be telling my dad about this.
3
Arlo
My older brother, Theo, gave me shit when I bought my Tahoe because it’s an automatic. Right now, I’m thanking what’s left of my lucky stars that I got a killer deal off my old neighbor when I moved from Jersey to Seattle. He was moving in with his adult daughter and no longer needed it, so he sold it to me for four grand—those were the days when luck was on my side.
I shove my crutches behind the seat, struggling when one gets caught on something, the rain falling fast and hard in my face like it’s laughing at me. “Fucking piece of shit,” I growl, pushing them harder. They finally succumb, falling behind the seat in a tangle of things I need to clean out.
I stretch my neck and pull in a deep breath. This isn’t me. Hulk is not my alter ego, but lately, I sense myself growing greener every day. Unfortunately, I think it’s stemming from jealousy, as much as I hate to admit the fact. Being laid up sucks. It sucks to watch my teammates play without me and even more to have Tyler replacing me. Crutches suck, and knee braces suck, and finding time for physical therapy sucks. I’ve been trying not to focus on the suckfest and remember the positives that have come with this situation, like having my mom come for a week and finally watching every last episode of Lost. But, there are times like now, when it’s hard to hold onto those bright spots.
I shove my dampened hair back and pull myself up into the cab of my Tahoe, focusing on another bright spot: I wouldn’t be able to drive if it were a manual. Maybe my luck isn’t completely gone, I think to myself as I physically lift my left leg, so I don’t tweak my knee in the confined space.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, calling for my attention.
Kayla: I can’t wait for you to get here. You’re going to love what I’m not wearing.
I grin like the Grinch after he’s stolen Christmas. I still have plenty of luck. I met Kayla yesterday on my way to class. She’d giggled as we talked and then asked me if I had a girlfriend. When I told her I don’t date, she asked for my phone and suggested we get together.
Me: OMW.
I start my SUV and put it into gear with the push of a button. I crank up the radio, a good song starting like a good omen. My thoughts begin to clear like the skies after a thunderstorm as I drive down the narrow two-lane road that the house we rent sits on. We found this place three years ago. Caleb, Paxton’s childhood best friend, knew the owners through his parents, and they offered to rent it to him for cheap as long as we did some updates to the house and kept up the yard. It’s an old fifties house with large bedrooms and giant picture windows in nearly every room. It’s cold during the winter, and in the summer, it’s hot, but we don’t give a shit because the four of us have become brothers over the years, and living with them beats apartment living any day. The darkened skies pause their assault of rain, and I take that as another positive omen.
I glance at my phone, trying to recall the directions to Kayla’s that she’d texted to me. Murietta. Murietta. I repeat the street name in my head and glance up at the road in time to see a stark black object dart in front of my truck.
I slam on the brakes, my tires screeching with protest. My body lurches forward, the impact going to my feet that brace for impact. Pain shoots from my knee like a firecracker, one burst of pain after the other.
“Son of a bitch,” I groan, sitting back as I close my eyes. Generally, the pain is tolerable, a dull headache that has taken residence in my knee. But this pain is gruesome and has me half-expecting to look down and see blood gushing from the small wounds that managed to inflict so much change in my life. I lift my basketball shorts even though my brace covers much of my knee. Still, I can see there’s nothing. The pain is all internal, invisible to the eye.
I breathe out a heavy sigh and check my mirrors, grateful no one had been behind me because that