Chapter One
Beck
The first thing I notice when I walk into the emergency room is Naomi wringing her hands and pacing. I’ve never seen my younger sister wring her hands, or pace. She’s steadier and more self-assured than just about anyone I know, let alone any sixteen-year-old. In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, Naomi’s been a source of peace and calm for me as much as my own mother has over the years.
Her eyes snap up to meet mine, and as I watch her stop the pacing and hand-wringing, I recognize I’m frozen in the automatic door. I vaguely notice the door’s confusion, sliding a few inches closed and then opening again when it senses me. But something is keeping me from moving all the way inside the building.
Blonde hair flashes in the space between me and Naomi, and I feel Summer pulling me across the threshold into a hug.
As soon as she lets go, she’s talking. “It was bad, so bad, Beck. She was out for almost a full minute. And then she started puking while we waited for the ambulance. All these people were there, filming and taking pictures. I almost jumped them and scratched their eyeballs out. I really wanted to. But we took care of her, Beck. She’ll be okay.” The final sentence comes out more like a hope than a reassurance.
I’ve seen people crash exactly like Summer describes. Losing consciousness and throwing up. But just hearing her describe it happening to Jordan, it’s infinitely worse than watching it happen to an acquaintance. My own stomach turns at the visual she’s painted.
Naomi looks nearly as sick as I feel, her eyes devoid of their usual brightness. That snaps me out of it enough to take a few long strides and wrap her in my arms.
Her body shakes a little against my chest, and she buries her head like she’s trying to draw some comfort from me. I don’t know that I’ve got much to give her right now. After a moment, she pulls back, and repeats what Summer said. “It was bad, Beck. Really bad.”
“What happened?” I force myself to ask. “I mean, how did she crash so bad?” People crash up there all the time, I get that. I thought Jordan would talk to me first, get some tips or something, before going after it again.
“It’s like…” Naomi drifts off, her eyes unfocused for a moment. “It’s like she was in the zone, you know? And then all of a sudden, she went somewhere else, but her body didn’t.”
With my hands on Naomi’s shoulders, I wait for her to clarify what she means, to realize she’s not making much sense. But she doesn’t continue, and goes back to wringing her hands.
“Beckett Steele?” a woman’s voice calls.
She’s wearing scrubs and holding a clipboard, and I’m already moving in her direction before I can wonder why she’s calling my name.
“You’re a friend of Miss Slattery?”
“I’m – yeah, a friend.”
“Follow me, please.”
After a quick glance at Summer and Naomi, I do what I’m told.
“I’m Dr. Gibson,” she introduces herself, slowing for a moment to shake hands before continuing on.
“Did she ask for me?”
“We asked if she had someone who could drive her home and keep an eye on her the next few days, help out where necessary. She gave us your name, and said your sister was already here.” Dr. Gibson glances over at me. “I thought it might be you when I opened the door to the waiting room.”
We turn the corner and she pauses outside a door. “Here we are.”
Jordan’s lying on the hospital bed, sitting up just enough to watch us step inside. The first thing I notice is her necklace, the one I gave her. It’s the only thing on her that’s hers. She’s wearing a hospital gown, the sheets around her white, the walls in the room just as bland and sterile.
The smiles we exchange are weak, but I’m relieved there’s no visible injuries from the crash. Pulling up a chair beside her, I take her hands, half-listening as the doctor explains Jordan gave permission to talk freely about her condition and diagnosis with me in the room.
“You’ll need to be seen and tested weekly by a concussion specialist. I’ll give you a list of references near your home in Connecticut. Most recover within three months from a concussion, some only take two months, and one month would be particularly fast. Until your symptoms are completely gone, no contact sports or activities with risk of injury. This includes skateboarding.”
I watch Jordan for a reaction, but she doesn’t give much away. Maybe Dr. Gibson already went over all this with her.
“I understand you’re done with classes this semester?” she asks.
“Yeah. I’m flying home on Friday.”
“Good, as you may have trouble concentrating for a few days. The timing of winter break will help with recovery. Hopefully by the time you return to school in a few weeks your symptoms will be gone. But recovery from concussions can vary significantly, and it sounds like this isn’t your first one?”
“No, I had one a few months ago, and a couple of others over the years before that.”
“Research suggests concussions can be cumulative, meaning symptoms worsen with each one. So you shouldn’t expect to recover as quickly this time. It sounds like it was quite the fall.”
Jordan’s eyes dart to mine for a moment before she confirms, “Yeah, it was a hard fall.”
The doctor lists common symptoms she might experience, from increased irritability to light sensitivity and dizziness. “Additionally, if you’ve suffered from depression or anxiety in the past, you have a greater risk of those resurfacing more acutely.”
I’ve had concussions before myself, and I’ve heard all these risks and possible symptoms listed. But knowing Jordan was out for a full a minute and threw up? There’s no question this recovery will look different than what either of us has been through before. She’s going to have to adhere to the month-long hiatus from skateboarding. I’ll be with her for only four more days and then her parents and her friends in Connecticut are going to have to be there for her.
As soon as we’re told she can get dressed and leave, I’m taking both her hands. “You sure you want to fly home on Friday? You can stay here where I can be with you the entire time. I’m sure your parents have to work. I want to be the one to take care of you.”
Jordan frowns. “I’m not sick or anything, Beck. I’m not even really injured. I mean, my head is I guess, but at least it’s not my legs or arms, right?”
“I think your head is more important.”
“You know what I mean. I can still get around just fine. Don’t worry, Beck. My parents will hover and not let me skate as soon as they hear about this. By the time I get back next semester I’ll be good to go.”
She shrugs, like it’s no big deal she’s in the ER right now.
My eyes scan her body for any other injuries as she drops the hospital gown and changes back into her clothes.
“But won’t you get bored at home not being able to do anything?” I know she probably misses her parents and friends, but I’m looking for any reason to have just a few more days with her. I didn’t want to smother her this past week while she was trying to study and ignore the looming social media shitshow. But now I’m the one struggling to breathe as I count down the days before she’s gone. She might be coming back to campus afterward, but I’ll be stuck in a house on a reality TV show by then.