A Fair Choice

I finish drying my blades and cover them before shoving my figure skates into my bag. The change room is deserted now because it's taken me this long just to get ready to leave. Minutes before the Ice resurfacing machine took to the ice, I fell on my umpteenth attempt at a triple axel. I've been working on that jump for over a year now, and I still can't get it.

Competitors two years younger than myself can land it, and they even make it look easy, so why can't I do it? My parents are getting frustrated watching my multiple attempts, they don't even come to the rink anymore. As I get up from the bench, I feel this new pulling sensation in my hamstrings. I hobble out of the change room towards the front doors. Beams of sunlight stream through the lobby, I know if I didn't hurry I'm going to be late for school.

My mom's white Avalon is parked by itself at the far end of the parking lot. I curse myself for not foreseeing the possibility of injury and choosing a spot closer to the front doors. I hobble through the parking lot with my skating bag slung over my shoulder, each step is more painful than the last. I reflect bitterly on my skating career and wonder if it is time to pack it in for a more normal life.

My friend Anna has been encouraging me since freshman year of high school to start spending more time with her. She wants to go out, do things, meet more boys. I always give her excuses, hardly able to spare free time for her. Her patience with me is wearing thin, and her dedication to our friendship is sorely being tested frequently. As my butt clumsily hits the car seat, a slight pain sears down my calf, I swear to myself things are going to be different. I never want to set foot in another ice arena for as long as I live. I stare out the windshield to what appears to be a promising day and insert the key into the ignition. The car comes to life and I'm off to school.

I make it to class ambulating in the hallways like a ninety years old arthritic man with just under two minutes to spare. I carefully lower myself onto my assigned chair. Devotion is only ten minutes long, so I know I will have to get up from my chair immediately after making myself comfortable. There's absolutely no reprieve for me today.

The principal comes across the Platform speaker saying, "Will everyone please stand for the playing of National Anthem and our morning prayer?" Using my desk and my chair for support I slowly rise as the static plays with bits of the anthem in the background. The School Board really needs to invest in new equipment. There is a pause and then the principal comes back on to give us his usual lengthy morning prayer. Today the focus is on a cure for Corona.

Michael, a guy who has no idea I exist whispers to me, "Are you okay? You are moving around like you are debilitated or something. What happened to you?" He's, the cutest guy in second year class, I only see him for ten minutes each day and the only time he notices me is when I'm lame. He stands at least six feet tall making him the shortest guy on our school's basketball team. His shaggy dirty blond hair hangs over the most gorgeous set of puppy-dog brown eyes I've ever seen. His facial features look like they are drawn with a ruler, and his beefy body is littered with muscles. He's far from tall and lanky which is what all the other guys look like who are his age and on the basketball team.

Mrs. Bridget our teacher lowers her glasses and glares directly at Michael sending him this nasty look for talking during her attendance. He ignores her just nodding back when his name is called. This buys me a second of time to admire him without the fear of him catching me drooling.

"Skating injury," I whisper back. The loud bell rings signaling for us to proceed to our first period. I ease myself out of my chair and swing my bag over my shoulder not realizing he's watching me. It's too late to disguise my agony.

"You better get that looked at," he comments.

"Thanks," I grimace stepping forward with my sore leg, a sharp pain shoots down into my knee. Taken by surprise, my knee buckles and I almost collapse, but Michael is there, and he catches me. Oh my God! I'm breathless as I find myself in his arms, the most gorgeous guy in the tenth grade. I so can't wait to tell Anna. He helps me up and lets me lean on him for support. I coach myself to breath, as I immediately try to regain my composure, "You shouldn't be walking on it if you are in that much pain," he wisely comments.

I try massaging my leg, "It wasn't this bad before." "Can I help you go anywhere?"

"Uh, sure, I have my mother's car," I stammer.

"Will you be able to drive?" He asks, his cute face contorting.

"Sure, I think once I get in the car I'll be fine." That's all the encouragement he seems to need. He takes my bag and places it over his shoulder and then hoists me up into his arms. Suddenly my day is getting a whole lot better. I wrap my arms around his neck touching his soft hair in the process and then I sniff quietly trying to pick up the subtle scent of his perfume. He looks at me startled, "Did you just smell me?"

Embarrassed at being caught, I turn red with mortification and start chuckling. Clearly amused, our eyes lock and I feel a flash of nervousness. For a second it is like in the movies just before the guy kisses the girl, he looks at her lips and then into her eyes before looking back down at her lips again. I swear if we would have been anywhere but here, in the corridor of the school he probably would have kissed me. The mood is instantaneously lost as friends start bumping into us with curious expressions on their faces. Everyone parts ways for us as he continues carrying me. If not for the pain searing down my leg, the ride in his arms would have been way more enjoyable.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," he insists, "in my car."

"You'll miss school," I argue.

"All the more reason," he beams. He carries me to his new looking black Mercedes that is parked only a couple of cars away from mine. He carefully lowers me down onto the ground, so he can get his keys from his pocket.

"I'll drop you off at the emergency department," he suggests.

"The emergency department? You think it's that serious?" I question.

"You can't walk," he points out.

"It's going to take hours," I complain.

He shrugs, "I can afford to miss a day of school."

"I better text my mother," I say pulling out my phone from the side pocket of my purse.

ISABELLA: Mom are you there?

MOM: Yes

ISABELLA: I had to leave school & go to the hospital.

MOM: What happened? Are you Okay?

ISABELLA: It's my right leg. I Fell hard.

MOM: Triple Axel?

ISABELLA: Yes, Michael (classmate) is taking me there now.

MOM: Why didn't you go sooner?

ISABELLA: It got worse after I got off the ice.

MOM: I'll meet you there.

MOM: you don't need 2. I'll text you when I'm done. Michael 's with me, I'll be fine.

ISABELLA: I want to hear what the doctor says.

ISABELLA: I'll get them to call U

"Is she meeting us there?" asks Michael.

"No, I told her she doesn't have to, I'll call or text her when I know more."

He drives stick and every time he changes gears I'm forced back into my seat.

"I like your car," I compliment.

His lip curls in response. I gently toss my phone back into my bag and try not to look over in his direction until we arrive at the hospital.

Michael puts his four-way flashers on and pulls into the Emergency entrance next to the ambulance bay. A very hot looking volunteer our age or slightly older meets us there and helps me get into the wheelchair he's pushing. Once I settle in and perch my purse on my lap, Michael reaches for the wheelchair handles to push me into the hospital. The volunteer stops him telling him to park his car, or they will ticket him for leaving it there.

Michael relinquishes the handles of the wheelchair and heads back to his car. The volunteer navigates me to the triage desk. Michael returns to the Emergency department after parking his car. There's only one other person in line waiting to speak to the triage nurse, but the waiting room is full. We are going to be here a long time. A potbellied nurse with curly blond hair and pudgy red lips says,

"Name and health card please."

"Isabella Moyes." I grab the health card from my wallet and hand it to her.

"The reason for your visit today?"

"I hurt my leg while I was skating this morning."

"Right or left?"

"Right."

"On a scale of 1-10, what would you rate the pain? Ten being the most painful thing you've ever felt."

"Nine," I admit.

She looks unimpressed as she wraps a cuff around my arm and places an oximeter onto my finger. She takes a temperature reading as well,

"Your heart rate is up; do you feel pain right now?"

"Yes, I do".

"They will give you something for that once the doctor sees you. Do you have any allergies?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Have you travelled outside of Nigeria in the last six months?" "No."

"Any fever?" "No."

"Okay, you can go have a seat, we'll call you when it's your turn," she says.

"Thanks."

Michael takes the handles of my wheelchair and moves us out of the way. He finds a vacant area for us to sit closely together, his bolted down seat next to my wheelchair. Everyone who isn't looking at a phone is staring at us for a lack of anything better to do. I pull my phone out of my purse and find several messages from Anna.

ANNA: Where are you?

ANNA: You must be at school, I see your car here. Looked for you.

ANNA: Call me!

ISABELLA: Hi Anna, I'm not at school.

ANNA: 1 min

I glance over at Michael, he's texting too. He glances back at me, "Are we allowed to use our phones here?" "I think so, I guess we can unless someone tells us otherwise." I look back at my screen again.

ANNA: Had to leave classroom so I wouldn't get caught texting.

ISABELLA: I'm at the hospital. Hurt my leg on triple axel this morning.

ANNA: How come your car is here?

ISABELLA: Michael took me after devotion.

ANNA: Basketball Michael?

ISABELLA: Yup

ANNA: Yummy! How did you swing that?

ISABELLA: My leg almost gave out on me in devotion. He carried me to his car, insisted on driving me!

ANNA: How courteous!

ISABELLA: you think?

ANNA: I know!

ANNA: Do you want me to come to the hospital?

ISABELLA: It's ok, I'm in good hands.

ANNA: Jealous! Do your parents know?

ISABELLA: Texted mom.

ANNA: Ok, I'll see you after school. Just one more thing.

ISABELLA: What?

ANNA: If you hook up with Michael, I want you to set me up with Johnson.

ISABELLA: Michael 's not into me! He's just happy not to be at school!

ANNA: He brought you to the hospital.

ISABELLA: It got him out of class! Text me later.

The vertically and horizontally challenged plump nurse calls my name out surprisingly soon. I must have been right up there on her triage list. Michael slips his phone into his front pocket and grabs the chair following the nurse into our assigned curtained cubicle, "A nurse practitioner will be in here to see you shortly." The nurse goes back to her post leaving me alone with Michael who assists me to get from the wheelchair to the stretcher. I play level 137 of Candy Crush while Michael continues texting. It's my only addiction, sometimes I advance the time on my phone just to play extra rounds. On my fourth attempt at round 137, I'm getting fidgety and no further ahead, so I turn it off. I study Michael instead, he continues to text.

Soon after, the curtain moves and a lady wearing a tight white lab coat and knee-high boots with a stethoscope hanging around her neck comes into the cubicle, "Hi, my name is Rose Thompson and I'm a nurse practitioner, you are?"

"Isabella Moyes."

"What brings you in today Isabella?" She asks.

"I hurt my leg this morning on a jump while skating." "Which leg?"

"Right."

"Were you taking off or landing when you hurt it?" "Landing."

"Do you remember if you were twisted as you landed or were you straight?"

I take a second to think, "I'm not sure, it happened so quickly." The nurse practitioner stands at the foot of the bed, "I'm going to do some range of motion exercises with you. Tell me if any of them cause pain." She picks up my leg and starts moving it around. There is hardly anything she can do, that doesn't hurt.

She appears dismayed writing feverishly. When she finishes, she informs me of her plan, "I'm going to send you for x-rays to look for a fracture. If they come back clean I still want you to go for an M.R.I as an out-patient."

Michael interjects, "Can't you do it while we're here?" Rose slices him a look, "And you are?"

Michael responds sheepishly, "A friend." She looks at me, I confirm his status by nodding, "M.R.I's have long wait lists. It can take several weeks. The hospital will send you a letter with your appointment time. You can't skate until we get the results back"

"Can you explain everything to my mother? If I tell her she won't believe me."

"Sure," She agrees.

I give the nurse my mother's phone number and she disappears behind the curtain. Hearing the Nurse practitioner talk to my mother over the telephone, suddenly makes everything very real, and the situation hits home. I might lose my ability to make my own decisions regarding my skating career, which is a bitter pill to swallow. It strikes me that I may miss the final competition before Worlds which I've worked so hard to qualify for. Tears start building in the corners of my eyes, threatening to make their way down my cheeks. I find myself wishing that mom is here, she understands the impact this injury is having on me. Michael puts his phone away and at a loss for what to say, he remains silent.

The curtain pulls back and the volunteer our age appears pushing a wheelchair. Surprised to find me crying he says, "I'm here to bring you to x-ray. Do you need some time?"

"No thanks," I say avoiding eye contact.

Michael assists me into the wheelchair and then the volunteer releases the lock and takes me to x-ray. I'm away long enough to get a chance to recompose myself before returning to Michael. The curtain pulls back for a final time, it's the nurse practitioner. A blast of nerves hits me when I see her smile at me hesitantly, "Isabella, I have some good news. The radiologist doesn't see a fracture on your X- ray. I spoke to your mother, and until you are MRI results are back, I don't want you back on the ice."

"We need to know the extent of your injury, so we know what we're dealing with. I'm so sorry but you are not going to be competing this year. I will manage your pain and refer you to a well-known sports doctor who deals with these kinds of injuries all the time. You need to use crutches until we have your M.R.I results so you don't bare weight on your bad leg. I'm sorry Isabella." She hands me papers and says I'm free to go after I dropped by the fracture clinic to pick up a pair of crutches.

I text mom:

ISABELLA: No fracture. Not allowed to skate until after M.R.I

MOM: I know. How are you getting home? Do you want me to pick you up?

ISABELLA: No, Michael will take me.

MOM: Who's Michael?

ISABELLA: A friend.

MOM: Better be. No boys while you are Skating! They're a distraction.

ISABELLA: I'm not skating.

MOM: For now.

Mom gets me more upset. I turn my phone off while Michael escorts me home from the hospital.

It's just after two when we pull up into my driveway. We live in a modest two storey house that has a desolate looking tree in the front yard. My father works two jobs just so we can live here and pay for my skating. Michael shifts his black Mercedes into park and turns her off, "Are you going to be okay?" he asks concerned. With a heavy heart I shrug, not even having the energy to respond. "Give me your phone," he orders. I reach down into my bag and pass it to him. He starts typing onto the screen. "Call me if you need to talk. I texted myself, so I have your number too."

Michael pops the trunk and removes the crutches from the back of his car handing them to me. I lean into them clumsily and work my way slowly up the steep driveway, I'm horrible at it. The few steps I do take hurt my armpits. Michael attempts to hold back his laughter at the sight of me using my crutches, but I hear it. Humiliated, tears are threatening to build in the corner of my eyes again, I reprimand myself for my self- pitying attitude.

When I make it to the door, I lean the crutches against it, so I can start digging for my key. The top crutch begins to fall, but Michael leans over catching it. His body is really close to mine, and I lose my breath for a second. Our faces are merely a few inches apart and I see him glance down at my lips and then back into my eyes. I want him to kiss me and he advances forward as though he's going to, but he stops.

My fingers feel the keys in my purse and I'm tempted to feign not having found them to buy more time, but I don't, I pull them out and unlock the door. He pushes it open for me, so I can make my way in with the crutches. I hobble and swing to the couch and lay the crutches down on the carpet, before making myself comfortable on the sofa.

Michael glances around the living room, "Are we alone?"

"Yep, we are for now anyway. My parents don't get back until after dinner time. Are you hungry?" I ask.

"Starving," he admits. "I'll get take-out, while you rest. What do you want?"

"I don't care. I'll have whatever you are in the mood for." "Okay, I'll be back in a few minutes."

Thirty minutes roll slowly by before Michael taps lightly on the front door, "Come in!" I call out. He lets himself in carrying two bags of Mr. Biggs. My bag has some large fries, big mac, and a quarter pounder. "You can't be serious, I must have some of your food," I grin. "You expect me to eat all this?"

"That food is all yours. I have the exact same in my bag. You told me to get you whatever I was in the mood for, and that's what I'm eating. The drinks are still in the car, I'll be right back." He returns with two chocolate milkshakes. I'm taking up most of the sofa, so Michael sits adjacent to me on the love seat. We eat every morsel of food and then start sipping our shakes staring passively at Ramsey Noah on television, lost in our own thoughts. He nervously starts picking at imaginary lint on his jeans. "You were really working on a triple axel when you hurt yourself?" His eyes shine with admiration as he waits for my answer.

"Yes."

"That's so hot," he comments quietly. I can feel the intensity of his eyes boring into me. A tingle of excitement courses through my body.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asks. His eyes intense, as he stares into mine.

"No, I don't date," I say casually. "My parents think dating is a distraction. Mom says there's plenty of time for me to do that after I finish skating."

"That's too bad," he says under his breath, "but you are not skating right, now are you? You'll be off the ice for several weeks." "That's true," I confirm. His finger touches my chin, lifting my face to his, "So you've never had a boyfriend?"

"Never," I admit, fearing my answer will turn him off me.

"Never kissed?"

"Never," I reassure. I start thinking that he likes that I've never had a boyfriend or been kissed before. His eyes lock onto mine and he starts inching his face towards mine angling it perfectly for my first kiss when I slip in my question, "Do you have a girlfriend?" I venture. He pauses causing me suspicion.

"Truth?" he asks.

"Please." Even though, I'm dreading it now.

"I do, I don't want to lie to you."

My shoulder's drops in disappointment, the despair from the days events are accumulating and this is the icing on the cake, I just feel like I'm being swallowed if you can feel that way, "Then you should probably leave, she's going to be wondering where you are."

The look of disappointment on his face speaks volumes, "Yes, you are right. I better go."

"Thanks for taking me to the hospital," I say. He gets up taking the empty bags with him and leaves my house. It's the closest I ever came to get a first kiss, but no matter how badly I wanted it, I will never want it to be with someone else's boyfriend.