Seeing Shane Gray ✓

six | broken

*.*.*.*.*.*

September 13

Ever since we're born, we're told that good wins and evil perishes. We're told that goodness conquers all, and it's always people who care about everyone that get a happy ending. All Disney princesses are good girls and the princes they have their happy endings are good guys. The bad guys, whether it be Jaffar or the evil witch that poisoned Snow White, lose and end up miserable.

In real life, though, I see the exact opposite.

Sitting in the cafeteria, I see evil on a table across from mine, sitting with friends and laughing. All while goodness lies in a hospital bed with a fractured leg.

Sweet sweet reality.

People call it fate but I call it bullshit. Shane Gray wasn't fated to get injured. He was there covering for Carlos who showed up late and nursing a terrible hangover. Instead of kicking him off the team for being such a negligent party-animal, the coach decided to send Shane in his place. Being the backup quarterback didn't play out in his favor.

I may not know a lot about football but it doesn't take me too long to hear from everyone what happened. The football critics have their complex theories where they analyze each move. They even provide a three-page essay to the college magazine which gets rejected by the publisher. In human language, though, I learn that someone from the other team launched at Shane to grab the ball before he hit touchdown. Although Shane was wearing his shoulder pads and knee pads, his ankle wasn't lucky enough. So when the big guy's shoe landed on Shane's leg and sent him diving on the ground, his wail of pain echoing in the stadium.

Four days -- apart from Saturday and Sunday -- Shane doesn't come to school. Everyone talks about him, telling his team to wish him luck and convey their wishes. Girls have to apply their makeup several times after randomly shedding tears that Shane has gotten hurt. I won't be surprised to hear prayers from the Church.

High school students are hella dramatic.

On Friday, though, he's back in school, his leg in a white cast and plastered so that he limps through the hallway while somehow still remaining in the spotlight. Contrary to everyone's expectations, though, Shane's neither in a wheelchair nor has crutches, leaning his weight as little as he possibly can on his bad ankle which probably hurts like a bitch.

I can't help but wonder, am I the only one who notices?

His cheeks redden with each step he takes, an unnoticeable wince flashing across his face. His smile never falters, though, barely reaching his eyes, but always there. Even when I'm sure he wants to curse people out of his way, he smiles and nods, thanking them for their wishes.

As for me, I sit in my seat and watch him limp into the cafeteria surrounded by a bunch of admirers, wondering why he doesn't have his crutches with him. He chuckles at their jokes, nods when he needs to, smiles nonstop, and answers their questions about the game. Hoisting his plastered leg on an empty chair, he sits there for an hour as people came and go. His friends take their classes and admirers sign his cast with multicolored pens. It's exhausting to watch and I don't know why I'm the one getting tired. He's probably enjoying the attention.

"Why didn't he stay home?" Marla asks at last, and I look at her to realize she's also watching Shane like I am.

I shrug. "Maybe he didn't want to miss his classes," Riley guesses.

"Maybe he's not used to being without his friends," Racheal suggests.

"Maybe he's not hurt that bad," Marla answers her own question.

"Or maybe he is but he doesn't want people to know."

My friends look at me and I sigh, hating how they always link everything to whatever they think is going on in my head. It's not always about Carter and I hate when people start thinking it is. I'm not only the sister of the boy who killed himself. I'm also Taylor.