I am Clara

I Get to Skip Leg Day

"Could you walk any slower?" Andrews complained, head sticking out of his open car window, as I wobbled towards his ugly red truck. "My ninety-three years old great grandmother is faster than you."

      Despite my legs remaining an enormous pain from yesterday's injection, I forced myself out of bed, deciding to go to school for the mere reason of pleasing Andrews. I also wished to avoid to inevitable complaints he'd voice because of my absence. It seemed he was going to complain either way. I should have let him alone to suffer the misery that was a Monday at East Bridge High.

      I threw my bag in the back seat and flipped him off. "You're lucky I'm here, I was going to ditch you."

      "But you couldn't bare it, you missed me too much."

      I snorted. "I most definitely didn't come to hear you complain."

      Andrews cocked a brow. I knew that look. It was a hypocritical Really?

      "I complain just the right amount considering my life," I defended.

      "Considering your life?" He smirked in anticipation.

      I nodded.

      "Enlighten me. What is so bad about your life?" he laughed. "That is of course ignoring the fact that your father abandoned you at twelve years old, that your mother would rather spend half a day praying than ask about your day at school, that you have little friends, and have very poor social skills."

      I narrowed my eyes, lips still quirked upwards. I could always count on him to boost my ego.

      "You missed my having of a very annoying and self-centered best-friend, the one and a half size difference in my feet, making it very difficult to buy shoes, the old-woman harassing me and the barely sleeping. Also, just last night, I wasted three hours at the hospital, only to be told that I'm perfectly healthy, still felt like shit, and went back home to find a bat in my room."

      Andrews eyes widened. "A bat?"

     "Yes, and not the stick kind. The wing flapping kind."

      "What was a bat doing in your room?"

      "I have no clue. Maybe I should have asked it."

      Andrews rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his dry lips. "How'd it get there?"

      "I may have left my window open." A window on which I assumed I'd find a brand-new lock, when I returned home.

      "Why, would you do that? You hate bugs and fresh air."

      "I thought I'd enjoy a nice dive into my rose bush."

      He smiled, then turned towards me with a frown, as if to make sure he heard me correctly. He obviously wasn't expecting that answer, nor its sincerity.

      "Do I even want to know?"

     "You definitely do not."

      My dysfunctional legs didn't pose a problem until PE. I wasn't interested in exercising in front of my peers on a regular day. Today's predicament certainly didn't serve to improve my enthusiasm. Of course, it had to be track and field day.

      "I'm not feeling up to this running thing," I told coach Brewer.

      Hands on his round hips, action raising his already too short white shorts, he eyed me sceptically. "What is it this time?"

      "Cramps?" I blurted. Well... that sure sounded convincing.

      Mr. Brewer rolled his eyes. "This is the eight time you've used that excuse. You only get those once a month. Get changed."

      With a huff of defeat, I did as he said. I really needed to find myself a new gym class escape excuse.

       With great effort, taking an eternity to change, I made it to the track. Andrews by my side, we attempted to run among our fellow classmates. Every few steps Andrews had to steady me, firm hands on my hip the only thing keeping me vertical. It took everything in me to force one foot in front of the other at a regular pace. It was taking so much effort and focus to simply get my legs to move, that my actions were dreadfully clumsy. I was focused on moving forward, not how I looked moving forward. I was not a pretty sight.

      "Molino!" Coach shouted as I hobbled passed him, barely having finished a lap.

      I gladly took a pause. Aggressively pushing his glasses off his face, he gestured that I come see him.

      "What the hell was that?" he demanded, looking nervously at the visiting parents across the field. I'd recognize those stilettos anywhere. The Ewings were here, probably ensuring that the baseball field they paid for was well maintained. And I was embarrassing Mr. Brewer. I was making him look bad. What a shame.

      "You look like Bambi got shot in the leg!"

      "I told you I wasn't feeling up to it."

       "Just get off my tracks!" he spat, still eyeing the Ewings across the field.

      I didn't have to be told twice, the moment the words left his mouth, I was gone. It took me a while to actually be gone, but eventually I made it to the stands. This I could enjoy.

       Andrews, who enjoyed running as much as I did, gaped at me with envy. He broke into a goofy run, trying to get kicked off the tracks too. He was taking large, crooked steps and flailing his arms above and behind his head. Watching him, I prayed I hadn't looked as stupid.

       "Knock it off, Andrews!" Brewer shouted.

       I watched the two argue and tried not to laugh as Andrews' attempt to join me was futile. The argument didn't last long. I smirked. Andrews flipped me off every time he passed my seating area. Luckily it was last period, or I'd have had to listen to him complain about it all day.

      While I wished Andrews would have spoken less that day, I could say the opposite for my mother. She barely spoke to me that night. She was avoiding me, as if I was creeping her out. It seemed she had come to the conclusion that the doctor was in fact competent, and I was the abnormal one.

      I didn't even have time to avoid the injection, that night. It lodged itself into my wrist the moment I entered my room. I swallowed my cry of surprise to avoid increasing my mother's suspicion. My day just keep getting better. At least Mimpi didn't bother showing up. Whether she was busy, or punishing me for being stupid, I couldn't care less. I was thrilled with her absence. I'd jump in a hundred other rose bushes if it meant her absence. I stared at my wrist, waiting for the pain... it never came. Maybe it was a mistake.

      I was wrong. Very wrong. It was 2am when I thought someone shoved my hand in a fire pit. I jumped out of bed, waving my hand around, as I groaned in pain. I ran towards my door, prepared to fetch ice or cold water, anything to relieve the burning sensation.

      "Shit," I muttered under my breath.

       I wasn't allowed out of my room at this time. Mom would find out. I shut my door. Nothing cooling in my room, I forced myself back to bed. I laid on my stomach and bit into my pillow to refrain from screaming at the blisters appearing on my hand.