Chapter Twelve
Sean
There have been countless times when I pulled up my phone to draft a message. You cheated on me. You broke my heart. And every time, I erased it.
I dissect the breakup over and over, trying to make sense of it, until I finally drag myself to her locker. And what does she say to me? You’re not my boyfriend anymore. I can finally breathe again.
What’s the point? She clearly doesn’t care. She got tired of me—just like I always knew she would. I could drag it out, demand an explanation, but to what end?
No, I refuse to give her that. I won’t stand there and ask for details I don’t even want to know. How long it’s been going on. Whether we ever meant anything at all.
I thought I wanted the truth. But maybe I’d rather burn than beg.
She doesn’t get to see how much she’s hurt me.
So I bury it all. The questions. The humiliation. The part of me that still wants to believe in her. If this is how she wants to play it, fine. I can breathe now too.
* * *
After the charade with Flora is over, I retreat to a dark place of solitude where I study with a newfound intensity.
By some improbable stroke of luck, I didn’t bomb my physics exam, and qualify for the next round. At least now I can list “USAPhO semifinalist” on my college applications. Physics, at least, hasn’t betrayed me.
March arrives in a whirlwind, wedged between the end of basketball season and the USAPhO semifinals, right when I’m also taking the SAT. The timing is relentless, and Flora being out of my life is just my luck. Imagine having to deal with her now, amid this chaos. She did me a favor, really.
Jake and Dylan take every opportunity to remind me that I’ve officially joined the ranks of Flora’s trophy boyfriends. Ironically, it comforts me. Maybe the whole thing is something to laugh over.
The hardest part is this: admitting we weren’t special after all.
Our love was nowhere near epic. It was the most predictable high-school relationship, a clichéd nerd-and-cheerleader one, no less, doomed to end before it outstayed its welcome in the gossip mill.
I was a designer bag she got tired of having on her arm.
My stomach twists every time she crosses my mind. As the air grows thicker with sunlight and warmth each day, the thought of her becomes more like background noise. I think of her, not about her. I’m going to be fine.
It’s only a matter of time before I get over her, and I practice hard.
I practice not caring when she flaunts her new relationships in my face.
First there’s Liam, and then Ethan, and then Andrew, until I accept that I’m merely another name on the list. I practice not glancing over at the bleachers where she sits in her uniform, laughing with her mouth wide, showing off all her pearly teeth.
When we play basketball against our biggest rival one afternoon, I practice keeping my focus.
The gym is alive with a flurry of noise and motion. Dylan fires a pass my way, and I barely catch it. Coach is screaming. He’s been screaming at me a lot lately.
At time out, Jake grips my arm. “Are you okay? Do you need a break?”
“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth, shrugging him off.
Jake doesn’t buy it. “You sure? You look—”
“I said I’m fine.”
The whistle blows. Play restarts.
I steady myself, then run toward the opposite end. The basket is right in front of me. The crowd roars. Flora stands on the sidelines but I don’t look at her.
She’s watching.
I jump off my left foot and make a shot.
As soon as the ball leaves my hand, I know it’s going in. A clean arc. It sinks into the net without touching the rim. Then I land, and a sharp pain shoots through my right leg.
I hear the snap before I feel it.
Junior year basketball is over for me.
* * *
Jake and Dylan sit with me in the emergency room. “If it’s any consolation,” Dylan says as we wait, “the season’s almost over, so you won’t miss much. You picked a good time to bust your knee.”
Jake nods. “Yeah, we only have one big game left. We can still win.”
The AC is too strong and it’s drilling a hole through my skull. “That’s what I’m afraid of. You’ll realize you can win without me.”
Dylan claps me on the shoulder. “Dude, we know you’re a shitty player. We still love you.”
The hospital isn’t unfamiliar. Jake’s sister had her chemo sessions here when she was diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma.
All the doctors and nurses thought Jake was the sweetest angel when he shaved his head with her.
Dylan’s dad spent his last days here too.
Dyl barely said a word through it all, just paced the corridors, fists clenched, hoodie up like he could disappear into it.
Now it’s my turn. For something much smaller, much less important.
But I’ve never quite noticed how cold this room is or how the humming and the beeping fill every corner.
The sharp scent of disinfectant and alcohol pads clings to the air.
My knee has swollen to the size of a baseball, and it stings like a beehive.
I’m caged in, locked away from everything I take for granted.
Upcoming games. Driving to school. College visits. Our summer cycling trip to Germany. We were supposed to stay with Jake’s uncle in Munich, ride through the countryside, and “take on Europe as the Three Musketeers,” as Dylan put it.
I grit my teeth. “I can’t go to Germany with you guys.”
“Yeah, don’t stress,” Jake says. I wait for him to tell me they’ll send pictures. “Let’s reschedule.”
Dylan nods. “We won’t go without you.”
“Hey, don’t cancel because of me,” I say, and it comes out a bit croaked. The way that they’re so certain and quick to reply, like it’s not even a question worth considering, makes my throat constrict. Being in the hospital really messes with my head.
“One for all and all for one,” Dylan says. “No big deal.”
The curtain pulls back and a doctor steps in.
He tells me they’re seeing signs consistent with an ACL injury, and without that ligament to stabilize my knee joint, my treatment options include crutches, rehab, physical therapy, and the possibility of reconstructive surgery.
“We’ll need imaging to confirm the extent of the tear, and when your parents are here, we’ll discuss your options in more detail.
” My knee throbs even more after hearing all that.
When the curtain swings aside again, a huge batch of balloons enters my vision first, followed by Josie, Madison, and lingering a few steps behind, Flora.
Flora with her glossy dark hair, luminous hazel eyes, and the annoying click of heels that disrupts my heart rhythm.
She stands as far away from me as possible.
“We wanted to see how you’re doing,” Madison says.
This is probably the first time she’s spoken to me without hostility since Flora and I split.
No one knows the real reason behind the breakup, not even Josie.
It’s fine, and I’ve accepted being wronged and taking the blame, but they’re here now.
The upside of this injury is Flora’s gang is semifriendly to me again.
“Speak for yourselves. I’m only here to run into some hot doctors,” Flora says. She shifts her gaze to my knee, stares at it for a second before she glances away. “Does it hurt?”
“It looks worse than it is.”
“Will you still be able to play?” Josie asks.
“Not for now, but I’m hoping I’ll be back next year.” I go through the whole spiel again about the prognosis and treatment options. Maybe if I keep saying it out loud, it’ll magically suck less.
Josie shakes the balloons she’s been holding in front of my face. They have giant Albert Einstein faces printed on them. “Hey, we brought you these.”
Flora takes a step closer. “I—we picked them out for you before coming over. Thought it’d be nice to have your dream man leering at you when you sleep tonight. These weren’t easy to find.”
For the first time since I fell, I laugh. “Thanks.”
She’s here. That fact alone consoles me. My injury must’ve made me weak.
“I hope they let you out of here soon,” Flora says.
“It’s true what they say about hospital gowns.
They’re ugly as hell. But wait.” A gleam comes to life in her eyes, and it brings back a wave of memory and nostalgia.
My heart hurts as much as my knee. “Is this the kind that opens in the back? In that case, would you mind getting up and closing the blinds over there?”
I miss the days when she flirted with me. “Don’t harass the patient,” I say.
Her words pull me under, right back to where I don’t dare revisit.
The afternoons tangled in her sheets. The way her hands on my skin set fire to every rational thought.
Late-night phone calls that stretched until midnight, followed by homework and shots of espresso until my hands shook.
I missed her as soon as I dropped her off at her door, and I texted her even when I didn’t have anything to say.
Flora shrugs. “Never mind. It’s nothing I haven’t seen already.”
Dylan groans beside me. “You guys should date again and get each other out of your systems. All this sexual tension is hurting my brain.”
I clear my throat. “Actually, the brain itself can’t hurt because there are no pain receptors.”
“See?” Flora rolls her eyes. “That’s exactly why I can’t stand him.”
She examines her nails and then only addresses Madison.
Before they leave, she tilts her face and our eyes lock for a second.
I can’t look away. There’s too much to read in them, like stumbling upon a brilliant book at the library that I must return, but for now, I want to devour every line.
There’s sadness, tenderness, and maybe even longing. I want her to stay.
She leaves, and then a minute later, runs back and dumps a warm hospital blanket on my chest. “It’s freezing in here. You can’t get better if you’re an ice cube.”
Her jasmine perfume strangles me like a scarf before dissipating in the air.
I’m trapped.
Trapped with a nonfunctioning knee and blind infatuation for my ex-girlfriend. She’s all kinds of trouble and no good for me.
But who ever wants what’s good for them?