Chapter 9: Thunder and Grit

On Friday, during gym, the homeroom teacher actually let us have some free time to relax. But halfway through, a sudden downpour started. The rain was fierce and relentless.

Thunder boomed. We were all scattered across the field, shrieking as the rain came down in sheets. My hair plastered to my face in seconds.

Everyone rushed to the entrance of the school building to escape the rain.

They sprinted past me, shoving and laughing, fighting for space under the awning. I lagged behind, my gym shoes squelching in the mud.

But I hadn't even left the field when my knee suddenly gave out, and I fell hard.

It happened so fast—I barely felt the grass under my hands before the pain shot up my leg.

When the bone slipped back into place, the pain was excruciating.

Lightning flared overhead. I gasped, clutching my knee. It hurt so badly I thought I’d throw up.

I lay on my side on the rubber track, hurting so much I couldn't sit up.

The rain beat down, soaking my t-shirt, my shorts, even my socks. I shivered, unable to move, hoping someone would notice.

Until two pairs of legs stopped beside me.

I saw sneakers—one black, one white, both splattered with mud. I squinted up, rain blurring my vision.

Instinctively, I grabbed one of the pant legs.

I didn’t care whose it was. I just needed help, and I was desperate.

When I opened my mouth to speak, rainwater rushed in, choking me.

I coughed, spitting out muddy water. My voice came out in a croak.

"I can't get up... Can you help me?"

I waited, staring at the shoes. My heart hammered in my chest, hope flickering.

The owner of the pant leg paused.

He didn’t move. The silence stretched. I looked up and recognized Jason by the frayed hem of his jeans.

A few seconds later, he pulled his leg away from my grasp.

He stepped back, shaking my hand off like I was nothing.

"No."

His voice was flat, almost bored. My heart sank.

It was Jason's voice.

There was no kindness in it, no hint of the boy I’d once liked.

Madison, who was next to him, laughed. "Told you not to lose weight. Now you can't even run properly and fell, see?"

Her voice was sing-song, but I could hear the cruelty underneath. She snuggled closer to Jason, as if I was some kind of warning.

Jason held an umbrella, shielding Madison in his arms. Only the toes of their shoes got a little wet.

They looked like a picture-perfect couple, untouched by the chaos all around them. I was just background noise.

It made me, soaked to the skin, look even more pitiful.

I shivered on the ground, feeling smaller than ever. My wet clothes clung to me, accentuating every roll, every flaw.

Jason's face was completely calm, without a trace of emotion. He walked right past me without even glancing down. His cold voice was lost in the rain.

I stared after him, hoping he’d turn around. He never did.

"I can't help you."

He might as well have said, "I don't see you."

Even though I could have drunk the rainwater pouring into my mouth, my throat was still unbearably dry. So dry that I couldn't call for help again. I could only struggle to prop myself up.

But as the thunder rolled, I promised myself—I’d never reach out for Jason’s help again.

The pain was blinding, but I pressed my palms into the track and tried to sit. Each breath came out ragged, raw.

Faintly, I heard people talking about me at the entrance to the school building.

Their voices drifted over, carried by the storm. I caught bits and pieces—just enough to know they were talking about me.

"She doesn't look like she's faking. She really can't get up. Should we help her?"

"If you want to be a hero, go ahead."

"Who the hell said I like fat chicks?"

The words stung, even though they were meant for someone else. I clenched my jaw, refusing to cry.

After about seven or eight minutes, I finally managed to sit up. But I still couldn't stand. I could only sit quietly in the rain.

The world blurred around me. My fingers ached from gripping the track. I focused on anything except the pain—the pattern of the clouds, the feeling of cold water pooling in my shoes.

I tried to distract myself by thinking about what delicious food Grandma Carol would make for dinner. Otherwise, the pain in my knee and the stares would have driven me mad.

I pictured her apple cobbler, the cinnamon-sugar crust. It helped, a little.