Team Spirit

31. Sam Tells the Truth

31. Sam Tells the Truth

Mr. Plasky sits next to me in the hospital waiting room, not waiting on doctors, just on Pete to show up. I expected the cast on my arm. We both did. If I'm honest, I knew it yesterday but waiting at least gave me a better excuse than oh, yeah, I just slipped in the shower.

I expected the cast. I didn't expect the prescription. Anti-anxiety, the box reads. Mr. Plasky must not have expected it either, at least not until I couldn't breathe in the car and made him pull over so I could throw up in the gutter.

I fumble around for my phone, checking for the millionth time if Pete's texted back. Or if Leo has. There's only endless furious messages from Lars, threatening to murder people on my behalf.

I don't want that, though. I just want to get on with being the local gay kid if that's who I've got to be now.

I hear Pete before I see him.

"Sam Sanders? Showed up maybe an hour ago?" Pete leans into the nurse's station, drumming his fingers over the desk top. I pop up, quicker than I mean to be. Clingier than I mean to be as I nearly knock him across the skull with my cast. 

His eyes go wide, finding my hair before my plastered arm. It stops short of my elbow. I can still bend my arm. 

"What happened to you? Lose a bet?" Pete asks.

I laugh, not really because it's funny but 'cause there's nothing else to do about it.

Pete sorts out paperwork and information with the hospital for me, him being the adult with the same last name. He talks to Mr. Plasky and tries to convince him that it's okay to leave me in my brother's care.

Then, that's it, and Pete leads me out to his old black Mercedes.

My heart rate pops up again as I climb in, even as I clutch the package of new anti-anxiety pills. Pete moves as easily and casually as he always has, like this is just my bronc-riding injury all over again. There's nothing odd about it.

He closes his door with a heavy sigh.

"Say something already, would you? I can't take this," I say.

The car lurches out of its parking spot, pretty typical of Pete's driving style. How is everything so normal? My whole universe feels upside down and backwards and Pete's driving like he always does: too fast and too jerky.

"You're the one with the broken wrist and pink hair! You talk to me," Pete replies, "I figure you called me instead of Mom or Dad for a reason."

It really is that obvious.

"I thought they might just leave me in Drumheller." I shrug.

"They wouldn't leave you in Drumheller," Pete insists.

"I joined volleyball just so I could see my boyfriend," I say, "they might've left me here."

For a long minute, Pete says nothing and I press myself into the seat like I might be able to just melt into it.

"Huh."

That's all he has to say about it?

"Well, Crystal's coming over for dinner tonight, so at least you'll get this whole hair thing over all at once."

I groan. He's right, though. Better to make the grand reveal to everybody instead of Mom calling Crystal to break it to her.

"I can't wait to see her face."

That's not the kind of support I want, but it's better than nothing.

*****