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✧➴TEN

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TEN
woman
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PETER KNEW HIS ankle wasn't sprained, but damn, even after two days, did it still hurt like a bitch.

          He didn't get hurt often. After he quit track to pursue student government, he rarely participated in sporting events that had the potential to injure him. He had too many plans for the future to let a broken limb or pulled muscle get in the way.

          Each step generated a spark of lightning up the length of his calf. To make matters worse, he felt like he was walking molasses. His foot drifted in and out of consciousness and Peter would have to take frequent pauses to pull it out of its slumber. Otherwise, he powered on. The last thing Peter planned to do was appear weak in front of his peers. Weakness was not tolerated in the Washington household, and Peter intended to hold up that truth. He told no one in his family about the injury; there was no need to. He'd be fine by the end of the week.

          If only the school nurse, Miss Feldstein, would think so. She'd insisted he stop by her office before the end of the day to check out ankle again, which he thought was completely arbitrary. What was the need? He'd be back on his feet in no time and one step closer to ensuring Oliver and his merry men didn't fuck with his plans.

          While their quest for Renegade may be completely unrelated, there could be intersections. In the end, he deduced that the best way to go about this was to find Renegade before they did. By doing so, they'd go on with their lives and he could go on with his.

          But, no. He was stuck laying on a cot that might as well have been made of rock with Miss Feldstein poking at his ankle. Goody.

          "Swelling's gone down," she observed, blinking slowly. Each eyelid was coated in a thick layer of bright blue eyeshadow, which wouldn't have been so bad if not paired with firetruck red lip stick and green barrettes in her dyed-orange hair. She was a walking, talking rainbow. "Feeling any pain or discomfort?"

          He shook his head. "Not in the slightest."

          She contemplated this and rose from the stool she'd sat at. Peter stood too, though most of his weight relied on his uninjured foot.

          "Looks like you're almost fully healed. Just stay off of it as much as possible and by the end of this weekend," she slipped off her surgical gloves, pressed her horribly scuffed Newbalance on the trashcan pedal, and dropped them into the open bin, "you should be right as rain."

          "Sounds great," Peter said with false sincerity. " Thank you for your concern for my well-being, Mrs. F. It's health workers like you that aren't nearly as appreciated as they should be."

          Peter near perfected the art of buttering adults up. Teenagers were much too fussy and hormonal to consider using logic and in the long run, they wouldn't matter. It was the authority figures he'd have to impress. They were the ones with power, able to give him opportunity or weasel him out of a tight spot if necessary. He didn't know why he would need Miss Feldstein's help now, but he might eventually and not getting on her good side was not a risk he was willing to take.