A Shattered Moment Read online

  “Mac, you’re not broken.” I reached across the table and placed my hand on top of hers.

  She looked down at my hand, surprised to find it there. I half expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. “That’s where you’re wrong. I am broken. I’ve been broken from the moment some asshole truck driver decided the text message he wanted to send was more important than keeping his eyes on the road. I am weak and broken because of it.”

  I waited until Ana set our food down and we had thanked her before answering Mac’s ludicrous claim. I told her she was crazy if she thought she was broken. She was the strongest person I’d ever known. She looked at me skeptically, asking how I could know that when we’d only known each other less than a couple weeks.

  “That’s exactly how I know it. In less than a day I knew you were stronger than you’ll ever give yourself credit for. You think you’re weak because of your injury, but in reality that injury shows just how strong you are.”

  “Did Ana lace your food with drugs?” she asked, shaking off my proclamation.

  “Let me ask you a question.”

  She lowered her fork, waiting for me to continue.

  “Why do you think you’re weak?”

  “I don’t think I’m weak. I know it. I’m too scared to face people in my dorm, so I hide out in the library every single night.”

  “Yeah, but that’s where you’re missing the point. Do you drive to the library or have campus security cart you across campus in their golf carts?”

  “God no,” she answered, shuddering at the thought.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t need them carting me around like I’m some invalid. I can walk on my own. I might not be very fast, and it might not look all that elegant, but I know how to get from A to B.”

  “Exactly. You force yourself to trek across campus every single day in the heat. Campus security would have no problem giving you a ride, and you wouldn’t even think of asking.”

  “Of course not, but that still doesn’t mean I don’t hide out every day.” She picked up her fork and resumed eating.

  I wanted to press the subject further, and argue with her until she saw how ridiculous her statement sounded. She had a distorted view of herself. The more time I spent with her, the more I wanted to show her how wrong she was.

  twelve

  Mac

  The small amount of my food I ate was delicious. Unfortunately, the dinner conversation twisted my stomach into knots, and my appetite was pretty much shot after that. I was used to keeping my feelings bottled up, but Bentley had a way of getting me to talk. Between that and my heart-to-heart with Trina the night before, I was left raw and exposed.

  Bentley had obviously sensed my grief, because he never commented on how little I ate. As we drove back to my dorm after dinner, I was sure this would be the last time he asked me out and the end of his interest.

  “What’s your least favorite class?” he asked out of the blue.

  The question was so random, it caught me off guard. “Uh, probably humanities, but only because the professor is so boring.”

  “Boring how?”

  “His voice is so monotone, and it never changes. Plus, he keeps the lights in the room dim. You want to Tase yourself to keep from falling asleep.”

  “That’s funny. You know who that reminds me of? ‘Bueller . . . Bueller.’” He lowered his voice, laughing as he waited for me to join in. I must have missed the joke. “You know, Ferris Bueller?” he added when I still looked confused.

  “Is that another professor?”

  “What! Are you telling me you’ve never seen Ferris Bueller?” He looked at me incredulously.

  “I’ve never had him. What class does he teach?”

  “No, it’s a movie. An old movie from the eighties.”

  “Oh, well, obviously I’ve never seen it.”

  “Holy shit. I’m going to have to fix that. I’m a huge John Hughes fan. I’ve seen every Brat Pack movie like a hundred times.”

  “Brat Pack?” I asked, as understanding dawned on me after all these years. I guess that was where our parents had gotten the group’s nickname.

  “Yeah. This one has Matthew Broderick in it. Trust me, it’s a classic. On Wednesday you can come over and watch it,” he added smoothly.

  “I thought you had class Wednesday evenings.”

  “Nope. I’m good. So, what do you think?” he asked, pulling in front of my building.

  I hesitated before agreeing. I wasn’t entirely sure what his definition of our forming relationship was. For the most part, he was sticking to our claim that we were just friends. Every once in a while he found excuses to touch me, or hold my hand, like he had while we were eating, making me wonder if he wanted something more. Of course, that could be me misinterpreting things.

  Trina was in our room for the second night in a row when I arrived. I was startled to see she had moved all her stuff back in. She was busy hanging a poster above her bed of a hunky guy wearing nothing but boxer briefs. I took in the chiseled chest and defined six-pack with appreciation.

  “Oh, hey.” I had surprised her, causing her to drop the poster on the bed.

  “Hey. How’s it going?”

  “Okay. I figured it would be nice to sleep in my own bed for a change,” she said, explaining her appearance. She looked uncomfortable, like she expected me to object or something.

  “It’ll be nice to have some company,” I responded, smiling. “In more ways than one,” I added, looking at the poster she had picked up and smoothed onto the wall above her bed.

  “I’ve been dying to hang him up since my friend from high school sent it to me last month. I figured he could be our inspiration.”

  “That works for me,” I said, dropping my backpack on my bed. “Do you need any help?” She unrolled another poster and made a move to hang it over her desk.

  “That would be great.” She smiled gratefully as I held the poster while she taped the corners down.

  As we spent the rest of the evening setting up Trina’s side of the room, we discovered that we shared many of the same interests. It was a conversation we should have had two months ago, but we made up for lost time. We played music as we chatted, mocking popular songs that we secretly loved even though they had dumb lyrics.

  “When I was younger, I thought one of Taylor Swift’s songs had the line ‘one-eyed jeans,’” I admitted as she started to giggle.

  “What’s the real line?”

  “‘Worn-out jeans.’” She chortled loudly. I couldn’t help laughing with her. I gasped, clutching my side. “Sadly, I still say one-eyed jeans, even now.”

  “That’s hilarious. We have to play it now,” she said, clapping her hands as she bounced up and down on her bed.

  Still laughing, I pulled the song up on my iPhone and plugged it into her stereo. We both sang it loudly before collapsing on my bed in laughter.

  Eventually we wore ourselves out and turned off the lights under the pretense of going to sleep, but we ended up talking late into the night. It reminded me of my last sleepover with Tracey. As I lay in the dark after Trina conked out, I mulled over my feelings in my head. Deep down I realized the reason I’d kept everyone at arm’s length since the accident was because I felt it would be the ultimate betrayal to my friends to allow myself to care about anyone else. Like I would be turning my back on all our memories.

  I fell asleep before I could reach a true conclusion on how I felt about the recent changes in my life. My last coherent thought was that Tanya would have a field day when I saw her next week. She’d been waiting for this moment.

  The next morning Trina dragged me down to the dining hall for breakfast. I tried to decline, but our newfound friendship made it hard to ignore her pleas. My normal paranoia over everyone staring at me had me shaking slightly as we entered the large room. Trina noticed my stress and linked her elbow with mine so we could walk together.

  “If they’re looking at you, it’s because you�
��re drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “You’re high as a kite,” I said, following her to the cereal bar.

  “Don’t be dense. And before you say anything else, if you try to spit out some line that you’re not pretty, I’ll have to throat-punch you. I hate when girls do that. If you’re beautiful, own it.”

  Laughing at her threat, I grabbed a banana, a carton of milk, and a mini box of Frosted Flakes. “I’m not saying I’m ugly or anything, but you said I was ‘drop-dead gorgeous.’ That’s so an exaggeration. Runway models are drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “Fine. You’re prettier than a toad. Is that better?”

  “Much,” I said, handing my meal card to the cashier.

  I waited close by for Trina before heading to a table. Everything in me wanted to slink off so I was no longer standing conspicuously out in the open. After what felt like an insane amount of time, she finally finished paying for her food and we headed off to find a table. Trina’s name was called out several times as we wove our way through the maze of tables. She acknowledged each greeting, but didn’t stop to talk, which I was grateful for. Being so exposed was making me tense and slowly sucking away the confidence I had just gained back the night before.

  Thankfully, Trina picked a small table for two that was in a less-crowded area. I turned my chair so my back would face the majority of the room. Relieved to be at least sitting, I set my cane against the wall and off to the side so it wouldn’t be in the way. I kept my eyes down, opening the small box of cereal to dump into my bowl. It was a struggle fighting the urge to look behind me to see how many people were staring. The voice in the back of my mind pleaded to return to the safety of my room. Obviously, I wasn’t quite ready to jump into the whole social scene yet.

  “Are you going to eat that or pulverize it?” Trina asked, jerking my attention back to my hand, which had mangled my poor banana.

  “Uh, I eat it that way,” I lied, looking up at her.

  “Right, mushed is better,” she teased, calling my bluff. “You know, you have nothing to worry about. So what if you need a cane to walk? You’re not all that special.” She winked.

  I let out a startled laugh at her words. It was the first time someone had been so blunt with my condition. I liked it.

  Her smile turned to a scowl as she took a bite of her quiche. “Great, a guy I went out with just walked in. He doesn’t give up.” She ducked down, using me as a shield.

  Whipping my head around, I spotted a guy who looked vaguely familiar. It took me a second to place him. We’d had a class together the previous year. All I remembered about him was that he was obnoxiously loud.

  “Really?” I asked, turning back around to face her.

  “I know, right? Can you believe it? I swear I don’t know what I was thinking. In my defense, I was pretty plastered when we met, and I thought he was funny. As soon as I sobered up, I saw the ass face for who he really was. We only went out a few times, but he was a total jerk-off when I tried to end it. He couldn’t seem to take a hint.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just the normal bullshit, like calling me constantly. When I ignored those, he sent me a million text messages. I had to have my parents switch my cell number.” She peeked around me. “He manages to show up wherever I am. He’s a total stalker.”

  “What a dick. Are you worried about him?” I asked as she picked at her quiche.

  “Not really. I just wish he’d get the hint. It’s getting old trying to avoid him. You’d think by the way he’s acting we’d been in a relationship for months instead of a couple measly dates.”

  “Maybe you should report him or something,” I said, placing my banana peel in my empty bowl.

  “Nah, he’s not worth the bother. I think he’s relatively harmless, just slow. Eventually he’s bound to get the hint,” she said dismissively. “Okay, we can go. He left.”

  Trina changed the subject as we left the dining hall together, chatting until we got to the science building, where she had a class. We parted ways after making plans to grab a bite for dinner later. She was sneaky the way she hurriedly escaped into the building before I could come up with a plausible excuse not to go.

  Between Bentley and Trina, my solitary lifestyle had come to a screeching halt. I had to be a glutton for punishment agreeing to go out to dinner two nights in a row. I reminded myself how lonely I’d been over the weekend. It wasn’t like I could have it both ways.

  Dinner that night turned out to be stressful at first. Trina seemed to know a lot of people, and she was an attention-getter. Our table at Chili’s quickly became crowded as some of her friends dragged chairs over to join us. I felt like I was suffocating and needed to retreat. I mentally started my counting exercises to calm my nerves. I suspected Trina sensed my distress because she made a point to introduce me to everyone and included me in the conversations. It was awkward initially. One, because there were at least three different conversations happening simultaneously, and two, because I had issues making eye contact with people I didn’t know. Eventually, as I realized everyone was nice and didn’t appear the least bit interested in my cane, I mellowed out enough that I was able to participate. I’m not sure if I necessarily had fun, but at least I was out in a social setting.

  Trina and I walked back to the dorms with the same group that had joined us at our table. I prepared myself for a barrage of questions about why I had the cane, and what was wrong with my leg, but they never came. I even had myself worried about slowing the group down until I realized no one seemed to be in a hurry. As a matter of fact, I had to hold up several times as they goofed off. College students really weren’t much different than they were in high school. They still liked to screw around and mess with each other. It was comforting.

  Bentley called me later that night after Trina and I got back to our room. She had headed off to the shower, so I had our room to myself when my phone buzzed.

  “Hi,” I answered, smiling like a total goober. “How was your class?”

  “Not bad. If I can memorize about a hundred body parts, I should ace the exam next week.”

  “Maybe I can help you. I’m the queen of flash cards.” I couldn’t believe my own ears. Was that me who had offered to get together?

  “Really? That would be awesome. I’d ask my roommates, but that would require Chad actually stepping away from the Xbox.”

  “Sure. When I come over tomorrow for the movie, I can help you,” I suggested before giving myself a mental thrashing for sounding overeager.

  “Oh no. Tomorrow night is all about Ferris. We’ll have to study on Thursday and Friday. If you’re not too busy, that is.”

  A relieved smile crossed my face. “Nope, that works for me.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up after your last class. Text me the details about where to meet you.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  “What’s that goofy smile for?” Trina asked when she entered our room wearing Victoria’s Secret sweats and a T-shirt. She had her long curly hair wrapped in a towel.

  “It’s nothing,” I answered. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. I wasn’t entirely sure myself.

  “Liar,” she said, pulling the towel off her head and tossing it at me. “Give me the deets. Someone put that sappy grin on your face.” She plopped down on her bed, pulling a brush through her hair.

  “It’s just some guy I met at the library.”

  “Oh, very good, continue. Is he like geeky on the outside, but peel off the shirt and he’s got the whole come-to-me-momma thing happening?”

  “He’s not a geek.”

  “Ooooh, I see then. But he is a hottie?”

  I gnawed on my fingernail before answering. “He’s cute,” I answered lamely.

  “Cute is good. How long have you two been seeing each other?”

  “Oh, it’s not that. We’re just friends.”

  She chuckled at my words. “Not from where I’m sitting. You should see the look on your face, like you had the world’s best piece
of chocolate or something. That doesn’t look like ‘just friends’ to me.”

  As much as I wanted to deny it, she had a point. I was seriously crushing on Bentley. I found my thoughts drifting to him throughout the day more times than I could count. Maybe he thought we were just friends, but I wanted more.

  Trina continued to press me for details, but I clammed up. I was too embarrassed to admit that Bentley seemed to want to keep things platonic between us. We stayed up late talking again, but I changed the subject to something other than Bentley. I had an appointment tomorrow morning with Tanya anyway. I was still on the fence whether I wanted to mention Bentley in our session. She was sure to ask questions about him that I might not be ready to answer. Once Trina drifted off to sleep, I tossed and turned as her words played on an endless loop in my head.

  The next morning I made sure I had everything I needed for school since I would have just enough time after therapy to make it back to campus for my first class. Whether or not I was a good driver depended on your definition. If you were the type who was good at weaving in and around traffic and getting to your destination quickly, then you definitely wouldn’t want to ride with me. On the other hand, even a more conservative driver might get frustrated riding shotgun with me behind the wheel. Since the accident, I hadn’t been the most comfortable in any vehicle, let alone driving. I basically only drove when I had absolutely no other choice, like in this case, to Tanya’s office, which was on the other side of town. Before I moved from home to the dorms on campus, my commute back and forth to school had been two daily forty-minute torture sessions.

  I had a bit of an OCD type of ritualistic checklist I went through each time I got into the car. I fastened my seat belt, checking it three times to make sure it locked, looked in both side mirrors and the rearview mirror, looked over both shoulders, and then looked again, let out three or four deep breaths, and finally, when all that was completed, I was ready to start my trip. Once out on the road, I merged over to the far right lane as soon as possible, and always kept my speed at least five miles below the actual speed limit. If you were expecting to speed up through an intersection to beat a yellow light changing to red, then you better not be behind me because it wasn’t going to happen. I had to endure the occasional honk of a horn, or a road rage poster child flipping me off when they finally got the room to pass me, but at least I made it to my destination in one piece.