A/N: Okay, so I'm not too busy just *yet.* I hope this chapter doesn't feel like filler. I also hope you guys will get me to 100 reviews! I can't wait to see that happen.
Swimming with Tina was a lot better than the swimming I did for physiotherapy. My therapist always encouraged me to swim on my own, but I didn't always have access to a pool, especially in winter. Considering the fact that I spend an average of 12-14 hours a day in my chair, it's always great to be in a place where I don't have to just sit. More importantly, swimming helped Tina relieve the back pain that was making her so miserable.
I watched her float on her back, resisting the urge to comment on how funny it looked to just see two bumps sticking out of the water, her head and her belly. I looked kind of weird when I swam, too, but for very different reasons. Tina thinks it looks like I'm drowning when I tread water. I told her that if I'm tired, I pretty much am drowning.
When our fingertips wrinkled up like prunes, it was time to get out. As I treaded water/drowned, I observed Tina dog paddle over to the shallow end and ascend the steps holding on to the railing carefully. Her wet black t-shirt clung to her belly so that I could see her convex belly button poking straight out. I resisted the urge to tease her about it, knowing that some of my jokes were no longer considered funny, particularly jokes about Tina's new body.
I used my arms to hoist myself up onto the pool and lingered on the side next to my empty wheelchair for a moment, letting my feet dangle in the water as I leaned back on my hands for support. Tina walked to where I sat and joined me. I studied her feet as she lowered them into the pool, taking notice of the way her ankles were agonizingly swollen.
"I don't think I've ever seen you without a shirt," she observed, quietly, and I realized that she was right. I happen to think my pectoral muscles and my shoulders look good, thanks to all the work they do when I'm pushing my chair up inclines. It was also the first time Tina had seen my scrawny, unused legs, which I don't particularly like.
"I don't think I've ever seen you without a shirt," I mused, thinking wistfully that if only our relationship had lasted through summer, there surely would've been dates at the pool or maybe even the lake. If only. She blushed and adjusted the fabric that clung to her middle.
"Oh, God, you don't want to see now," she moaned. "But Quinn gave me some cream that really gets rid of stretch marks. I hope I can wear a bikini again someday."
"That makes two of us." Tina's blush deepened and I mentally scolded myself for how I'd just accidentally let myself to flirt with her. We were friends and nothing more, but sometimes the lines got slightly blurred. One look at the protruding belly was usually all it took to remind me where I stood with her.
"You'll bounce back," I reasoned. "Just find out Quinn's secret."
"I am not trying out for Cheerios."
"I'm sure that most of what you've gained is just the baby and water weight," I told her, sensibly. "That's what your book said. And I can tell that you're retaining water because your face is awfully swollen."
"You always know just how to make me feel better," Tina replied, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She shoved me playfully and I shoved her right back. She winced, but not because I'd shoved her too forcefully. Her hand went to her belly and she began rubbing a spot. "And this guy does too."
"Hurts?" I asked, curiously.
"Not really…" she told me. "I can't really describe it. Here, just feel it." She placed my hand on top of her wet t-shirt, right above the place where her navel stuck straight out and pressed down firmly. Unlike the first time she'd tried to show me, I really could feel something now. Her eyes lit up when she saw the look of realization in mine.
"I guess the baby can pop 'n lock, too," I said, speaking without thinking. Tina bit her lip. We rarely ever talked about Mike these days. Tina hardly acknowledged that the baby was his. "When are you talking with his parents?"
"Tomorrow night at six 'o clock," she whispered, closing her eyes and continuing to rub the offending spot. I nodded, having expected that Mike's parents would waste no time in sitting down with Tina.
"You'll be fine."
"Come with me, Artie," she suddenly said, leaning against my shoulder as she spoke. I couldn't tell if that was a request or a directive. Either way, I didn't think it sounded very appropriate for me to go along.
Sitting around a strange dinner table, struggling to eat with my chopsticks while being treated to a conversation about Mike and Tina and the baby, did not sound like a comfortable situation. So what possessed me to smile and tell her I'd be there? I don't know. She looked desperate. Maybe it was also my foolish hope that, in ten weeks, this baby would be born and adopted and we could forget the whole thing ever happened.
As I collected my books after the final bell of the school day, I was accosted by someone grabbing my chair and spinning me around. I stopped mid-protest when I saw that it was just Michelle, holding up a recent Algebra exam. Beaming proudly, she danced a circle around my chair and I, taking this to mean that it was good news, danced with her.
"Ninety-two!" she told me, indicating the number at the top of the page. "I don't think I've gotten an A on a math test in years. At least, not on the first try. I owe you, like, big time!"
I laughed, but said, "You don't owe me. Your parents already pay me twenty dollars a week to tutor you, remember? That's more than enough. Although if you can talk them into giving me a raise, I'd like to buy new shoes."
Michelle rolled her eyes at me. "You own a ridiculous amount of shoes for a wheelchair kid, you know that, right?" She grinned as I nodded. "I have a better idea. Come bowling with me and my family."
"Bowling?" I raised my eyebrows, trying to picture myself rolling up to the lane with a bowling ball in my lap and attempting to throw it from my wheelchair. Michelle read my look of skepticism with the expertise of someone who understands my situation and just giggled.
"Dad loves to go bowling," she informed me. "Probably because he used to be in a bowling league when he was dating my mother. That's actually how they met. Anyway, it's a pretty wheelchair friendly sport. My dad had to adjust his technique after his accident, obviously, but he'd be happy to teach it to you the skills. He's the one who suggested I invite you bowling. It's for his birthday. So, what do you say? Will you go with us? It'll be fun."
Who could resist enthusiasm like that? Plus, if Mr. Fleming wanted to invite me to his birthday celebration with the family, that sounded cool to me. I'd been meaning to find some time to talk to Michelle's dad. I really wanted to know what it was like to be a paraplegic and a father. Not for any reason other than to satisfy my own curiosity, of course.
"Okay," I said. "When?"
She giggled again. "Um, right now? Sorry for such short notice. I kind of cooked up the plan in advance, hoping you'd go for it. Did it work?" She crossed her fingers hopefully.
Michelle was so enthusiastic about this bowling idea that I couldn't say no to her. After I called my dad to tell him I didn't need a ride, I got the Flemings' handicapable van and we took off for the bowling alley. We arrived and, to my great amusement, Mr. Fleming insisted on getting the bowling shoes that came with his rental. I immediately told him that I'd rented roller skates when the Glee club had gone to the rink, and he laughed appreciatively at that.
Once we had our balls and shoes, Mr. Fleming wasted no time in teaching me how he rolled himself to the side of the lane, hit the break on his chair just in case, and leaned as far forward as he could to drop the ball. It rolled slowly, but in a straight line. I watched in amazement as his ball knocked over nine pins. The tenth pin wobbled, but remained standing. On his next throw, he expertly picked up the spare.
On my turn, I rolled a zero, although my second throw almost clipped one of the pins. Michelle cheered me on from behind and then proceeded to knock over a mere two pins on her own turn. We were no match for her parents, the former competitive bowlers, or her ten-year-old brother with his wild, yet effective, technique. Gradually, however, my game did improve. I beat Michelle by three points.
They were going out to dinner next and gave me the option of going home or accompanying them to the restaurant. Celebration was in order for both Mr. Fleming's birthday and Michelle's good grade. I was having a lot of fun with the family, and I still wanted an opportunity to talk to Mr. Fleming, so I went along.
When Michelle and her mother had left the table to use the ladies' room after our meal, I took advantage of their absence to talk to Mr. Fleming. Todd was there, but he was exclusively dedicated to finishing off a huge plate of pasta. Todd was not a large kid by any stretch of the imagination, but he sure could eat.
"So Todd is, um, ten?" I asked, even though Michelle had told me herself. I was trying to lead into the question casually so as not to seem awkward by abruptly asking the older man if his swimmers still got the job done post-accident.
Luckily, he seemed to realize what I was getting out without my having to be painfully obvious. "Yup, our miracle kid," he supplied, as Todd remained focused on his fettuccine.
Keeping my voice low, I took this as an open invitation to ask more questions. "Did it take anything… anything medical?" Todd never looked up and I knew that, even if he had heard me, he wouldn't have caught on.
Mr. Fleming was understanding and didn't appear bothered by the question. "Just the use of a little blue pill I almost refused to try because it's normally the sort of thing that older men use to get the job done," he replied. I'd gotten used to having blunt and embarrassing conversations about my body with adults. Hearing this didn't faze me at all as I adjusted my glasses and nodded.
Admittedly, it wasn't exactly the answer I was hoping for, but it certainly sounded less invasive than some of the procedures I'd read about. Not that I was obsessed with the idea of having kids or anything. I was only seventeen, afterall. It just made me feel like more of a man to know that I could still do anything Mike Chang could do.
Thinking of Mike reminded me of something I'd forgotten. In horror, I checked my watch and realized I was supposed to have met Tina at the Changs' house over an hour earlier.
I was a dead man.
