Mercedes P.O.V

"Four months isn't that bad," Matt shrugged at his sister. Mercedes nodded distractedly as she sat on the hospital bed and stared at her new cast. Her parents stood on the other side of the bed glancing between their daughter and the man in the long, white lab coat.

"Not bad at all," Dr. Bennett agreed, jotting down some notes on his clipboard before looking up at the girl still staring sadly at her cast. "It'll be over before you know it," he assured her. "Just make sure to keep it clean and know that it might start to get itchy every once in a while, but try your hardest not to scratch it, okay? You don't want to get an infection."

"Okay," Mercedes agreed not looking away from her leg.

"Good," the doctor smiled. "I'll have a nurse discharge you," he said before he left the room. Nobody said anything for the first couple moments after he was gone. Mercedes hoped it would stay that way-she really didn't want to talk to her mom about what happened. Even though she already explained the whole falling out of a tree thing, her mom didn't seem ready to let it go. That's why she refused to look away from her leg, maybe if she thinks I feel bad enough, she won't ask anymore, she thought.

"So are you going to tell us what happened?" demanded Mrs. Jones. I guess not, she sighed. Mercedes looked up at her mom.

"I told you," she insisted. "I fell out of a tree."

"And why were you in a tree? Was there something wrong with the stairs?"

"Aw, leave the poor kid alone," Mr. Jones smiled, trying to placate the situation. "So, she broke her leg, it happens. Right, 'Cedes?"

"Um…" Mercedes wanted to agree with her dad, but not if it would get her into more trouble with her mom.

"No," Mrs. Jones shook her head. "Broken legs don't 'just' happen, that's not how it works. Look at me," she explained, gesturing at herself. "Thirty five years old and I've never broken a single bone."

"Thirty five?" questioned Matt. "Wow, mom. You're older than my teacher!"

"Ugh." Mrs. Jones rubbed her temples. "You guys will be the death of me."

"Honey," Mr. Jones cooed, grabbing his wife's hands and attempting to get her to calm down. "'Cedes is fine, and now she knows how dangerous climbing trees is and will be more careful in the future, right 'Cedes?" He asked his daughter. Mercedes nodded, that she could agree with. Mrs. Jones looked at her and then back at her husband before taking a deep breath.

"Okay," Mr. Jones continued. "Let's go check her out of here so we can go get dinner." As she walked out Matt turned to his father.

"How old are you dad?" he asked.

"Older than you," his father laughed. "That's for sure." Matt smiled back, though he did seem to have another question on his mind.

"Hey dad, did mom cook dinner at home?"

"I don't believe so," Mr. Jones mused. "I guess we'll be going out to eat." At his final words, Matt's face broke out in a grin, causing his father to laugh. "You don't have to look so excited, I thought you liked your mom's cooking."

"Oh, I do," insisted his son, but his smile didn't die down.

"Uh huh," Mr. Jones nodded. "I'm going to check on your mom, you guys stay here," he instructed as he left the room.

"You here that 'Cedes?" Matt smiled. "We're gonna get pizza!" His sister crossed her arms, a little less amused.

"I broke my leg and all you can think about is food?"

"Hey, that was going to happen anyway. You should be glad something good came out of it," he shrugged. Mercedes kept frowning at him, so he decided to change the subject. "What were you doing in that tree anyway?"

"I was leaving my room," she admitted.

"What? That tree leads to your room?"

"Yea."

"Man, that's cool. You're so lucky."

"Yea," she said sarcastically, staring at her leg again. "Really lucky."

"Aw, don't worry about it. Casts are cool and they make a bunch of people act nice to you."

"Really? Why?"

"I don't know, they just are. People are going to want to sign it and carry your books and whatever."

"How do you know? You've never broken anything."

"Trust me," he assured. "It's just something people do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, so what do you do if you need anything?" her mother began for the millionth time. Mercedes sighed, exasperated as she opened her side door to get out of the car. It was her first day back to school from breaking her leg and her mother had insisted on driving her to school. She was glad to be back in school, since she had broken her leg on a Thursday and missed school on Friday, she had been isolated from her friends for what felt like forever. She hadn't even seen Sam since then and it was driving her nuts.

"Ask to go to the nurse's office and call you," Mercedes repeated robotically, trying to leave the vehicle.

"Wait, do you remember my phone number?" her mother asked.

"Yes mom," she sighed. "You had me memorize it, remember?"

"Can you say it for me now?"

"Mom," the young girl whined. "I'm going to be late for class."

"Are you sure you don't want me to write it down for you?"

"I'm fine Mom," she assured before finally sliding out of the car, careful not to let her leg hit anything on its way out. "I love you and thanks for the ride," she waved before shutting the door. Unfortunately, since she was in such a hurry to leave the car, Mercedes forgot to get her crutches and immediately fell to ground once she let go of the car's door handle. Soon she heard her mom's door flying open.

"'Cedes?! Are you okay? How did you forget your crutches?"

"I'm fine Mom," she claimed again. "I guess I just forgot." Her mom helped her up off the ground and allowed her to lean against the car door as she got the crutches from the back.

"Well don't forget anymore. You don't want to lose these," she said, helping her daughter settle in to them.

"Okay, I won't."

"Alright," Mrs. Jones clapped her hands, once Mercedes had a firm grip on her crutches. "Good luck with school and if you need anything-"

"I know Mom," the young girl smiled. "Thanks." Her mom kissed her on the top of the head quickly before smiling back.

"You're welcome, honey." Mercedes turned around and headed towards the school, a few seconds later she could hear the sound of her mom's car driving away. Walking on crutches, Mercedes realized just how far the front door of the school really is from the parking lot. That and that crutches can really hurt your armpits, but she was a trooper and was going to make it inside the building no matter what.

"Mercedes?" a voice called out to her.

"Not now," she waved it off. "I need to focus." She trudged forward, eyes steadfast on the main entrance.

"Hey Mercedes," he called again. She sighed and stopped in time to see Mike Chang running up to her.

"Hey Mike," she smiled.

"What happened?" he asked, glancing at her cast.

"Fell out of a tree," she shrugged.

"Awesome," he grinned before looking confused. "Why?"

"I was just asking myself the same question."

"Well, do you need any help? I could hold your backpack or something."

"Um, yea. That would be really nice."

"Cool." Once he had her backpack, she had to admit it did make walking a little easier. They talked on their way to the classroom and when they arrived, the teacher mentioned that they were about fifteen minutes early. She said that Mercedes could get settled into a seat but that Mike could go back outside and play. The boy looked at the teacher and then his friend.

"Um, I think I'll stay here, if that's okay?" he asked.

"It's fine," the teacher nodded. Mike helped her put some things into her cubbie and put her backpack near her seat. He took the seat right next to her and then left for a second to put some of his own things away. While he was gone, Mercedes pulled out her daily journal that the teacher made them write in for a couple of minutes at the beginning of each class. Since it was Monday, they usually wrote about what they did over the weekend and even though, she had spent most of the time sitting on the couch, watching movies, she decided to get a head start. Once she found a fresh page, she wrote the date neatly on the top right hand corner and began to describe her weekend, starting with breaking her leg. After a couple of moments writing, Mercedes felt as if someone was looking at her, so she finished her sentence and looked around. The room was still pretty empty but Mike was sitting in his seat, journal open but he was staring at her cast.

"Mike?" she asked.

"What?" he jumped, clearly he had been thinking about something.

"It doesn't hurt," she explained. "If that's what you were wondering."

"Oh, that's not-" he tried to explain. "Um, I've had a cast before, so I know."

"You have?"

"Yea," he nodded. "I broke my arm over the summer-fell off the monkey bars the wrong way."

"Ouch," Mercedes winced as she imagined the fall. Mike noticed and showed her his left arm, waving it back and forth.

"But it's all better now," he assured her. "Just like your leg's going to be." Mercedes smiled.

"Thanks. I'm glad to hear that, I was a little worried."

"Yea, you'll be fine."

"So, why were you staring at my cast?"

"Oh, I was just wondering if you would mind if I signed it?" He asked. "When I got my cast over the summer, I was at my grandma's house so the only people who signed it were my cousins but it was still pretty neat."

"Yea," she nodded. "That would be great."

"Cool," he smiled. Mike got up and went to borrow a Sharpie from the teacher's desk. Although he was only gone for a couple moments, Mercedes looked over her cast again. She wondered how many people were going to ask to sign it today. Then Mike was back with a dark blue marker and knelt so he could write properly. He was trying to write so neatly that it made Mercedes laugh. Mike looked up to see what was so funny but she claimed it was nothing. As he wrote, other students began to file into the room. Some went directly to their cubbies while others said 'hi' to Mercedes and then noticed that she had a cast. In no time at all she was being hit with a million questions at once.

'What happened?'

'Are you okay?'

'Does it hurt?'

'I had a cast once and it was super itchy. Is yours itchy?'

'Is it heavy?'

'When did this happen?'

'Did it happen today?'

'Is this why you weren't here last week?'

'Is the bone still broken?'

'Did you know you can casts in different colors?'

'Why does Mike get to sign your cast first?'

'Can I sign next?'

Luckily the teacher called them all off, insisting that they could all sign her cast at break time. By then Mike had finished and went to return the marker to the teacher's desk. Mercedes was relieved when her classmates started taking their seats, she hadn't expected everyone to come at her so fast. Soon the bell rang and the teacher was about to start class when someone ran through the door.

"Sorry… for being...late...Mrs. Daisy," huffed the young boy. The teacher smiled at the blond and shook her head.

"It's okay Sam," she said. "Just take a seat."

"Okay." Sam looked away from his teacher to the classroom to find a seat when he noticed Mercedes. "You're back!" he nearly screamed.

"Yea," she laughed. "I'm-" she began but he was already by her side. That's when he noticed the cast.

"Oh no," he realized, eyes growing wide. "You broke-I did-does it-it's my fault!" he concluded sadly. "I'm so sorry!"

"No, it's not-" she tried to say.

"Yes, it is," he decided. "Look Mercedes, I didn't-"

"Sam!" Mike interrupted. "She's trying to tell you that it's okay." The blond stared at the other boy for a minute before shaking his head.

"But it's not! It's totally my fault!"

"Sam," Mrs. Daisy said, walking up behind him. "I'm going to need for you to take a seat."

"But Mrs. Daisy, I-"

"You can talk to Mercedes after class, okay?" she asked, with her voice that made the question not really sound like a question but more like a command.

"Okay," Sam sighed. He put his bookbag on the chair directly in front of Mercedes and went to drop some stuff off in his cubbie. When he returned, the teacher instructed everyone to write about their weekends in their daily journals.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxxxxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mercedes sat alone on a bench near the school parking lot. Her mom refused to let her take the bus with her cast so she had to wait for one of her parents to pick her up. She watched as students ran past to get in line for their buses. Some of her classmates would wave at her as they passed by and she'd wave back. She didn't like sitting on the bench all alone and wished that her mom would come sooner. She really didn't want for all the buses to leave, then she'd really be alone. After a couple of minutes, the first buses started to leave so she decided to go through her backpack. Maybe she could find something to read so she would be so bored.

"Hey!" Mercedes looked up to see Sam leaning on the other side of the bench.

"Hey Sam," she smiled, but then frowned. "What are you doing here? Aren't you riding the bus?"

"Um, I was," he admitted sheepishly. "But I was doing something in the Art Room after school and I guess I missed it."

"What?" she asked disbelieving. "You never miss the bus!"

"I know!" he agreed. "Anyway, I was going to call my mom from the front office when I saw you here. Do you mind if I get a ride home with you?"

"No," she said. "I'm sure my mom will be okay with that."

"Awesome," Sam grinned as he sat down. "So what are you up to?"

"Being bored," she admitted.

"Well, we can't have that. What do you want to do?"

"I want to go home," she sighed, looking at the parking lot entrance to see if her mom was coming.

"She'll be here soon," Sam assured her.

"Yea," she agreed, turning towards him. "Oh um, thanks for bring by my homework on Friday."

That was actually that only way she knew that people still remembered her while she stuck at home, because on Friday afternoon, the doorbell had rang. Now, she wasn't allowed to get up and answer the door so Matt got it. It turned out that Sam had stopped by and dropped by to give her the homework she missed out on. So she didn't get to go to school but she still got to do the work. Great, Mercedes had thought. Just great.

"Right," Sam smiled. "I know it must have sucked being stuck at home all weekend but I didn't want you to fall behind or anything."

"No, it's okay. It wasn't really that hard and after being home all weekend I was looking forward to turning it in. Isn't that a scary thought?"

"What?"

"Looking forward to school?"

"Yea, but school can be fun sometimes. Like today," he pointed out, glancing at her leg. "You got a bunch of people to sign your cast."

"Oh right!" she realized. "You haven't signed it yet! I saved a spot for you, right in front," she claimed proudly, pointing to a blank area near the base of her knee.

"You did," Sam smiled. "Um, do you have a marker?"

"Sure," she nodded and began to look through her book-bag. She pulled out a hot pink Sharpie and handed it to him. "There you go." Sam stared at the marker in his hand and then back at her.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

"What?"

"Pink? You don't have any other color?"

"No," she shook her head apologetically. "Sorry."

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll use the pink marker." Mercedes lifted her leg onto the bench so it would be easier for him to sign. The blond uncapped the Sharpie and stared at the cast...and stared at it...and stared at it.

"Sam?" she asked after a couple of minutes.

"Yea?" he replied, still staring at the blank portion of the cast.

"You're supposed to write something," she explained.

"Yep," he nodded, not looking up. "Still working on it." After a couple minutes of silence trickled by, Mercedes lifted her backpack and started looking through it again. She pulled out her copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and flipped to her bookmark. The book was pretty good so far even though she had only just started since Matt had loaned it to her over the weekend. She had just gotten to the part where Hagrid tracked down Harry and revealed that he was a wizard. She couldn't imagine what that must have been like for Harry Potter; his entire life he was an outcast even from his own family, the people who were supposed to love him the most especially since his parents died. Mercedes couldn't help but feel relieved when she read that he was going to Hogwarts, hopefully he'd make great friends, she thought he deserved them. As she read about Harry finding the perfect wand at Ollivander's Wand Shop, a car horn honked and she looked up in time to see her mom pulling up in front of the bench.

"Hey Sam," she began as she turned to face him but he was still hovering over the blank spot on her cast. "You still haven't written anything?" she asked incredulously.

"What?" he asked, lifting his head to look at her.

"My mom's here," she pointed out. Before Sam could turn around, Mrs. Jones was already out of the car.

"Hey honey," the older lady smiled before giving her daughter a slight kiss on the top of her head. "Sorry, I was late, my meeting went on a little longer than I thought."

"Oh it's okay, I-" Mercedes attempted.

"Hello Sam," her mom continued.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Jones," grinned Sam, as he handed Mercedes back the Sharpie. "I'll sign later," he whispered to her.

"Well, come on Mercedes," her mother persisted as she picked up her daughter's backpack. "I have to get dinner started soon or your dad might start to cook," she joked, but Mercedes reacted pretty seriously, lifting herself off the bench relatively quickly and heading towards the car. It wasn't that her dad was a bad cook but whenever he got home first, he'd want to try to make something he'd seen on Iron Chef America or one of those other cooking shows he loved so he could "surprise" everyone. Usually they wouldn't have all the proper ingredients so he'd just "wing" it with whatever they did have and it didn't really turn out so great and if Matt were home it would only be worse. Those two in the kitchen was a disaster waiting to happen and they just had the kitchen redone from the last time.

"I'm assuming you want a ride home Sam?" Mrs. Jones asked but the little boy was already locking in his seat belt before she finished.

"Yes ma'am," he responded grinning and Mrs. Jones couldn't help but smile. As her mom drove them home, Mercedes read some of the signatures on her cast. Most people wrote nice messages about how they hoped she got well soon and she grinned at how some of the kids in her class signed their names. Some of them simply wrote their names out in print but there were others like Rachel Berry, a brunette that sat in the very first row, who put a small gold star near the end of her name. Kurt Hummel, a shy kid who sat towards the back of the class, signed his name in cursive, a concept Mercedes hadn't mastered yet. Then there was Artie Abrams who decided to write a joke on her cast, claiming that laughter was the best medicine. She read it again and laughed, it did make her feel better.

"What so funny?" asked Sam. Mercedes looked up from her leg to meet her blond friend's eyes.

"Artie wrote a joke on my cast," she explained.

"What is it?"

"Um, okay," Mercedes checked her cast to make sure she didn't mess it up. "What do you call a fake noodle?" Sam thought about it for a few seconds and then shrugged.

"I don't know," he claimed. "What?"

"An impasta?" Mrs. Jones guessed from the front seat before Mercedes had a chance to answer.

"Mom!" the little girl whined while Sam laughed.

"An impasta! That is funny."

"What?" asked the lady driving.

"I was supposed to say that!" her daughter explained.

"Oh," the mom realized. "I'm sorry, I thought we were guessing. You can tell the next one."

"I don't have another one," she pouted.

"Well, what about you Sam?" Mrs. Jones asked. "Do you have a joke?" Mercedes looked at her friend that was still chuckling at the word impasta next to her.

"I don't think so," the young girl pointed out.

"Alright, well how about you tell your dad and brother the joke at dinner and I promise I won't say a word," her mom offered. She watched her daughter think it over in the rear view mirror.

"Alright," Mercedes agreed, nodding slightly.

"Good," her mom smiled, turning her attention back to the road as her daughter turned to look at Sam, who was in his own little world.

"Impasta," the blond smiled. "It's like impostor but with pasta," he explained before laughing all over again.