“Is that why he never comes over? Because he knows … about me?” If hope isn’t tainting his words, I am completely insane, because I swear I hear traces of it. But his expression turns cold and stoic in an instant, shoving my thoughts of clarifying who Charleigh is to the deepest depths of my vocabulary.
“Why would I tell anyone? It’s not a big deal, right?” I ask. King’s words hadn’t stung upon first impact, but playing them back in my head once more, they feel like more than just a rejection; I feel used. They shouldn’t be causing this reaction. I’ve used these same words against him numerous times in the past; however, this time they leave a sour taste in my mouth that worsens now that I’ve repeated them back.
He squares his shoulders, the distaste obviously affecting him as well. To make certain my point is made, I shrug and raise my eyebrows before turning back to the chicken and carefully beginning to chop it. I never mention how much the feel of it bothers me, nor do I seek assurance that I’m doing it right. I simply do as he instructed, and once I finish, I place my knife in the sink carefully so as to not make a loud noise. If I dropped it, it would reveal I’m frustrated and still stewing over his words. I refuse to let that happen. After washing my hands three times, I dry off and head outside because I can’t be around him a second longer without demanding answers to questions I’m still trying to make sense of.
I SUGGEST to Mercedes that we hit the mall up the next day and then go to OMSI, the science museum, to prevent any chance of encountering King, with the promise this is the last time I’m going to avoid him. I’ll let him continue working at it, but I’m done expending the energy on him.
“I’M so proud of you! That was insane, Lo! I need to take a picture so you can draw yourself doing this!”
I risk looking over to Mercedes as my tire rounds over the lip of the smallest of the ramps. They rarely use this piece of equipment, seemingly making it a waste of space, which seems fairly bizarre since so little of the shop goes without purpose and extensive use.
“Are you ready to graduate to the next ramp?” Parker’s beside me, his eyes bright with excitement from finally convincing me to go on the ramp again.
“I think I need to master the small one first.”
“Master? You were like the Jedi out there! The kid is right, you looked awesome! I can’t believe you haven’t been on a bike in over ten years!”
“Believe it.” My muscles feel nearly buoyant as they accept Parker’s praise, feeding off his enthusiasm and confidence. Mercedes and I have been riding a few times a week since the shop opened in October, but I’ve still shied away from doing much of anything, generally blaming my always inappropriate shoes for doing much else. Still, I’ve pushed so far outside of my comfort zone.
“You don’t have to do it, Lo. We’d all understand if you’re afraid.” Summer’s voice sounds sincere, yet I still feel as though I have something to prove to her, sealing my fate.
“Okay, let’s try it.” My brain is going into overdrive, working to make sense of this suicide attempt while trying to effectively order my feet to stop pushing me forward. My pride is louder than my sense though, and I keep going.
“Woo hoo!” Mercedes calls from the side. I know I’ve heard Parker echo the same call at least three times since I agreed to go, but hers is the first that really penetrates the haze of fear and excitement I’m surrounded by.
“I won’t flip over the edge, right?”
“No, it’s just like the small one; the momentum will glide you right over the lip. Just remember: you don’t want to use your hand brakes. You’ll be fine. You want to ride it out, just like a rollercoaster, baby.” Parker’s hand settles on my shoulder, feeling much like a lead weight, causing my shoulder to sag.
The loud pounding of my heart distracts me as I push to the edge of the ramp. The only thing I notice is the heat and weight of Parker’s hand sliding away. With my first and last trip down the ramp, I just went. I didn’t take the time to consider what I was doing. This time, I look down and across the space, more amazed by the distance of the smallest ramp now that I’ve crossed it and can see it from this angle. I take a deep breath, feeling the pressure of my heart in each of my fingers as I rest them gingerly on the brake so they’re ready for when I get over the lip. My toes push off and the bike slides forward. The wheels spin so quickly I nearly lose my footing on the pedals. The speed builds fast. Too fast. My breathing is loud, but not as loud as my heart, and all of my muscles contract with fear, making my fingers squeeze reflexively. There’s a startling stop from the front tire, and then an instant lurch as the bike falls forward and sideways all at once. My right arm is tangled in the bike, but my left extends to stop me from leaving a stamp of my face on the bottom of the ramp. It hits with an alarming explosion of impact, and then my helmet cracks against the cement. The bike falls on top of me with a crushing blow. I don’t know how to move. I don’t know if I can move.
Voices register, followed by the slap of shoes on the cement.
“Lo, are you okay?” I recognize Mercedes’ cry over the others and slowly move in an attempt to straighten myself.
“Don’t move,” Parker instructs in a yell. “Your shoe is caught in the spindles.” A hand holds my foot, and the warmth of it soaks through my ballet flat. The comfort seems vast in contrast to the cold, hard cement, and the pain that is starting to radiate through my body.
The bike moves next, and my entire body seems to sigh with relief. “What hurts?” Summer is beside me, brushing hair out of my face. “How’s your arm?”
I slowly roll to my side, and the helmet clonks against the cement, straining my neck as I lie on my back. Parker reaches forward and makes quick work of releasing the clasp and gently settles my head back down.
“Shit!” Summer’s word comes out in a breath as she drops to her knees beside Parker. “Can you move it?”
Her attention is on my leg. I don’t want to try. It’s throbbing and aching so badly I want to curl on my side and cry until the branding-iron-like heat dissipates. But the embarrassment and weakness that would reveal would haunt me worse than the face dive I just did.
“Video’s up. They’re showing Slim’s newest—” The others turn as King’s words abruptly end. I take the brief reprieve to squeeze my eyes shut and let out a deep breath that trembles, serving little comfort as an expression of the pain I’m feeling. “What happened?” His words come out with an intensity that matches his strides as he swallows the gap between us, briefly regarding Summer before returning to me.
“She started to panic, and her wheel caught the edge of—”
The skin between King’s eyebrows crinkles as they draw together, and his eyes flash with anger as they narrow on me. “You tried to go down a ramp? You haven’t been on a bike for thirteen years!”
“She was holding her own. Totally killing it in fact. You would have been impressed. She’s got balls.”
Parker’s comment diverts King’s glare. “You guys watched her try to kill herself?” His eyes round back to mine and then drop and search over me. “Fuck. That’s gonna hurt.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head ever so slightly. “Mercedes, go get your dad. Tell him we need the insurance information for the hospital. Summer—”
“I’ll watch Mercedes.”
King nods and then watches Mercedes jog toward the doors of the shop.
“Don’t move,” King orders, stopping me as I raise my right hand to sit up. I ease back against the cool surface and release a quiet breath.