Pain. That’s all I can think about, that’s all I feel when I open my eyes. I can’t tell whether I’m blinded by the fluorescent hospital lights or the agonizing ache spreading from my chest to my temple. Soon, my vision clears and a white, tiled ceiling comes into focus. I try to sit up and gain a better sense of my surroundings. As I shift, a white-hot knife stabs into my side, leaving every inch of my body screaming. My vision blurs and I sink back down onto the bed, drifting out of consciousness.

I wake up again a while later, this time, with an audience. My mom’s face comes into view as she hovers over me, her features slowly registering with my sleep-ridden brain. 

“Oh honey. You’re awake. Thank goodness, I--” Tears choke out the rest of her sentence. I stare as she continues to cry, droplets spilling down her pale face and onto the stiff linen sheets. My gaze flits away, landing on the IV stand attached to my bed. I swallow. She must notice the shift because she stops crying. A soft, twinkling sound fills the air as she wipes her tears on the backs of her hands. My breath catches in my throat at the noise. Oh, how I loathe that sound. My mother’s silver bracelets always announced her presence as she darted around, tidying up the house, trying to fix everything. 

“So, Cole.”

 I turn my head at the sound of my name. It sounds odd coming out of her mouth.

“Do you remember anything that happened?” 

I shake my head.

“Well, you're clearly in the hospital…” I open my mouth but she continues. 

“Last night you were in a car accident, Cole. You and another car collided, head on.” She looks at me expectantly. I try speaking again, hoping to get a word in before she launches into the inevitable scolding.

“Cole. Were you even buckled?”

I open my mouth to try to explain myself for what feels like the hundredth time. But nothing comes out. Shifting, I try to roll away from her but my side is so tightly bandaged I just end up fidgeting around under the blankets. I can feel my face heating up. The combination of the stuffy sheets and the failed attempts to rotate makes me want to scream. I must look so incredibly stupid right now. My mom grabs my wrist. Her touch causes me to lie still. 

“Cole. Look at me. You need to be more grown up about this. I shouldn’t have to be running around, cleaning up your messes for you! It’s time for you to take some semblance of responsibility in your life!” 

Just leave, I think to myself. Leave. A pulsating ache booms in my head. Everything seems too loud and bright. A knocking sound rings through the heavy silence. A nurse enters the room and I take the opportunity to pull my arm away. 

“Dr. Trevan will speak to you soon.” The nurse hovers near the door, averting her eyes from my mother. 

“Perfect. I’ll make sure he stays here with me,” my mother answers, a plastic smile painted on her face. I want to point out that it’s not like I’ll be going anywhere anytime soon, but I keep my mouth shut.

“Actually, ma’m, Dr. Trevan requested to speak with Cole alone.” My mother’s knuckles curl around the railing of my bed. I sink into the pillow and wait for her protests. But all I hear is her keys jingling from the depths of her purse as she gathers her things.

“Alright then.” She takes a deep breath. “I think I’ll go get some coffee.” She squares her shoulders and glides out the door. 

I lay in silence for a while.  My mind busies itself by making out shapes in the flecks of the ceiling tiles. I’ve just traced the outline of Spongebob Squarepants when the door opens and the sound of footsteps fills the room. Dr. Trevan strides over to my bedside and immediately begins pressing buttons on the remote control connected to my bed. A mechanical buzzing follows, and soon my body rises into a sitting position. I glance over my shoulder. Dr. Trevan continues to press buttons and flip through pages on a clipboard. Her jet-black ponytail swings with every movement. I find myself watching her, wondering how someone can be so focused. She shifts from one foot to another, never taking her eyes off my chart. Her maroon scrubs and neon pink tennis shoes are a refreshing break from the dismal greys and blues of the surrounding hospital. She sighs and writes something down on the sheet of paper. 

“Well, are you going to tell me what happened or not?” Her voice drags me out of my daze. Heat rushes up to my cheeks when I realize that my mouth has fallen slightly open. What’s wrong with me? I quickly shut it. 

“Huh?” I mumble. She stares at me, smirking. 

“Are you going to tell me how you managed to land yourself with three broken ribs, a concussion, and a collapsed lung?”

“What?” I meet her gaze. Questions pound at the doors of my lips, but nothing comes out. My entire mouth has gone dry. A collapsed lung?! 

Suddenly the room becomes very blurry. I close my eyes.

When I open them again, Dr. Trevan is standing directly in front of me, both hands on my shoulders. 

“Cole,” she murmurs. The tender cadence of her voice shocks me, the sound of it foreign to my ears. Whenever any adult says my name, it’s usually attached to an insult, spoken in a disappointed tone. 

I shut my eyes again as the memories crash back in waves, a tsunami of realization.  

“Cole? Are you okay?” Her voice cuts through the darkness. 

“I--” I clear my throat. “I was driving. It was late, around 12 in the morning and everything was dark.” I stop and swallow, keeping my eyes closed. The room is silent other than the clattering of Dr. Trevan’s clipboard as she sets it down. 

“My friend texted me earlier that day. He was having a party at his house…” I hesitate, but Dr. Trevan finishes my sentence. 

“Because his parents were gone?” I pick at my thumb under the sheets and nod. 

“I had detention,” I mumble. “So I was heading over late.” I instruct myself to breathe and swallow. 

“I was driving to his house when my phone started blowing up. My mom. She was texting me, calling me. I could practically hear her yelling through the phone. I didn’t tell her where I was going because she wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t listen. She would probably give me the same lecture I’ve received about 100 times before.”

“Which is?”

“Start acting your age. Fix your behavior. Focus on the things that matter, Cole.” The words hang there in the quietude.

“And what are the things that matter?” She asks, her voice low and soft. 

“To my mom? Grades, college--”

“No, Cole-” She interrupts. “What are the things that matter to you?”

I open my eyes, which immediately find hers. I don’t know, I think to myself. No one’s ever asked me. And even if they did, I realize, I wouldn’t have taken it seriously. It would’ve just been another joke, another thing to laugh about. 

“I-- Why do you care?”

She presses her lips together. Her eyes lock with mine, never moving. I’m no stranger to receiving stares. Unlike others, I’m comfortable being the face of attention. Yet, there’s something about Dr. Trevan’s scrutiny that causes me to look away. I pretend to gaze out the window, the moment becoming even more awkward when I realize that the blinds are closed.

“Because nobody ever asked me that when I was your age.”

I quietly turn and face her again. This seems like a time where I should actually pay attention.

“My parents just assumed that I would listen to them when they orchestrated my future. They told me I would go to law school, just like they did, and continue the family practice. Her hands tighten into fists. “The next 10 years of my life were designed without my input. So when nobody bothered to ask me what I wanted to do, I told them. I wanted to go to medical school and become a doctor. Upon hearing this news, my mom shut herself in her room and my father threatened to kick me out of the house.” She pauses, her entire body tense. 

I swallow and concentrate on breathing slower. I’ve become increasingly aware of my rising heart rate on the monitor next to the bed. Luckily, Dr. Trevan seems too caught up in her memory to notice. 

“When they wouldn’t support me, I told them I’d support myself. I left home and cut off all contact with them, working two jobs to try to save up for the tuition. Eventually, after almost a year, they showed up at the house and told me that they’d fund the cost for school. Now, I’m here.” She gestures toward her lab coat. There, just above the pocket, her name is embroidered--Dr. Lisa Trevan, M.D.

“Now I’m not saying that the way I handled the whole thing was right. But I do think that if somebody took the time to ask what mattered to me I would’ve been a lot better off.” She stops, straightening her lab coat. “Now tell me what happened next.”

My fingers reach for the edge of my blanket, fiddling with a loose thread. Her words echo through the otherwise quiet room. “I picked my phone up. My mom installed this app, against my will. I realized that she was tracking me on it.”

Dr. Trevan sighs. “Parents,” she mutters. I yank the thread, but the seam just continues to unravel. My eyes close again.

“I read on a website that if you turned off your cellular data, it would only show your last known location. I was turning it off and…” My words trail. I hope that she’ll finish my sentence for me again, but there’s only silence. 

“Dr. Trevan?” I ask, feebly. 

“No, Cole,” she replies. “It’s your turn to finish.”

I stay silent. 

“Close your eyes,” she says. 

“They’re already closed.”

“Now, try to remember. And take it slow. If you’re not ready, then don’t rush it.”

I take a deep breathe. Another. And suddenly I’m sinking down, sinking back in time as my brain transports me to that dark, quiet night. 

The cars collide and the force of the impact throws me forward. My chest smacks into the steering wheel. Pieces of glass fly through the air around me. Illuminated by the red traffic light, it's as if the fragments are a stained glass puzzle floating in midair. A high pitched ringing fills my ears. All other sounds are distinguished. I am in a bubble, peering out at the world. Flashing lights, people running. Everything is blurred and muted. An intense pressure builds, a boulder sinking into my chest and suddenly I can hear sirens blaring and people shouting and I can’t breathe and my heartbeat pounds in my temples as I lay there, my face pressed into shards of my windshield. 

“It was my fault,” I whisper. It was all my fault. 

I don’t open my eyes again. Dr. Trevan finishes updating my chart. Then, she leaves me to grapple with my thoughts.  

A soft knocking fills the room, startling me awake. I rub my eyes, trying to swim through the fog of my conversation with Dr. Trevan to a state of consciousness. 

“Come in.”

The door swings open and quickly shuts again. I stare, bewildered, as my sister scurries into the room. She stands by the door, arms wrapped around herself. 

“Stella,” I croak. She quickly glances up at the mention of her name, then returns her gaze to the ground. I continue to stare at her in wonder.

“I--” I clear my throat. “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

She looks up at me. I take the opportunity to soak in her face. She has tanned, freckled cheeks and pale pink lips, which she currently bites down on. Wisps of light brown hair have escaped from her high ponytail and rest on her forehead.  Her green eyes meet mine. She seems distant, wrapped up in her thoughts. I can almost hear her brain firing as her eyes jump all over the place, seesawing between my face and the surrounding hospital room. 

“Oh. I can leave if you want.” She starts backing towards the door. 

“No!” 

She flinches, curling in upon herself as if shielding herself for a blow. I clear my throat again. 

“No. You can stay.” I motion for her to sit down on the bed but she remains hunched over by the door. She stares tentatively at my bed, her ponytail sliding into her face. I watch her. She’s only standing a couple of feet away, yet the distance between us seems like miles to me. Does she want to leave? Maybe she has better things to do. I pause, a thought slowly surfacing. Is she… Is she afraid of me? I swallow and repeatedly pat the empty spot next to me, probably with more force than needed. Get it together, I tell myself. This is not a game of whack-a-mole. You want to talk to Stella, not smack her head off. As I’m coaching myself on how to act like a normal human, Stella walks over to the edge of the bed and gently sits down. Her spindly legs dangle off the side. She twists her cursive letter “s” ring back and forth on her finger. She reminds me of a baby deer, round eyes darting all over the room, jumpy, ready to bolt with any sudden sound or movement. We sit in awkward silence for a while.

“So.” I attempt to start with no idea how to continue. 

“Are you okay?” Stella looks straight at me. 

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” She stares at me a little while longer, then looks back down at her hands.

“What happened to you?” She murmurs.

“Oh, um, the doctor said that I broke a couple of ribs, got a concussion, and my lung collapsed. Nothing too serious.” I wink at her, hoping to get a laugh, even a small smile. Stella looks up at me, eyebrows raised, her face pale. 

“Nothing too serious?” she echoes, her voice rising. “Cole, you could have died!” Her voice breaks on the final word. I watch, mortified, as tears collect in her planet-like eyes, creating a glossy, viridescent pool. Her loud, trembling voice continues.

“You could have died! And then what would happen? What about Mom and Dad, huh? What would they do? What would I do?” Tears stream down her face. She’s full on screaming now.

“One day you’d be here and then the next you’d be gone. You’d be buried in the ground, and I’d still be up here. I wouldn’t be able to see you! I wouldn’t have a brother.” She pauses, wipes her nose on her sleeve, scoffs. 

“Although I guess it wouldn’t be that different from how it is now.” Stella glares at her hands clasped in her lap and goes silent. 

“What? I-- What do you mean?”

Her words drip with anger and disappointment, slowly seeping into my brain. I’ve never heard her yell like this, never even imagined that she could say these things. Stella shakes her head, blinking back tears. 

“Cole, did you even know I play soccer?”

I clear my throat and stare at her. A foggy memory trudges to the forefront of my brain. Stella, lacing up her soccer cleats on the stairs, her bright green jersey illuminating the room, shining a light on my guilt. If I didn’t happen to walk downstairs to grab a snack in between my video game match, I wouldn’t have known.

“Um, yes.”

She looks up at me with a penetrating stare. I find myself slightly panicking; it’s as if she can see right into my memory. 

“You’ve missed all 17 games. Every one of them.” 

The room is completely silent except for the monotonous ticking of the clock mounted above the door. With each tick I’m hit with the heavy weight of realization, each tock marking another special event that I’ve skipped. 

“You know, today was our last game. We made it to the championship.”

I open my mouth, hoping something will come out. She speaks before I can say anything.

“We won,” she whispers, her voice coarse. She wipes the tears from her eyes and stands. I fumble internally, tripping over waves of unknown emotion, but before I can do anything, Stella has left as quickly as she came.

---

I’m staring at the TV mounted in the corner of the ceiling, unsuccessfully trying to drown out Stella’s words echoing through my head. But it’s too late - her comments had already sunk in, making me nearly as uncomfortable as my aching side. I’m stuck in this bleak room with a single window. And it’s not like the view’s any good-- just the hospital parking lot. The only people besides Stella I’ve seen in the past hour have been my mom and an old, wrinkly nurse that smells of baby powder and--hopefully-- upcoming retirement. Not to mention the fact that there’s only so much you can do when stuck in a bed. Scrolling through Instagram, watching bad reality TV, sleeping… I mean, what else really is there? Gazing out the window, I’m in the middle of watching a young boy practically surfing on a wheelchair while his sister speeds him out of the hospital’s doors when I hear the distinctive clink, clink of wallet chains. The sound stops just outside of my room and barely a second later, the door swings open with a loud crash as the handle slams into the drywall. Someone yells in the adjacent room. A nurse rushes by, shooting Alec a dirty look with which he returns a slow grin. Passing families and employees stare as he saunters into my room, his ripped jeans and Thrasher shirt commanding attention in the otherwise sterile environment. 

“Man, you have some pretty lame company. Sickly q-tips and uptight nurses.” He chuckles. “Bummer you missed the party last night, man. Zach drank so much he puked all over Ava! It was hilarious.” He laughs again, punching my side. I wince, biting back a yelp. Alec doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Anyways, man, I was thinking--” he pauses, glances at me to make sure I’m listening. “Since it’s almost summer and all, we should plan to rent that beach house in July, the one by the skatepark, and invite everyone.” I don’t respond. Alec continues, “Only a couple more days till we don’t have to deal with school while hungover.” I stare at him as he chuckles yet again. His wheezy, in-and-out laugh fills the room. 

“So, you in dude?”

“Uh-” I mumble, my mouth struggling to form words. 

“You know, the beach house? July?

“Um--” 

“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you bro! Guess who said she’d come if we get the house? You won’t believe…” Alec’s voice diminishes to a muted buzz in the back of my mind. I’m too distracted to even try paying attention anymore. Shifting uncomfortably against my lumpy pillows, I try to sort through the tangled mass of thoughts and emotions that has slowly built up as the day’s gone on. Heat rises to my cheeks as my frustration builds. I blink several times, hoping to clear my head. 

“Dude, are you even listening? What’s with your eyes, bro?” Alec’s whiny voice breaks through my daze. He stares at me in distaste. 

“You’re acting, um, off, man. C’mon, where’s Cole?” He raps on my head with his knuckles, as if the “old” version of me just needs to be startled awake. 

“Ow! Hey, back off man! That hurts.” I shove his hand away.

“Ok, ok! Sheesh, it’s like you're wounded or something!” 

I stare at him, dumbfounded. 

“Anyways, you know that girl, Bea? Art class?  She was asking about you. Wanted to know if you were okay.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Although, if I were you I wouldn’t talk to her. You know her crowd? All those pottery geeks that keep clogging up the gym with their “Art for the Heart” displays. More like Art for Farts if you ask me.” My spirit drops further as Alec pauses for a full minute to laugh at his joke. 

“Alec. Alec!”

“Yeah?” he smirks, still giggling. 

“What is the “Art for the Heart” thing exactly?”

He sobers up quickly. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

I continue to stare at him.

“Why would I know what it is? I think Bea said something about it being a fundraiser for the hospital. Apparently one of the members of the pottery club has a family member with cancer. Blah, blah, blah. Seriously, I wouldn’t be caught dead with anyone from that group. But Bea is hot, so I’ll let her slide.” He chuckles and pulls a nearby chair over next to my bed. I watch as he rocks back and forth, the chair teetering precariously. The sound of my chest hitting the steering wheel comes rushing back and I grimace, imagining Alec tipping over and cracking his head open. He stops rocking. 

“What’s up with you? If you’re upset over what I said about Bea, don’t worry, she’s not my type.” He pauses, no doubt picturing Lacie, his current girlfriend. At least, the most current one that I know of. 

“But, I am serious, man. Get over whatever weird phase you’re in before we hit the beach house. I bet you'll find someone else at that party, huh?” He nudges me. I look at him, taking in his wild-hyena grin, bleach blonde hair, slightly crooked nose. I feel oddly detached, as if I’m observing our conversation like some-out-of-body shrink. 

“We’ll see,” I say. His expression shifts from teasing to confused. 

“What did you say?”

“I said we’ll see. Right now, I don’t want to “browse” girls and I don’t feel much like partying. Have fun without me.” 

Alec shakes his head and thrusts his chair behind him. “You’ve changed, man. Call me when Cole decides to come back.” And with that, he leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. 

---

I’m staring at the wall when the nurse comes in. Her words barely register until she’s repeated her sentence for a third time. “Cole! I’m wheeling you down to the cafeteria. Your mom brought you some lunch.” 

I nod. “Thanks.”

The nurse steadies me as I stand, patiently pausing as I breathe through the aches and soreness that flare with every movement. Eventually, I maneuver into a waiting wheelchair and we head out into the hallway. Sunlight filters in from the passing windows. I tilt my head towards it; I guess I never realized how cold the hospital was until my fingers started to thaw. 

Soon, we reach the cafeteria. I spot my mom at a nearby table. She waves the nurse over. My stomach grunts, content to see a large takeout bag in front of her. After making sure I’m secure, the nurse leaves my mom and I. Immediately, I lunge for the food, only realizing how bad of an idea that was when a jolt of pain ricochets through my chest. Mom takes over, distributing the containers of warm pasta and garlic bread. Baked ziti for me, caesar salad for her. I can feel a warm anticipation spreading across my lips at the sight of the food. Grabbing a fork, I dive in and slip into a food coma. 

It doesn’t take long for me to finish my meal, and before I know it, I’ve drained the last of my water glass. I give a small smile to my mom, silently thanking her for the food… and for the lack of conversation. My smile fades when she clears her throat, taking the lull as an invitation to talk. 

“So, how was the visit with your sister? She didn’t seem like herself when Dad picked her up. You know her, always talkative, but she didn’t...” 

My eyes catch on a figure behind her. Is that? No. It couldn’t be. A tall, lanky boy stands only a couple of feet away, hunched over the handles of a wheelchair. A soft smile is on his face, yet his eyes are melancholy. I watch as he bends over, leaning closer to the frail woman to hear her better. He chuckles and readjusts her head scarf. Tendrils of their conversation drift my way. 

“...you cold?...want another blanket?”

“It’s okay, mijo,” she whispers, patting his hand. 

Their mouths move for a while longer until Mateo nods and resumes wheeling her towards her room. I find my gaze drawn towards the woman in the wheelchair. She has a tired smile on her face, but I notice her eyes contain a delicate twinkle when she looks up at her son. Even though I’ve never met her, I know with complete certainty that the woman is Mateo’s mother. They both share that easy smile, that relaxed quirk of the eyebrows that I’d always been so keen to make fun of. The laid-back, welcoming nature Mateo possesses. I never even dreamed, imagined, considered the possibility that Mateo…that his mom…cancer. He just always seemed so… comfortable. Confident, even. It bothered me – felt like he had something and I didn’t. I still had everything else, which, I would remind myself, he didn’t. Everyone knew me; I was always invited to parties. I was on the soccer team and practically the whole school came out to watch our games. I enjoyed a good reputation, went out with cute girls, drove a new BMW. But somewhere inside of me, a voice, nearly unrecognizable as my own, drifts up, emerges from unknown depths, and asks me: But are you happy? 

“Cole? Cole? I need to get going. Your dad’s car is in the shop and he needs me to drive him to a meeting.” She moves to clean up the empty trays. 

“Let's get you back to your room, okay? I think you’ve had enough adventure for one day.” At this point, all my attention is focused on deciphering the twisted mess of thoughts and emotions that I don’t even bother telling her that all I’ve done today was spend 45 minutes in the cafeteria. Definitely not Jumanji- level adventuring. I glance up at her face, noticing for the first time the concern and exhaustion etched into the corners of her eyes. Her rigid, tense posture. And when she bends over to pick up a fallen napkin, I can see silver threads of grey hair poking out of her scalp. 

“Thanks,” I murmur. She straightens, turns. 

“What?”

“Thanks for… picking up after me.” I swallow, struggling to find the words to express my sudden realization that she’s always been there, not only picking up my backpack off the floor, bringing down half-empty glasses from my room, but also smoothing things over with my teachers, polishing every blip, every mistake that I’ve made. 

She places her hand on my shoulder. “Cole, you’re my first priority. Always.” I grab her hand and squeeze. 

—

A bright beam of sunlight hits my IV stand. The bag of fluids lights up, reflecting shards of rainbow across the ashen floor. Aria, my nurse, chuckles as she leaves my room. I finally let her examine my ribs without thrashing around or mumbling curses. Besides, I told her I knew she couldn’t keep her hands off me. 

“Making some moves on my nurses, I see?” Dr. Trevan steps through the doorway as Aria exits. 

“Dr. Trevan– I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay,” she laughs, “the nurses need all the entertainment they can get.”

I smile. She turns to leave. 

“Dr. Trevan.”

“Yeah?”

“I thought about what you said. You know– what matters to me and all…”

“And…?”

I grin. “And… I think I figured it out.”