, and that I didn't want that date to be anyone other than my boyfriend. This was my last chance at prom, and I wanted all of the cliche pictures and kisses and dances.
So I said, "Yeah, if you want to . . ."
Because, as much as I wanted those things, they meant nothing if he wasn't comfortable. But he didn't hesitate. "I want to."
M smile, if possible, doubled in size. "Then we'll do it," I said happily. "Westview won't know what hit 'em."
Dr. Pam chose that moment to reenter. Lonnie was at her side, smiling when she saw Isaac and I swaying in each other's arms, probably looking a lot like two boys in love.