Heroine(15)

Edith had texted me after I left her place, to tell me that if I needed relief right away I should chew up the pills, eliminating the time-release element to get the full benefit without waiting.

I do it now, because I might as well be out of pain sooner rather than later, if I’m going to take them anyway. And I take two because one is only going to take the edge off, not send me straight down into unconsciousness, where I need to be in order to be ready to do it all again tomorrow.

I get back into bed, already warmer, already better.

I’m only taking medicine that has been prescribed to me, and if I ran out early it’s because Dr. Ferriman went a little light with my dosage in the first place. I know he’s worried about addiction, could see it in his face when I asked about the refill. But I’m not worried about it, because I just lay here for hours with the fires of hell burning in my leg. I’m not worried about it because I didn’t go for the pills as soon as I got out of the shower. I’m not worried about it because I’m not like that Josie girl, who is popping pills out of boredom.

No, I tell myself as I slide into a sweet, slippery sleep.

I’m not like that.





Chapter Eleven


weight: a ponderous mass; something heavy to be lifted in athletic contest—or—a burden or pressure that is intangible

The clank of weights echoes down the hallway, along with the low hum of male voices punctuated by the girls’ higher cries. I hear Carolina’s familiar noise, the one she makes at the end of a set when she’s verging on collapse but determined to get one more rep out. There’s a thump of bass as well, and a string of lyrics my mom wouldn’t approve of fills the air, along with the funk of sweat.

It’s like coming home.

When I open the door to the weight room, everyone shouts my name. I get fist bumps and back slaps, hugs from my teammates and a few awkward shoulder squeezes from the guys, my crutches pinched tight in my armpits. My mood was good before; now I’m lifted right through the roof. These are my people; this is my place.

“Mickey Catalan,” Bella Right yells. “Hoo—fucking—ray!”

Words come to me easily here, always have. I can talk to anyone because we’re all speaking the same language, asking if they’re done with a piece of equipment, borrowing a weight, lending a towel. We all smell bad and nobody cares. We yell encouragement, push somebody to add another five to their bar, and spot each other.

The Bellas are here, working out with the basketball team. Our second baseman, Lydia, is also the point guard. She gives me a full-on hug, chest pressing against mine. She’s given a few solid attempts at convincing me I’m a lesbian but hasn’t had any luck. Carolina gives me a smirk from the corner where she’s on the leg press, anyway.

“What?” I snap my towel at her as she sprays down the equipment.

“You could get laid by like five people in this room right now,” she says. “Hail the conquering hero, and all that.”

“Which five?” I ask.

“Probably your pick, just leave me mine,” she says as Aaron comes over to us.

“Mick,” Aaron says, putting his fist out for a bump, which I do a little harder than necessary. Aaron’s a good guy, but I still don’t like it when his arm goes around Carolina’s waist. She usually lifts with me, but it’s obvious that they’ve been working out together as he switches the weight on the leg press and takes his turn.

“How are you going to lift with crutches?” Carolina asks.

“I’ll only do arms today. And I’ll sit,” I say, avoiding her eyes as I load up the curl bar, aiming for my usual weight even though I haven’t lifted since I got hurt.

“?Eso es una buena idea?”

“Estoy bien. Te lo prometo,” I tell her, and to prove it, I hoist up the curl bar and start doing reps. The truth is that, no, it’s not a good idea, but I sucked down two 30s right after school. I feel great right now, and I’m going to take advantage of it.

“?Cómo está tu brazo?” I ask after her arm, ignoring the sweat that starts running down my face when I’m only five reps in.

“Estoy bien,” she says, bending her elbow where the brace has replaced her cast. “Just like you.”

“Ha,” I say, ignoring the poke. I’m past the point where I can speak while lifting, anyway. I’m not in pain yet—the Oxy isn’t allowing it—but Edith doesn’t deal in steroids and I’m not anywhere near the shape I was in before.

I get about an hour in before the assistant basketball coach turns the lights out, telling us to go home and look at our phones like normal teenagers. I’m crossing the parking lot, talking with one of the guys about the latest boxing matchup—Mom sprang for HBO when she found out how long I was going to be laid up—when Carolina yells from the gym doors.

“Hey, Mickey, can a broki get a ride?”

I wave her over and she gets in, each of us doing what it takes to make it possible. She has to keep her bad arm straight and pull her gym bag over it carefully before she tosses it in the back seat. I’ve got to do the shimmy-slide behind the wheel and maneuver my crutches into the back.

It’s the first time Carolina and I have been in a car together since the accident, and it’s awkward. Some things are different, for sure. We’re both slightly crippled, there’s no pizza, and it’s not even the same car because the insurance company decided my old one was a lost cause. Still, there’s enough to remind us both. Our words at first come out a little stilted, the conversation cramped.