Break The Ice (2 page)

My six-foot-three frame blocking another person. As usual.

“How’s she doing?” the nurse says.

I shrug. “She’s breathing still, so that’s good, right?”

“Very good.”

“Okay. Well, thanks. And sorry.”

A small grin spreads over her lips. “Don’t be. I’m sorry–for snapping. I haven’t had coffee yet.”

“What time is it?”

“Two a.m.”

I rub my eyes again. School in five hours. Curse the doctor for having a kid in high school.

“Down the hall, turn left, and look right. Then get some sleep. Got it?”

Nodding, I turn away and stumble down the hall, pins and needles prickling my feet. My head sways left and right, peering into the open doorways as I pass them. The dim lights in the hallway illuminate the doors but nothing inside.

Somebody cries inside one room. Another laughs.

I stare at the dull green wall in front of me, letting my eyes adjust to the well-lit bathroom. Thin cracks split the paint. Large chunks have been picked away over time revealing small spots of gray paint underneath.

Analyzing the paint isn’t enough to ignore the heavy stench of bleach and urine that lingers around me. I hold my breath in spurts of ten seconds, screaming at my bladder to hurry up and empty. I sprinkle some water on my hands and dash for the exit before the urinal has finished flushing. The door slams against the wall, echoing through the hall.

I listen, waiting for somebody to wake up and yell at me. I count to twenty. Nobody must have noticed. Or they’re used to it. Back to the room.

Three doors from mom’s room, I stop, unsure why. Something pulls me towards the open doorway of a pitch-black room. I already passed the crying and the laughing. What’s in this one?

“Hello?” I say. No answer. No smell, either. No reason to believe that anybody even occupies the room.

“Sam.”

Goosebumps cascade down my arms. Every hair springs to life, standing straight as arrows. Two steps forward. I linger outside the room. Somebody whispered my name, I’m sure of it.

“Is somebody in here?” I say.

A rush of cold air hits me square in the face. Not cold. Freezing. Below freezing. Another whisper comes with it. “Saaaaam.”

I don’t recognize the voice. Or the unusual accent that accompanies it.

The cold air dies down.

“Sam?”

That voice isn’t a whisper. It comes from directly behind me. I jump to the side, smacking into the door’s frame.

The same nurse I scared five minutes ago looks up at me, a strange expression stretching across her face which is lit up better this time around. Her eyes are tired, like mine, but alert. She doesn’t have any makeup on, making no attempt to cover the dark circles underneath. Her confusion melts into amusement. She smiles, stretching the small dimples digging into her cheeks. “I guess we’re even.”

“Thanks,” I say, the word squeezed between two quick breaths. “How do you know my name?”

“I read your mom’s chart. The doc wrote your name down on it. Better question, what were you doing?”

“I…heard something. I wanted to make sure nobody needed help.”

She checks a paper hanging from the door. “Nobody’s in this room.”

The goosebumps return, full force. “Must be the sleep deprivation,” I say. “Good night.” Before she says another word, I run the twenty feet to mom’s room. Settling onto the couch, I grab onto her hand again and spend the next forty minutes awake, too nervous to even blink.

“Sam, wake up.” A soft hand rocks my shoulder. It shakes twice before repeating, “Sam, wake up. Time for school.”

I crack open an eyelid. The only nurse that seems to work at the hospital hovers over me. “You’re back,” I say.

She holds a brown bag up in front of my face. “With a change of clothes this time.”

My legs, hanging over the couch’s edge from the knees down, struggle to straighten. They’ve been bent for hours and refuse to cooperate. After five tries, I manage to slide over and sit up. I dump the bag out next to me.

“Uhh, these aren’t my clothes.” I pull a button down shirt out. It’s softer than I expect, like silk. Holding it out, I stare at palm trees and hula dancers. The small tag at the neck reads XL. “Did a seventy year old man heading to Miami die last night?”

“They’re my brother’s,” she says, scowling. “He’s about your size, and I figured a little color and fun might help your day.”

“I’m starting my senior year of high school, not a retiring detective,” I say. Sighing, I force a smile. “Nobody really notices me, anyway, so this’ll be fun. They feel great.”

I toss the shirt to the side and check out the remaining contents. A new pack of socks and underwear still in the plastic on top of a baggy pair of jeans. The jeans look new, except for the worn cuff on the right leg. “Tell your brother thanks,” I say. “I’ll get them back to him soon.” I smile at the nurse, catching the last second of her creased brow.

She smiles in an attempt to wipe the sorrow away. “I’m sure people notice you,” is all she says.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I prefer it that way. I’ll change and then we can go, okay?”

I close the door behind me after casting one last peek at mom. She looks better, to me at least. More color fills her cheeks. Her breathing strengthened overnight. Or maybe that’s all in my imagination.

“Oh my, don’t you look suave,” the nurse says.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I’m sure she’s joking, but nobody ever said that to me before. “I won’t ruin them, I promise.”

“You can tear them to shreds if you’d like, they’re yours now. He won’t even notice they’re missing. He has a hundred more.”

The blushing lets up. “Thanks,” I say.

She glances down at the small watch on her wrist. “Shoot, it’s past the time to go. If you’re late, I get an earful from Doc Halliday.”

Fifteen minutes later and nearing the end of our drive, neither of us has said a word to each other. She sang a few songs, cursed at a few drivers, and tried remembering whether or not she gave an elderly woman insulin, but no dialogue exchanges between us. Until something pops into my head that I can’t resist. We met at two a.m. in a dark hallway, she woke me up and gave me new clothes, and I’m sitting in her car, alone.

“What’s your name?” I say.

Her eyes shift between the road and mine. “You accepted a ride from a total stranger, didn’t you?” Her white teeth shine.

“The doc kind of forced it onto me. I was fine staying in the hospital today.”

“Melanie.” She cuts the wheel and speeds around a long semi-circle, pulling up right outside the school’s front entrance. “Alright, bud. I enjoyed the talkative ride, but I need some sleep before my next shift, so beat it.”

I climb out of the tiny seat and shut the door. Leaning down into the passenger window, I say, “Thanks again. I’ll see you later.”

“You know where to find me.” She pulls away before speeding off through the parking lot.

Straight ahead, the tall building looms over me. The tan walls climb towards the sky, cement block by cement block. A green fence extends behind the farthest wall, keeping the prisoners in. People march forward through the front doors, heads down and spirits crushed.

I join the solemn march, following a group of freshman.

Their tiny heads study the unknown hallways. One points at the lockers, another at the Hall of Fame, a trophy cabinet commemorating the school’s most athletic bullies. The smallest kid pulls a slip of paper out of his back pocket.

“McCarthy, 201, English,” he reads aloud. “You guys?”

“Same.”

“Yep.”

“Any idea where it is?” the first boy says.

“Nope.”

“Nuh-uh.”

A knot twists inside my gut. I suck in a deep breath, letting it out through my nose. They’re only freshman. I take a few extra-long steps to catch up, a good foot taller than any of them. “Go down the hall, make a left and up the stairs. He’s the first room outside the doors.”

“Thanks, man–” The one with the schedule turns and stares into my Hawaiian midsection. He cranes his neck in search of my face. A terror-driven smile creeps across his lips. “Thanks,” he says and runs off.

“Sure thing,” I say, alone again.

I open my locker and reach for the books that aren’t there. First day, bonehead. You don’t have any yet. A fear lodges in my gut that everyone around me knows I made the mistake, so I pretend to put stuff from my bag into the locker. After what seems like a reasonable amount of time, I close it and throw the bag over my left shoulder.

Jane Goodwin stands on the other side, checking her makeup in the mirror glued to her locker while her boyfriend yammers on about an episode of CSI: Miami he saw the night before.

“Hey, Jane,” I say.

Her eyes find mine in the reflection. She smiles, nods, and goes back to her eyeliner.

I scratch my neck, lower my head, and hurry away. Jane and I used to be great friends. We even dated for two weeks in middle school before she dumped me with the old excuse, “We’re better as friends.” On Valentine’s Day. But we stayed friends until high school and she met Will. Now she only smiles and nods if I acknowledge her in the halls. It took a few years before I stopped thinking I had something to do with it, but I still miss my friend.

Remorse. Longing. Shame. The things I always go through when I lose a friend like Jane. It happened before her, and after, and it’ll happen again. So is the cycle of life–well, high school. You make and lose friends until you graduate and go to college and have the time of your life.

Or at least that’s what mom tells me.

Room 106. Homeroom going on four years in a row. Fifteen minutes of silence as I twiddle my thumbs and wait for the morning announcements to end before going to first period. You can do this, Sam. Bite your tongue and go be uncomfortable.

Panic hits me two steps through the door. My usual seat, the same one that I filled for three years prior, is still empty. Except it’s not surrounded by the same three empty chairs like usual. Shit. A sense of urgency kicks in. I’ve been standing in the doorway too long. I need to find a new seat or face my fears. I swallow a lump and go sit down next to Sally Halliday.

I squeeze into the tight fitting desk, trying hard to swing my bag onto the ground without hitting anything. I fail. The bag scrapes across Sally’s desk, pushing her papers off.

She picks up two pencils and a sheet of paper while her friends snicker to themselves.

“Sorry,” I say, averting my eyes to a small crab drawn on the desk.

Sally sets the blue and pink pencil back on top of her notebook. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “How was your summer?”

After ten seconds of silence, I look at her. Was she talking to me? Her friends continue laughing. “Great,” I say. “You?”

She shrugs. “I worked at the hospital the whole time. Kind of a bummer.”

My head nods without my consent.

“How…” She hesitates, checking over her shoulder at her friends. They’re listening, waiting for me to do something stupid again. “What?” she says.

Both the girls lock eyes and start spewing random things about their recent manicures. The guy, who I don’t recognize, pulls out a phone and pretends to scroll through texts, but I can see his screen. It’s blank.

Sally leans in closer to me.

Vanilla and lilac waft over with her. My jaw trembles for a brief second before I clench it tight. Keep it together.

“How’s your mom?” she whispers.

My stomach drops. No chance of keeping anything together today. I should have guessed that Sally knew. Her dad probably asked sometime last night. Do you know this really odd kid named Sam? His mom is dying in my hospital.

The thought makes my chest hurt. I never like admitting it to myself. There’s always that chance…

“Better,” I say because I need to say something. “She’s doing better.”

“Well, my dad says she looks healthy,” she says.

She’s a terrible liar.

“Thanks,” I say. “What classes do you–”

“Sam Adams, please come to the principal’s office. Again, Sam Adams to Mr. Gunsler’s office.”

I sigh. What now?

Grabbing my bag, I flash Sally a sheepish smile. “Thanks for asking,” I say.

She nods and turns back to her friends. As I walk away, she says, in a horrible whisper, “He’s not weird. Okay, not
that
weird.”

I stop in front of the home room teacher. “Ms. Perkins, I’m heading to–”

“I heard. I have you marked down here, don’t worry. Good to see you again,” she says.

“You too,” I say out of courtesy. She’s a nice woman, but a bad teacher.

I turn a corner and hurry down a flight of stairs, skipping every other step. The staircase opens up into a wide crossroads at the bottom. Straight ahead leads to the library. Left to the gym, right to the cafeteria, and a sharp U-turn will take me into the prying eyes of Lance Gunsler.

A small crowd gathers at the bottom of the stairs. Only two students deep and six wide, but I walk over to the edge and look down overtop a group of kids.

A freshman lies on the ground, a small streak of blood on his lip. His bag is inside out next to him, the contents strewn across the floor. A tear hangs in his red eyes, but it doesn’t fall. For how small he is, the kid holds himself together.

Next to him, a tall, butch kid digs through an Avengers lunch box. He pulls out a sandwich bag and sniffs. “PB and J. Not a bad choice, but peanut butter gives me the shits.” He throws the bag onto the ground and steps on it. “Oh, and what do we have here?” A small slip of paper.

The tear finally drops. The freshman jumps to his feet and tries to grab the note. A second bully reaches forward and grabs him.

“Dear Jakie–”

“Cliff…what are you doing?” I say.

He looks up from the note. His eyes meet mine, glowing with amusement. He ignores me and goes back to the note. “I hope you–”

The freshman, in his most desperate attempt to stop Cliff from reading, spits in a small but powerful arch. It lands midway down Cliff’s thigh.

Cliff swats at it with the note. He tries soaking it up with the paper but only spreads it more. “You little shit,” he says, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t’a done that.” He rolls his neck once in both directions before cocking his arm back.

A similar scenario flashes in my memories. Before I hit puberty and grew fourteen inches, too many kids preyed on me. Shorter than them, thinner, and quieter. I had to be a freak, according to them. The thought makes me angry.

I push through the students blocking my path and reach out. My hand darts in front of the freshman’s face, and I wrap my fingers around Cliff’s hand. “I asked you a question, Clarence.” I have no idea where the courage to say those words comes from, but I regret it right away. I’m taller than Cliff, but he plays sports, and I sit behind a computer screen. I have no chance at winning this fight.

He pulls his hand back, but I don’t let go. In a fit, he tugs harder, so when I release his hand, he crashes into a set of lockers.

The students surrounding us laugh. That sets him over the edge.

Cliff pushes himself off the locker and sprints at me. He keeps his head down and his back bent. He’s going to tackle me, that much is clear.

Running away only means he’ll catch me. But I can’t step aside to dodge him or else he’s going to crush the freshman who, for whatever reason, hasn’t gotten up and left yet.

I fall back on what I’ve seen done in countless movies. I lean in, set my shoulders forward, and slam into him. It doesn’t end up in a standoff like I hope, but I don’t fall over, either. Holding my arms out, I keep Cliff at bay. His arms swing like a windmill for a few seconds before he realizes what’s happening.

Embarrassment fuels his rage. His feet kick back, ready to charge again in a dramatic fashion. He takes two steps when a man, taller than me, steps between us. Cliff staggers to a halt right before crashing into his football coach.

“Get to class, Cliff. You’re acting like an idiot. And the rest of you, run along. You’re all late anyway.”

While the others leave, laughing at Cliff or me or the freshman, I turn to the kid who is still on his back. I offer a hand and his small, shaking fingers grab it.

“You okay?” I say.

He shakes his head, but says, “I’m okay.”

I pick up his squished sandwich and toss it in the lunch box with his note. There’s no way he’s going to eat that lunch, so I throw a couple one dollar bills from my wallet inside. “Get the pizza at lunch, that’ll be enough,” I say.