At seventeen, I thought I was invincible.
There were no surprises. Our soccer team would win state. My little brother would get straight A's - again. Dad would get drunk off the deep end and gain another degree of reputation.
It wasn't perfect. And sometimes, West and I had to make something out of nothing when we needed something but couldn't ask. But we knew we would make it.
It's sad that when my little brother landed on the wrong end of a fight during fourth period on Wednesday, the teacher knew not to call his parents. She knew to call me.
It's sad that when I got there, West was still manually clotting the blood flowing from his nose, pushing away a school nurse.
It's sad how vulnerable invincible really is.
I barreled into the room, fear and fury mixing in my chest. The nurse was trying to hand him another tissue. He looked at her in disgust.
"West." I knelt down in front of him, grabbing the tissue and holding it up to his nose, giving it the effective pressure that he wasn't. He didn't push me away, but maintained his glare. Returning the look to my headstrong little brother, I turned to the nurse. "What happened? The teacher didn't tell me anything on the phone -"
West huffed, shifting on the chair in the office. "I'm fine. They overreacted."
The wrinkled blonde nurse raised her eyebrows. "The other boy would've probably fractured his nose if a teacher hadn't intervened."
"What?" The hand on West's shoulder tightened. "West, what happened?"
He averted my eyes. I could see the red blotches. His jaw had been hit so hard that it actually split the skin. His eye was going to be a pretty shade of purple soon. He was short for his age, with lanky limbs that hadn't filled out yet. Easy to pick on. Easy to bully. The heat of rage spread in my chest.
"I said, I'm fine." He pried my hand from his nose and put pressure on it himself again.
So, basically: I don't want to talk about it right now.
I turned a winning smile on the nurse. "Hey, could you give us a minute? I've got this covered. Promise."
She looked a little skeptical, but her blue eyes softened and she nodded. "Alright. Make sure you sign him out before you take him home."
"Thank you."
She closed the door behind her, leaving us alone in the small office containing a cot, sink, and drawers that were probably full of first aid kit supplies and chapstick. Some of the tension went out of his body, and I reached over and took the tissue from him again, throwing it into the trash next to me. The bleeding had stopped.
He still didn't meet my eyes. "Thanks."
I stayed crouched in front of him, leaning forward on my toes. The zipper of my hoodie clanked on the edge of the bed. "What's his name, West?"
I tried to keep the fury out of my voice. I tried to sound nonchalant, but my kid brother knew me too well. He looked up quickly, a flash of fear flicking through his piercing blue eyes, almost too fast to catch. "No, Ben. I can handle this."
"You can handle it? Yeah. Obviously you handled it really well." My voice raised almost involuntarily.
"Just because they called you this time doesn't mean -"
I stood. "This time? How many times has this happened?"
He dropped his head. Hands in pockets. Hair in eyes.
