let us walk you back here. Has this ever hap—”
“Yes,” I said.
“Are you taking any medi—”
“Supposed to be.”
“When was the last time you—”
“Yesterday.” She had taken off my sneakers. I sat up and put them back on.
“Hold on a second there,” the woman said. “The ambulance is on its way.”
“I don’t need an ambulance.”
“Jay,” Nicole said.
“My father’s insurance doesn’t cover ambulance rides.”
“That’s no reason not to get medical attention,” Nicole said.
“It is for me.” I was done pretending, acting as if I belonged here at a
riding
stable, of all the ridiculous places, one that catered to a bunch of spoiled rich kids.
“Let me call your mother, then,” the woman who ran the concession said. “Just lie back there and breathe until she gets here.”
“My name is Jay Nazzaro. I’m at Huntington Stables. Today is Friday, October twenty-second. I’m alert and oriented with no signs of physical trauma or amnesia. I was eating fries, and I had a seizure. I know the drill, okay? By law you have to let me go.” I left.
Nicole followed. “Can I at least take you to the hospital? My father’ll pay, Jay.”
“No way. Can you pop the hatchback?” We were at her Subaru, or her
maid’s.
“You’re not seriously thinking of skateboarding?”
“Could you just open the door, please?” I clicked the autolock dangling from her bandaged finger. The hatchback popped. I grabbed my backpack, dropped my board and kicked off on legs that would have been a lot wobblier if I weren’t so mad at myself, at Nicole, for bringing me down here, into her pain, looking for a shoulder to cry on. Like I didn’t have enough hassle in my life without pulling hers into it. She tried to follow me, but I rode into the shoulder of oncoming traffic and lost her in the side streets. My phone rang. I turned it off. I went to Barnes & Noble but was too mad to read. I wandered the mall, hitting the electronics spots, first Radio Shack, Best Buy, moving my way up to the Apple Store, coveting things I’d never be able to afford.
From Nicole’s journal:
Fri, 22 Oct—
I lost his friendship before I ever had it.
Mom’s pissed I went riding, says she’s thinking about not letting me leave the house until Nye clears me for “public interaction.” Exact opposite of what Dr. Schmidt said, that I should be getting out there, getting back to normal, getting my life back.
David left me six apology messages today, extremely annoying, probably as annoying as the six I left Jay tonight. That forced look in David’s eyes. I can’t bear it again. Staring too hard at me, pretending he doesn’t see the bandage when all he’s thinking about is what’s underneath it. I should show him. How would he look at me then? He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to.
Emma’s still sick.
Xanax time, two bullets tonight, with Mom’s blessing.
I hate myself.
My father was out when I got home, no message as to his whereabouts. He had probably covered an opening and was grabbing a late dinner with the gallery owners at some fancy place on their dime.
I forced myself to take my meds. I had grabbed a can of soup on my way home and a loaf advertised as “Health Bread” that was suspiciously spongy. After I got that stuff into me, I took a hot shower. I was still mad. I’d spent an hour with Nicole the day before, walking her home. I’d spent two hours with her this afternoon. In those three hours, she was happy to tell me her problems, but she hadn’t asked me much about mine. Did it occur to her I might be as messed up as she was? Then again, I still had my face.
To torture myself, I logged into my YouTube channel, searched “epileptic seizure in public.” Sure enough, somebody had clipped me at the stables. There I was, flailing in the dust. Just like before, most of the kids watching me seize were at least concerned, but others were out there with their phones. One girl was snickering. I
“Yes,” I said.
“Are you taking any medi—”
“Supposed to be.”
“When was the last time you—”
“Yesterday.” She had taken off my sneakers. I sat up and put them back on.
“Hold on a second there,” the woman said. “The ambulance is on its way.”
“I don’t need an ambulance.”
“Jay,” Nicole said.
“My father’s insurance doesn’t cover ambulance rides.”
“That’s no reason not to get medical attention,” Nicole said.
“It is for me.” I was done pretending, acting as if I belonged here at a
riding
stable, of all the ridiculous places, one that catered to a bunch of spoiled rich kids.
“Let me call your mother, then,” the woman who ran the concession said. “Just lie back there and breathe until she gets here.”
“My name is Jay Nazzaro. I’m at Huntington Stables. Today is Friday, October twenty-second. I’m alert and oriented with no signs of physical trauma or amnesia. I was eating fries, and I had a seizure. I know the drill, okay? By law you have to let me go.” I left.
Nicole followed. “Can I at least take you to the hospital? My father’ll pay, Jay.”
“No way. Can you pop the hatchback?” We were at her Subaru, or her
maid’s.
“You’re not seriously thinking of skateboarding?”
“Could you just open the door, please?” I clicked the autolock dangling from her bandaged finger. The hatchback popped. I grabbed my backpack, dropped my board and kicked off on legs that would have been a lot wobblier if I weren’t so mad at myself, at Nicole, for bringing me down here, into her pain, looking for a shoulder to cry on. Like I didn’t have enough hassle in my life without pulling hers into it. She tried to follow me, but I rode into the shoulder of oncoming traffic and lost her in the side streets. My phone rang. I turned it off. I went to Barnes & Noble but was too mad to read. I wandered the mall, hitting the electronics spots, first Radio Shack, Best Buy, moving my way up to the Apple Store, coveting things I’d never be able to afford.
From Nicole’s journal:
Fri, 22 Oct—
I lost his friendship before I ever had it.
Mom’s pissed I went riding, says she’s thinking about not letting me leave the house until Nye clears me for “public interaction.” Exact opposite of what Dr. Schmidt said, that I should be getting out there, getting back to normal, getting my life back.
David left me six apology messages today, extremely annoying, probably as annoying as the six I left Jay tonight. That forced look in David’s eyes. I can’t bear it again. Staring too hard at me, pretending he doesn’t see the bandage when all he’s thinking about is what’s underneath it. I should show him. How would he look at me then? He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to.
Emma’s still sick.
Xanax time, two bullets tonight, with Mom’s blessing.
I hate myself.
My father was out when I got home, no message as to his whereabouts. He had probably covered an opening and was grabbing a late dinner with the gallery owners at some fancy place on their dime.
I forced myself to take my meds. I had grabbed a can of soup on my way home and a loaf advertised as “Health Bread” that was suspiciously spongy. After I got that stuff into me, I took a hot shower. I was still mad. I’d spent an hour with Nicole the day before, walking her home. I’d spent two hours with her this afternoon. In those three hours, she was happy to tell me her problems, but she hadn’t asked me much about mine. Did it occur to her I might be as messed up as she was? Then again, I still had my face.
To torture myself, I logged into my YouTube channel, searched “epileptic seizure in public.” Sure enough, somebody had clipped me at the stables. There I was, flailing in the dust. Just like before, most of the kids watching me seize were at least concerned, but others were out there with their phones. One girl was snickering. I
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