“Call 911!” I screamed at someone, my lungs on fire.
I was sprinting, realizing too late that I was still wearing this terrible backpack, deadweight dragging me down, and yet, for some reason, it didn’t occur to me to drop it, to throw it aside. The asphalt was slick underfoot, some parts of the road flooded, and I barreled through the shallow rivers, not even feeling the icy water penetrate my skin. My heart thundered in my chest as I approached the wreckage, my emotions spiraling dangerously. I was only vaguely aware of myself, only vaguely aware that I might be overreacting, that perhaps I was the wrong person for this job, that perhaps there was an adult or a doctor around who could do better, be better, but somehow I couldn’t stop, didn’t know how.
One of the cars was discernibly worse off than the other and I headed there first, yanking on the damaged driver’s side door until it opened with a miraculous groan. Inside, the driver was unconscious, her head bowed just above the steering wheel, a single line of blood trickling down her face.
Please, God, I thought. Please, please.
I reached around her, registering dimly that the airbags had not deployed, and tried to unbuckle her seat belt. It wouldn’t unlatch. I yanked at it desperately, tried to rip the thing out from its base, but it wouldn’t yield.
I heard the distant sound of sirens.
I yanked again at the seat belt, and this time, the girl stirred. She lifted her head with pronounced slowness, bleary eyes blinking open. She was maybe my age, just a kid, another kid, just a kid.
“Are you okay?” The scream of my voice startled me. “Are you all right?”
She frowned, looked around, realization dawning by painful degrees. I watched as her confusion gave way to understanding, understanding quickly giving way to a fear so profound it sent renewed horror through my body.
“Are you okay?” I said again, still hysterical. “Can you feel your legs? Do you know your name?”
“Oh my God,” she said, and clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh my God, oh my God, ohmygodohmygod ohmygod—”
“What is it? What’s wrong? The ambulance is almost here, someone called 911, don’t—”
“My parents,” she said, dropping her hands. Her face had paled. Her body had begun to tremble. “I just got my license. I’m not on the insurance yet. My parents are going to kill me, oh my God.”
Something broke in me then, broke me down. I began shaking uncontrollably, my bones like dice in a closed fist. I sagged to the ground, knees digging into the wet, gritty asphalt. “Your parents,” I said, gasping the words, “will be h-happy. So happy you’re a-alive.”
Thirteen
I heard shouting, deafening sirens, heavy, running footfalls. I dragged myself out of the way, staggered upright, headed for the sidewalk. I’d neither seen anything useful nor had I done anything of value; I did not need to leave behind my residue on the wreckage.
Besides, I hated talking to the police.
I made it to the sidewalk and stared at my feet, my heart beating erratically in my chest. I’d been fighting tears all day, all week, all year; it was exhausting. I often promised myself I’d cry them free when I got home, that I’d find a safe place to experience my anguish in full, and yet, I seldom did. It was not an exciting extracurricular activity, not the sort of thing most kids looked forward to upon arriving home from school. So I held them in. They remained here, unshed and overfilling my chest, pressing painfully against my sternum. Always threatening.
I looked up at the gray sky, watched a bird until I was thinking of birds, thought of birds until I was thinking of flight, thought of flight until I saw a plane, watched the plane until it soared away, left me behind.
Changed the subject.
A gale of wind tore past me and I stumbled, heard the trees shudder in the distance. The clouds were fattening, the birds were feverish. I didn’t feel at all like myself but I was at least upright, nearly walking, so I figured I should continue on in this vein, trudge home, try to make it back before the rain knocked me sideways.
I’d only managed a few feet before I heard someone call my name.
Shout it, scream it.
I turned around, slightly stunned, and saw Ali standing not fifty feet away, planted in the middle of the sidewalk. His appearance alone was surprising enough, but what I couldn’t understand was his face. Even from here, I could tell he was livid.
Fight or flight? Fight or flight?
I made no decision and instead waited for him to stalk over to me, his anger appearing to grow exponentially with every footfall. He wasn’t quite ten feet away when he started yelling again, gesticulating at nothing when he said, “What the hell were you doing? What were you thinking?”
I frowned. I opened my mouth to protest my confusion but he was nearly upon me now, a footstep or two away from walking straight through me, and I wondered whether he would stop.
“Why would you run into the middle of a car accident?” he shouted. “You’re not a paramedic. You’re not trained for that. This isn’t some kind of—” He stopped short suddenly, his words dying in his mouth.
“Jesus. I’m sorry. Don’t cry. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, seemed agitated to an unnecessary degree. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
I hadn’t realized I was crying. Horrified, I turned around, walked
