Page 6 of Falling Into You

Into the phone she said, “I’m on my way.”

Rory

When Rory and Owen ran into the ER half an hour later, the entire cheerleading squad was already there, plus Stuart’s boyfriend, Dexter. They had run straight to their dad’s restaurant to borrow the family car—luckily, the restaurant was only a few blocks from their house—then driven straight to the hospital. Her parents had only one car between them, so it was convenient that their home was super close to downtown, where the theater was also located. Rory had tried to convince Owen to stay home and relax, but heaven forbid there be drama and Owen miss it. She was surprised he wasn’t documenting the entire thing on his phone.

“Oh my God, Rory!” Dexter cried, wrapping his arms around her the second he saw her. He went to their rival school, Shrewsbury High, and she tried not to flinch as the green and white of his varsity swim team jacket touched herskin. (It was a very serious rivalry.) “He’s going to be so glad you’re here.”

Rory hugged him back, then pushed him to arm’s length. “What. The heck.Happened?”

“I told him not to go.” Dexter raised his heavily-ringed hands. His blond hair stuck up straight from his head in a spiky style, and the shirt beneath his jacket had a popped collar that was hot pink. “I told him you were going to be pissed. But all his gearhead friends were going, so there was no talking him out of it.”

“Going where?” she demanded.

“It was some amateur race out at Rock Hills,” Carlos chimed in, his jaw set, which meant he was upset. Carlos was not one to show a ton of emotion, but Rory had known him long enough to be able to read him. “They set it up last minute, so the course wasn’t safety-checked the way it should have been.” He looked Rory in the eye and put his hands on his hips. “Trust me, I want to kill him, too.”

“There was a cash prize for the winner,” Dexter added. “You know how bad he wants to take me to homecoming.” He sniffled. “He couldn’t resist.”

Unreal. If we had only won those free tickets, this would never have happened, Rory thought. She kind of wished Jacob Reilly were here so he could see the disaster his little Girl Scout stunt had wreaked.

Instead, she took a long, deep breath, gearing up for the pep talk she knew the group would need from her. But beforeshe could say anything, Stuart’s mom appeared in the doorway between the rooms and the waiting area. She was tall and athletic, and not a strand of her chin-length hair had escaped the stylish headband she wore. But her face was as full of worry as everyone else’s.

“Hi, Mrs. DaCosta,” Rory said. “Is he okay?”

“Rory!” Stuart’s mom hurried over and gave her a quick, tight hug. “He keeps asking if you’re here. Can you come back and see him?”

“Sure,” Rory said. She squeezed Owen’s shoulder and looked at Gwen. “Can you take Owen to the vending machines?”

“Oh, you know it,” Gwen said. “They have peanut butter Twix in there!”

“Score!” Owen said.

“Follow me,” Stuart’s mom said to Rory. “He’s in one oh three,” she added.

As she walked down the hospital hallway, Rory clutched the strap of her bag in both hands. She hadn’t been in many hospitals. There was the time Owen had gotten his hand caught in the hinge of the screen door and his fingernail had turned purple—so gross. And the day last spring during travel soccer that Tucker had twisted his ankle so bad they’d thought it was broken—but it wasn’t. And that was about it. Cheerleading was dangerous, but somehow in her years on the squad the worst that had happened were some bad tumbles—no major injuries.

She and Stuart’s mom passed people on gurneys in the hallway, most with loved ones sitting or hovering nearby. One guy looked almost green, and another older man was moaning. Rory held her breath and hoped they would all make miraculous recoveries soon.

Mrs. DaCosta crossed to the other side of the doorway to room 103 so that Rory could walk inside first. There she found Stuart flat on his back on the bed, his right leg hoisted up in traction, a blue cast stretched from his ankle all the way up under his gown. There was a big, purple bruise around his left eye and reaching up into his hairline, and a stitched-up gash across his chin. His toes, pointing toward the ceiling, looked purple under the fluorescent lights. His eyes were closed, and his face was scrunched up as if he was in pain.

Tears filled Rory’s eyes, hot and stinging.

“Stewie. Rory’s here,” Stuart’s mom whispered.

His eyes popped open. “Ma!” he said, his voice scratchy. “I told you not to call me Stewie in front of my friends!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” She lifted her palms. “I’ll let the two of you talk.”

As Rory stepped farther into the room, Mrs. DaCosta squeezed her arm, then slunk away like an outdoor cat on the run. In the hallway, a tone chimed as a doctor was called to another room, and someone ordered a blood test over the loudspeaker.

Rory blinked, adjusting to the harsh lighting and all theupsetting sights and sounds. Worst of all, she noticed Stuart’s chin was quivering.

“How much do you hate me?” he asked her. “On a scale of one to ten, one being not at all and ten being you never want to speak to me again and you’re going to strike my name from your vocabulary?”

Rory scrunched up her nose. “Maybe this much?” She lifted her thumb and forefinger, holding them about an inch apart.

“Ugh! I suck! I’m such an idiot!” Stuart shoved his head backward into the pillow so it poofed out and around him on either side, obscuring his face.

“Stuart, it’s fine. I’m just sorry you’re hurt!” Rory pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. “How bad is it?”