Page 21 of That Boy (That Boy 1)
"So you planned this?"
"Well, let's just say that I was smart enough to figure out exactly what was going to happen tonight. So where?"
I really don't know what to do. I just know I won't give him the satisfaction of taking me straight home. Maybe the fight will break up the party, and everyone will head back into town. "Let's go to the Gas Stop. I'm hungry."
"Great." He gives me a smart-ass smile, "I need to get gas anyway."
"You would have to turn it into something practical," I mutter under my breath.
Of course, he hears me. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh I don't know, Mr. Spontaneous."
I get the glare again. "Well, I was almost spontaneous tonight. I almost drug you out of the party before the fight started, but I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. Obviously that was a mistake."
We pull up to the gas pump. Phillip jumps out and starts the pump, then gets back into the car. I'm checking out the parking lot between the Gas Stop and the bowling alley and see, sadly, that no one is around.
Darn. Now what?
I'm supposed to be hungry. That's why I wanted to come here, but food does not sound the least bit appetizing. Not even Hostess cupcakes.
I must be more distraught than I realized.
Phillip snarls, "I thought you were hungry."
I can tell he knows I was lying.
"What can I say? You made me lose my appetite."
See? Something is your fault. You're not perfect.
Jerk.
"I see," he smirks.
The smirk on his face is pretty much the last straw, so I let him have it.
"Phillip, can't you ever do something just because it feels good? Why do you have to think through and analyze every situation to death?"
"What? Would you rather I was like you and never think anything through? You were in trouble at the party, and you know it."
"Maybe I wanted trouble, Phillip,"
"Well, you know what? That would have been fine, but then you had to drag Danny into the whole fiasco."
"I drug Danny?" The boy is playing rough.
Fine.
"Yeah, I drug Danny, kicking and screaming, straight to my lips and forced him to kiss me. Many, many times."
I don't know why I think this will upset Phillip. I mean I know he doesn't like me, but I do know something about Danny and me together bugged him.
So there.
"Besides this mess isn't my fault. It's Jake's. He started the whole stupid thing." I shake my head at him, "And Danny's a big boy. I can't make him do anything."
"Oh, you'd be surprised at what you can make Danny do," Phillip says, like I'm some harlot.
"Phillip, he kissed me. Not the other way around. Granted, he may have done it because he felt sorry for me, but no one, especially not me, made him." I stop and look closely at Phillip to gauge his reaction. "And what would be so wrong about Danny and me together anyway?"
Phillip looks exasperated. He shakes his head in disbelief and chuckles, "You'd kill each other, for one, because you'd fight constantly. It'd never work. And you'd completely screw your friendship."
"Well at least Danny and I feel strongly enough about things to fight about them. It shows we have passion, that something is important to us. You know, Phillip, it's okay to have feelings."
Phillip doesn't respond.
So I say, "You know what? I give up. All you ever do is make me feel bad because I'm not perfect like you. I don't need it anymore, and I'm not sure I want to be your friend either. Take me home." I madly cross my arms in front of my chest with a humph.
"I thought you didn't want to go home?" Phillip says in a snotty little boy voice.
I don't get a chance to respond to Jerk Boy because his cell rings.
Maybe it's Danny!
He sighs at me, looks at his phone, reads the caller ID and whispers, "It's Dad," before he presses talk.
"Hey Dad."
I listen to his side of the conversation.
"Yeah, I do. She's in the car with me now." He glares over at me. "I was just about to take her home."
He gives me the snotty little boy look again, then his expression drops as the color drains from his face. I watch his eyes bug out like he's hearing aliens just landed on earth or something else unbelievable.
"Uh. Ok-ay."
He looks at me sideways and lets out a sigh.
"We'll be there as fast as we can, Dad."
"I will."
I ask, "What? What's wrong?" I'm worried because whatever his dad said didn't sound like good news. I wonder if there was a terrorist attack or something equally horrific.
Phillip takes a deep breath, like what he has to tell me is so very bad.
"Your parents were in a serious car accident." He blows out a big breath. "They are being life flighted to University hospital. My parents were following them home when it happened. They'll meet us there."
"What?"
Phillip flies out of the car and quickly shuts off the gas pump. We leave the Gas Stop fast, and he's already speeding by the time we hit the viaduct going out of town.
I look at his speedometer and then at him, with a what are you doing look.
Phillip never speeds.
Reading my mind, he says, "I know I'm going a bit fast, but Dad said to hurry."
That can't be good, can it? My world feels like it's slipping out from underneath me, and to top it off, Phillip is mad at me. That's fine. I'm mad at him too. But at the same time, I'm glad he's here. This is scaring me.
Because Life Flighted?
That's bad, isn't it?
Just as we climb the hill and go speeding by the high school, a police car's lights come flashing on behind us.
"Shit! We don't have time for this."
"What do you mean, Phillip? How bad is it? Phillip?"
He pulls over and rolls down his window. Then he turns to me. "Bad. Really bad."
"Bad as in broken bones? A bit smashed up? Paralysis, coma?" I pause and think, oh my God, "Or like dying bad?"
"I don't know."
The officer walks up to the window and shines his flashlight in our eyes.
"JJ?" the policeman asks. I hold my hand in front of my squinting eyes, trying to see whose face the familiar voice is coming from.
Phillip says to the officer, "You know, JJ?"
"Sure. Went to high school with her dad. Still play wiffle ball together."
Phillip looks up to the roof of his car and mutters, "Thank you."
Then in a very businesslike tone, he tells the officer, "Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds were in a bad car accident and are being air lifted to the hospital. I was told to try to get JJ there. FAST."
"Not the accident that has the interstate shut down?"
"Um." Phillip gulps. "Yeah."
"Damn. Leave your car here and come with me," Officer Myers tells Phillip. "I'll get you there."
"Come on," Phillip says, pulling me out of his car and putting me into the squad car next to him.
"Is there anything you're not telling me?"
He tells me that everything will be okay, but his body language is sending out an entirely different message. He is way tense. I can tell that he is biting down hard on his back teeth. It's making his jaw look very stiff. I can't tell if it is because the accident was a bad one, or if it's because he is so mad that he hates me now and can't even stand to speak t
o me.
"Let's just get there," he says, not really answering my question.
Officer Myers, who I do recognize now that he's not blinding me with his flashlight, does play wiffle ball with my dad. I think his first name starts with a J, like John or James, but everyone calls him Cookie. Don't know where they come up with these nicknames. Everyone that lives in a small town, the guys that play wiffle ball on Sundays, in particular, seem to have them. I think I remember hearing they call him Cookie because in like fifth grade, he stole the neighbor girl's boxes of Girl Scout cookies and ate them all.
I don't know why I'm thinking about all this. I feel bizarre. I have tons of adrenaline rushing through my body. Part of me feels like I could jump the tallest building or run faster to the med center, but the other part of me feels numb. Like I can't move. Like I'm paralyzed.
The police car goes fast, the lights flash and the siren blares. I usually hate hearing sirens. They have always kind of scared me, but for some reason, maybe because it never stops, it's almost comforting.
I pray the whole way there.
Please let them be okay. Whooh, whooh, whooh. Please let them be okay. Whooh, whooh, whooh. Please let them be okay.
It's like the siren and my prayer have a sort of rhythm.
I close my eyes. Maybe I'm having a bad dream. Maybe this whole fucked up night is just some bad, horrible, messed up dream.
I will myself to wake up. I slowly open my eyes, only to see Phillip staring out of a police car window with a scared and numb look on his face.
So it's not a dream.
Okay. I need to mentally prepare myself. Be rational. Whatever this is, I can handle it. Obviously, they are hurt badly if they are being air lifted. But lots of people get better after bad car wrecks. You see it on ER all the time. Broken bones heal, scars can be fixed.
They are going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine.
I see the hospital up ahead. We're almost there. I feel a hand on my shoulder, so I lean my head toward it and touch my cheek to it. I take a long, slow breath and feel myself relax. I feel comforted. As we pull up to the emergency entrance, I put my hand up to my shoulder for more reassurance, but my hand only touches my fuzzy sweater.
That's weird. For a minute, I thought it was Mom's hand I touched. She always holds my shoulder like that. But I shake my head at that thought because, duh, she's obviously not here.
I hear Phillip tell Cookie, "Thanks for the ride."
Shit. Here we go.
We get out of the car and walk thru the emergency room doors. I see Phillip's dad right away. He's pacing, waiting for us, and he doesn't look so good. Truthfully, he looks terrible, like he's been crying. His shirt's untucked and dirty, his hair's a mess and, OH GOD, it's not dirt, it's blood all over his shirt.
