Symptoms of Life

By the time Biology finished I thought I was going to barf. Standing up from the desk I was more nauseous than I could ever remember. Whether it was from hitting my head off the treadmill, the text, or the alarming biology discussion I could never know.

Wes was at my side almost instantaneously, and wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

“You don’t look good.” Wes frowned picking my backpack off the chair for me and slinging it onto his back. “Rough session?”

I grunted a response, before stepping shakingly out into the hall with him. Half of me wanted to demand that I could do it, that I could walk out by myself, but the better part of me wrapped an arm around his waist and spilt as much of my weight over to him as possible. The prosthetic walked on its own will under me, far faster than I could bother to keep up with.

“Do you know where Mr. Hughes’ office is?” I asked glancing mindlessly up at the ceiling while we arrived at my locker. My ankle twisted in the sudden stop sending me into him for an abrupt hug.

“It’s just around the corner.” Wes shrugged taking a step back and leaning against the locker set. “Why?”

“He confiscated my phone.” I muttered, shoving two new notebooks into the leather backpack before swinging it back onto my shoulders.

“Want me to come?”

I shook my head, taking a slow step back from the wall and turning around to walk down the hall. “I’ll see you in the parking lot.”

I didn’t bother waiting on his response, I just started to walk. It bothered me that Wes knew, Griffin had clearly told him, and why he thought that was any of his business was beyond me. It was my body. My broken, shitty-ass body. It was barely under my control anymore and the least he could do was keep it private.

Wes was far too difficult to dislike. He literally greeted every person in the hall and went far out of his way to help me, whether I needed it or not. In a way he reminded me of Brad. Brad was always there, every single step of the way for the last five years, he was there. Needing him was the worst feeling in the world, and talking to now seemed impossible.

I could’ve found Mr. Hughes by ear alone. His opus echoed down the hall from his open office door far louder than any student chatter. It was a heavy tune, the down beats outplayed the positive and I could imagine him hammering his entire body into the Grande just as he did at the fundraiser dinner.

Stepping into his office he wasn’t playing a grande piano, instead he had a tiny electronic keyboard set on top of huge stacks of paper. Mr. Hughes office was littered with sheet music and ungraded assignments. Two trumpets were leaned up in the corner, accompanied by a flute and tuba. A custom dark cherry guitar hung up on the wall, one of the strings was busted.

Mr. Hughes wasn’t paying attention as I walked in, his eyes were glued to a piece of paper painted with notes and counts.

“What do you call it?” I asked, and the piano man jumped up.

A sideways grin glazed his face and his body relaxed as he focused on me. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, and I realized it was a lot shorter than I’d imagined. “It’s currently nameless.” Mr. Hughes sighed leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

The room fell silent, and my eyes flipped down to my feet.

“Is there something I can help you with, Miss Todd?” He asked. A secret chuckle ran through his voice, but his face remained coy.

“My phone.” I replied, sticking my hand out for the glossy new gadget. A small bit of resentment settles into my stomach as he reaches it out of his pocket and begins to press it into my hand.

The old Florence Todd was obsessed with her phone, her publicist had made it so. Her job had been to promote meaningless campaigns and brands and to expand her fan base. The fastest way to gain attention, to get a fan base, is to post picture of yourself doing stupid things or looking sexy. Unfortunately, the old Florence Todd did both.

“One thing.” Mr. Hughes shrugs, and he takes the phone back towards him for a second. “Whoever this guy is. The one you were so upset about the other night.” He pauses and looks over my expression, really taking it in. “And you were upset,” he reminds me, inching the phone back towards me, “isn’t worth your words.”

I think Mr. Hughes thinks his words have an impact on me, because he smiles as the phone rests in my hands, like he has made a really good point. The point is that, that was something I already knew, but it was also my fault. I never bothered to talk to him and so he had disappeared from me. I knew that Brad would be here if I let him, and it stung like a belly flop on bare skin.

“Thanks.” I replied, grasping the little devil in my hand and shoving it as deeply in the trouser pocket as it would go.

“I’m surprised you came back for it.” He grinned turning back to his desk and scribbling a few notes down on his paper.

“Why?”

Mr. Hughes opens his door to respond, but is cut off by a woman door. Though I’d only been able to attend the class three times in two weeks of class I recognized her immediately. Ms. Bowring, my public speaking teacher, had a striking experience. She was short, on the curvier side of life, and had died her hair a beautiful shade of white blonde, and bottomed it out with a light brown underside. She had it twisted up into another sort of updo that looked like it would take hours.

“This is the student I want you to tutor. I’m so glad you’ve already met!” She smiled, stepping into the room and clapping a hand down on my shoulder. She squeezed it appreciatively as if to show some sort of support.

Mr. Hughes paused for only a moment before a sideways grin spread across his face once more. “As I said, I’d be pleased to help any student with their English. Including Miss Todd.” A silent joke rang in his eyes while his sentence concluded, like he was winning some kind of war the two of us were secretly involved.

“That’s excellent.” Ms. Bowring sighed, clearly feeling her work had reached its end point. “I hope Mr. Hughes can help you feel more at home here, Florence. He too is very talented.”

I’m not really sure if it was the laughter spilling out of Mr. Hughes pores our Ms. Bowring’s cheerful demeanor, but I bit out far more than I was meaning to. “I don’t need help.” I snapped, my voice coming out more English than I could ever remember.

Ms. Bowring looked taken aback, but Mr. Hughes looked barely above mild.

“Surely, some help would do someone in your position well, Miss Todd.” Ms. Bowring noted with a voice gone cold. She took a few backward steps out of the room before turning on her heel and meandering off down the hall.

What was my position? What did that even mean? As far as I knew almost none of the faculty at the school were aware of my problems. To my knowledge, Dr. Todd had negotiated it to only be the administrative staff.

“So we’ll start next week.” Mr. Hughes grinned, ducking his back to his keyboard and gliding his fingers over a few random chords. “If you give me your phone, I’ll install my email. For questions about meeting times and assignments, of course.”

“Fuckin’ keep it.” I muttered, digging the phone out of my pants pocket and throwing it into his lap. I could imagine him laughing, or smiling, or getting some form of sick satisfaction out of it while I rounded on my good foot and left the room as quickly as I could manage.

When I got back down the hall I was not shocked to see Wes still standing there. He’d closed up my locker and locked it, and was in the process of staring at the shiny glass screen of his second favourite possession.

“Hey,” he grinned hearing me walking from far down the hall, “everyone else already took off to Dia’s place. So you’re with me.”

“Dia’s place?” I asked, continuing past him towards the elevator. Wes had caught up within a blink of an eye, and was chatting away merrily the entire way to the elevator.

“Yeah, we were all talking about it this morning. We’re going to Dia’s place and setting up for a party she’s having.” Wes grinned, jabbing his finger into the call button for the metallic lifesaving cab.

“It’s like four o’clock.” I muttered feeling my nose scrunching up into my forehead. “What times her party, like six?” I scoffed thinking back to the few parties I had been to. They’d all been team events or victory parties at worlds. I’d actually never been to a ‘house party’ and maybe it wasn’t in my favor to judge them.

Although, I did lose my leg because some drunk teenager drove his car into us at three in the morning. So maybe, I got to judge a lot.

“It’s Friday, Flo.” Wes laughed, stepping into the newly arrived elevator. “It starts at ten thirty.” He added seriously, jabbing his finger into the ground floor button.

“Hold that!” Someone shouted, sliding just in time into the elevator. It wasn’t someone though, it was Mr. Hughes, and he slid my phone subtly into the pocket of my blazer. “My contact information is in there.” He nodded, leaning back casually against the stainless steel wall.

Rolling my eyes, I turned my attention onto Wes, “I don’t want to go.” I told him, trying to keep agitation out of my voice. “It’s not my thing.”

“It’s fine we’re going to stay the night, totally safe.” Wes assured me, his eyes glancing nervously towards the teacher.

“What don’t you want to go to?” Mr. Hughes asked rummaging into his briefcase and pulling out an old Blackberry. He stuck a pen into his mouth, and his thumbs scrolled over the keyboard.

“Nothing.” Wes replied, staring intently at the digital display, praying that elevator would hurry up.

“A party.” I replied. I didn’t really care what Mr. Hughes thought, he wasn’t a real teacher and clearly didn’t care about much.

Mr. Hughes raised his eyebrows and spat his pen out into his hand. “You should go.” He grinned, slipping the piece of hardware back into his briefcase and wrapping his hair up into a short ponytail.

If Wes was shocked he didn’t bother to show it, he stayed, unmoved, staring as the floor level dropped from three to two. “You’re coming.” Was all he said.

“Why?” I asked looking over at Mr. Hughes.

Mr. Hughes shrugged, breaking his statuesque stance. A smile ran away from his face, and his features took on a rare and serious condition. “You’re new. Go meet people you don’t live with.”

Wes choked down a laugh as the elevator landed on the ground floor. “Have a good weekend, Mr. Hughes.” He muttered, taking my hand. We stepped out together into the monotonous grand entrance, and I tripped all the way down the hall beside him. Hanging a corner, we exited the building.

Although I’d only seen Wes’s car twice I could spot it in the far North corner, by the teacher’s lot, almost instantaneously. Despite coming from a wealthy family, he drove his mom’s old 2005 Grande Caravan. It was gold and rusted and affectionately known as the ‘Party Wagon’ by many of his friends.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to move it closer.” Wes smiled sheepishly.

“Why would you?” I asked. My ankles twisted underneath me, tired and heavy from the uncomfortable dress shoes and today’s exercise. My skin screamed with the chaffing, and I found myself biting my lip as we dredged on.

We landed at the car a few minutes later, and turning to get into the car, I caught sight of Mr. Hughes. He sang loudly, while throwing his belongings, into the trunk of a beaten up Volvo.

What was more interesting?

Mr. Hughes was parked in the handicap spot.