"Make-up can wait until we arrive."
"Oh, thank God," a girl yelled out from the epicenter of the glitter bomb. "I hate doing make-up on the bus."
Practice dragged on for the next two hours. I hopped, skipped, and spun around with my partner, Joel, whom I didn't really know that well, even though we'd been dancing together for a whole semester. He was a freshman and a little clumsy. That was all I knew. Poor kid. He always had sweaty hands when we danced.
I could feel Andrew's eyes on my as we all sang the last song. He sat at his drum set, fiddling with the sticks and looking away when Joel spun me about face. Strike pose, arms out, toes pointed, and grin, I thought, focusing on trying not to look campy with my last grin towards the fake audience—us in the mirrors. Joel’s hand on my back was beginning to slip, and with one attempt to stay up, I found myself yelping as I crashed down over his knee and tumbled onto the cold, glittery floor.
The force of the fall popped something, somewhere, but I couldn’t breathe and figure out where the popping sound came from at the same time as I lay curled up next to Joel with my eyes shut.
“Oh my God, Wendy! Are you okay?” Emily yelled. Footsteps pattered over to my body.
“I’m sorry!” Joel’s voice was panicked.
Mrs. Johannsen’s hand touched my shoulder. “Wendy? Is anything hurt?”
“Only everything,” I wheezed. “But my knee really hurts.” I couldn’t move.
“Uh-oh,” I heard. “Mrs. Johannsen? It looks bad.”
“Call an ambulance,” she hissed. “Wendy, don’t move, okay?”
All I could do was nod. I squinted in the mirror and saw commotion—except for in one spot over in the corner, where a brooding Andrew sat, trying not to look at me. Before my eyes could no longer stay open, Andrew rose, tossed the drum sticks on the floor, and slipped out of the room. I grimaced and shut my eyes tight, hoping that at least nothing would be broken.
"Oh, thank God," a girl yelled out from the epicenter of the glitter bomb. "I hate doing make-up on the bus."
Practice dragged on for the next two hours. I hopped, skipped, and spun around with my partner, Joel, whom I didn't really know that well, even though we'd been dancing together for a whole semester. He was a freshman and a little clumsy. That was all I knew. Poor kid. He always had sweaty hands when we danced.
I could feel Andrew's eyes on my as we all sang the last song. He sat at his drum set, fiddling with the sticks and looking away when Joel spun me about face. Strike pose, arms out, toes pointed, and grin, I thought, focusing on trying not to look campy with my last grin towards the fake audience—us in the mirrors. Joel’s hand on my back was beginning to slip, and with one attempt to stay up, I found myself yelping as I crashed down over his knee and tumbled onto the cold, glittery floor.
The force of the fall popped something, somewhere, but I couldn’t breathe and figure out where the popping sound came from at the same time as I lay curled up next to Joel with my eyes shut.
“Oh my God, Wendy! Are you okay?” Emily yelled. Footsteps pattered over to my body.
“I’m sorry!” Joel’s voice was panicked.
Mrs. Johannsen’s hand touched my shoulder. “Wendy? Is anything hurt?”
“Only everything,” I wheezed. “But my knee really hurts.” I couldn’t move.
“Uh-oh,” I heard. “Mrs. Johannsen? It looks bad.”
“Call an ambulance,” she hissed. “Wendy, don’t move, okay?”
All I could do was nod. I squinted in the mirror and saw commotion—except for in one spot over in the corner, where a brooding Andrew sat, trying not to look at me. Before my eyes could no longer stay open, Andrew rose, tossed the drum sticks on the floor, and slipped out of the room. I grimaced and shut my eyes tight, hoping that at least nothing would be broken.
