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Ned stared at the prompt for a moment. “Well, yeah,” he said aloud. Sound and light and feeling returned and there was something important he had to do. Thank God.
He’d seen every bit of the tire. It eclipsed everything as it rolled at him and he knew that terrible weight was inescapable. He would die. He would never see Farah and the girls again, all because of that silly girl. He’d been so certain.
The undercarriage of the bus was crusted with dried mud and gravel. The asphalt of the school parking lot burned him where it met his skin and it all stank of exhaust and gasoline. At fifty-five, Ned Cartwright wasn’t as nimble as he used to be, but he managed to roll out from under the school bus and get onto his knees. Then there were hands on him, helping him up.
“Are you alright, Mr. Cartwright?”
But where was the girl?
Kids surrounded him. The mass of pimpled hormones had been making their way to their cars, their parents’ cars, or the buses before Mariana Plimpton, bopping to her tunes as usual with those humongous trendy cat-eared headphones of hers, stepped in front of number forty-five.
Ned dove at her, knocking her away, winding up under the bus himself.
Now, he offered a weak smile at the students that helped him up and smacked some tiny bits of gravel from his hands. He tottered a little and almost overbalanced, but the kids had him and held him up.
He heard crying.
The students moved out of the way and there, safe and sound, was Mariana Plimpton, standing in the grass. Her hands were white-knuckled into fists under her chin, her face dripping tears. Her expression was horrified, and the whole of her attention was fixed to her right.
Ned saw that she didn’t appear to have a scratch on her and guessed he must’ve gotten her clear. Good, he thought, now I can be mad at her.
He started forward, his face settling into an authoritative scowl.
Mariana turned toward him and her knees buckled in relief. She caught herself though and pointed off where she’d been looking. Where lots of other kids were now looking.
There, a boy lay, his head resting on the curb of the sidewalk that ringed the front of the school building like the moat of a castle. There was a spreading pool of blood under the boy’s leg where a sharp length of femur jutted from his jeans. His eyes were closed and his breaths came in great hitching heaves.
Ned undid the knot of his tie and pulled it free. Shawn Jones stood next to him gawking and useless. Ned snapped at him. “Your shirt. Right now.”
Shawn obliged. He was an athlete. A lean, handsome kid. The t-shirt was old. Pink Floyd. Probably his father’s. Ned wrapped it around the boy’s leg above the break and tied it in place with his tie. He tossed his keys at Shawn. “You know my car?”
Shawn shook his head.
“I do, Mr. C!” That was the O’Malley kid. Pain in the ass, he’d heard. Drove all his teachers crazy with his rambunctious energy, though they also said he was kind-hearted. A squirrel in frayed cargo shorts. Ned could never remember the boy’s first name. Ned didn’t teach ninth grade.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Well, go get it,” he told O’Malley.
“I’m thirteen!” said O’Malley.
Shawn grabbed him. “You show me,” he said. “I’ll get it, Mr. C.” And then the two of them were off.
“I need a stick! A branch!” Ned yelled.
Somebody handed him a drumstick and Ned tucked the pale length of wood through his makeshift bandage and gave it a couple of turns, tightening the tourniquet.
“I knocked him d-down.” Mariana stood above him, talking to him through her sobs. “You p-pushed me,” she said. “And I knock— knocked him down. He f-fell and he’s bleeding!”
Ned stood up. The car would be coming. “EVERYBODY ON THE SIDEWALK RIGHT NOW!” he roared. Kids began moving. “Stand clear! The car’ll be coming.”
“I called nine-one-one, sir.” This from a student he didn’t know. She had a phone to her ear.
“It’ll be quicker in my car,” said Ned. He pointed at the phone. “Tell them. Do you know this kid?”
The girl shook her head, walked away as she spoke into the phone, a finger in her opposite ear.
The boy bleeding at his feet was gray from blood loss and dark-haired, though that could be from all the blood, eyes screwed shut. He could’ve been Asian or Latinx or Irish for all Ned could tell. He looked old enough to shave but there was no stubble. He wore a solid blue polo shirt and blue jeans. Ned was sure he’d never seen him.
Asking around, nobody else seemed to either. They were upset and staring but no one was panicking. The only one crying was Mariana, though a few were going to start any moment.
The car pulled up and Ned, Shawn, and a couple of football players got the stricken boy into the front seat. Then Ned got in. It was the right leg that had broken and the best they could do was lower the seat so that Ned could more easily reach the tourniquet to keep it tight and in place. The gearshift made all that uncomfortable, but maybe it’d help keep him conscious. The car seat and floorboards were soaked before he made it out into the road.
In the rear view, he saw kids turn Mariana away from the blood, holding on to her as she sobbed. His chest swelled with pride and his eyes burned. They’d done what he said and quickly and now they were taking care of each other.
I work with really great kids, he thought.
The emergency room was ten minutes away. Ned aimed to halve that. The boy, whoever he was, had been hurt on his watch and as a result of Ned’s actions. He managed to save Mariana but only at this young man’s expense. He’d be damned if he let the boy suffer anything worse.
“Sorry.” The voice was faint and thready.
Ned glanced down.
The boy was looking up at him with large eyes. Striking blue ones. He tried to sit up, to look down. Ned didn’t have to try very hard to keep him in place. “I’m really bleeding everywhere, aren’t I?”
“I should apologize to you,” said Ned and managed a smile. When you’re a teacher you learn to smile when it’s needed, however difficult. “I knocked you down with a pretty girl like I was bowling. Sorry, bud. It was either that or watch Mariana get squished.”
“Okay,” said the boy.
“You stay with me, okay? Try and stay awake. Know any good jokes? What’s your name?” The leg was bleeding so much Ned worried about the artery. If it was cut, it wouldn’t be long now. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
The boy was quiet.
Ned looked down.
The boy’s eyes were open but his brows were knit like he was trying to remember something he shouldn’t have been able to forget.
Ned passed two more cars on the right.
The boy took a deep breath. “I think I might have to change my name to Ilene for a while,” he said.
Ned barked a laugh. “You’ve surprised and impressed an English teacher with your grasp of irony, my boy. How’s that grab you?” He passed another car. He caught its driver offering him a single-finger salute.
“I’ve heard that’s hard to do. Impress you.”
“Well, if it was easy, everybody could do it.”
The boy was quiet.
Ned couldn’t look. Fish hooks set into his heart. They began to pull.
The boy was quiet and still.
“Hello?” said Ned. His eyes stung. “There is so much more. So many more jokes.”
The boy was as still and as cold and as quiet as the moon.
Ned blinked away a tear. The steering wheel spun, hands flew to the right and his head was pushed back by a cloud. He was weightless and tilting then falling, spinning. His chin smashed into his sternum for a moment as he was pulled toward the roof of the car. Another cloud erupted from his left as the car came down on the driver’s side. Airbags, he thought. Then there was sound and crushing weight that blotted out everything else as the car rolled again and again.
Ned knew every time he felt it hit would be another hour, another day, another year before he saw his family again. Before he’d be able to open his eyes and see them.
The car flipped again and again.
The world blinked. It dissolved to bright white noise.
And then nothing.