Author's note: So uh, my apologies that I'm just now getting around to switching the rating on this to M. I kind of meant to do that awhile ago, but forgot.
Then again, if you're old enough to fondly remember The Mighty Ducks, you're also probably old enough to have heard the F-word a few times. If not, my deepest apologies for any vocabulary expansion I may have contributed to.
…..
The next morning, Adam woke to a foam Nerf dart pelting his nose. Sleepily, he opened his eyes just long enough to see a figure with a messy mop of strawberry blonde hair and a maroon Hampden-Sydney sweatshirt standing near the foot of his bed.
"Fuck you" He mumbled just as another dart bounced off his forehead. Annoyed, he pulled the covers over his face, creating a shield against both the spongy foam and the blinding sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window.
"Nah, you're not really my type." A nasally voice replied, jerking the plaid comforter off the bed.
You know who was an underrated friend? Brian fucking McGill. That asshole never got out of bed before noon.
Unlike a certain someone.
"Go to hell, Larson!" He shouted, grabbing his alarm clock and throwing it at the unwanted intruder. The cheap plastic clock missed Larson by a solid ten feet, and landed against the navy blue wall with a harmless thud.
"You uh, you ever stop to think that your dad should have signed you up for a season or two of Little League when you were younger?" Larson smirked, looking at the fallen black clock.
"Yeah yeah yeah, Mr. Well Rounded Childhood, I could still kick your ass."
"So? Most people can. You're not really setting the bar that high."
"You realize you're like, the worst trash talker in Hawk history, right?"
"Worst trash talker. Fewest concussions. Most likely to still remember how to write my own name when I'm 30. You can make fun now, but one day you and Brian are going to be so fucking jealous of the way I can tie my shoes and recite the alphabet and shit."
"A-B-C-D-E-F-U-C-K-Y-O-U" Adam sang as he grabbed a hockey puck from his nightstand and threw it at Larson, once again missing by an embarrassing margin.
Okay, maybe one season of Little League would have been a good thing.
"God you're sad off the ice!"
"Well, fortunately for you, you suck equally in all environments!"
"That's what all the ladies say!"
"Wait" Larson added a second later, noticing Adam's amused expression "that didn't come out the way I meant for it to! I'm….actually not sure how I did mean for that to come out, now that I think about it."
"Yeah, I'm not really sure what you were aiming for there, either. It's a good thing you've taken such good care of those precious brain cells, though. They seem to be doing you a lot of good!"
"Fuck you."
.
The discussions of who, exactly, should fuck whom continued on for another ten minutes before Adam finally roused himself from the warm cocoon of his bed and trudged over to the upstairs seating area. Lazily sprawling across the entire couch as he flipped through the channels, Larson was reduced to sitting on the floor, where as revenge for forcing him out of bed with Nerf darts, Adam proceeded to "accidentally" put his feet in Larson's face at every possible opportunity. For nearly twenty minutes, Larson batted away a large set of feet before bringing an end to the problem by getting up and plopping himself back down on top of Adam's shins.
"Shit!" Adam yelped, returning the favor by delivering a rather solid strike to Larson's head with the remote control.
"Fuckin' Christ, man!" Larson whined, rubbing the side of his head.
"You alright?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Yeah"
And with that, the two reached a truce. Quietly, they watched the rest of the Sunday edition of Sports Center from opposite ends of the couch, their feet propped up on the ornately carved coffee table as they stared wordlessly at the television, occasionally reaching over to the center of the table to grab a brownie off the massive platter of baked goods that Mrs. Larson had sent over with her son.
"So" Larson finally asked during a commercial break, still staring at the glowing TV screen "you want to tell me what happened?"
"I fell down the stairs."
"Uh huh. Quite the fall."
"You're the one who cut his mouth open on a Capri Sun and had to get stitches."
"My dad assured me that happens to lots of people."
"Capri Sun accidents? Yeah, totally a leading cause of death. Right up there with indoor lightening strikes and narwhal attacks."
"Fuck you"
"Anyway, I'm just saying…" Larson added a second later, not quite ready to drop the subject.
"The stairs are fucking marble. Remember the time Brian slid down them and broke his ankle?"
Larson laughed, thinking back to the time Scott had convinced the three of them that the Kirkpatrick twins were out sunbathing naked in the front yard, and that the full majesty of the situation could only be appreciated from the foyer. Brian McGill had gotten so excited at the prospect of seeing Kerry and Kelly's matching perky tan breasts that he missed a step and landed awkwardly on the side of his foot, creating a chain reaction as Larson and Adam then tripped over him, all landing in a painful heap on top of one another.
"Okay, that is like the worst staircase ever!" Larson winced, unconsciously rubbing his elbow at the memory of the painful landing. "Still, you really mean to tell me that you fell down the stairs and then your dad just happened to like, get hit in the face by a dump truck on the way to the hospital or something? Because when he answered the door this morning, he wasn't looking too hot…"
Suddenly, Adam found himself very focused on the Mentos commercial that was playing on the television in front of them, quietly humming along to the theme song.
Mentos freshness
Fresh goes better with Mentos
Fresh and full of life
Sensing that his perpetually closed off friend was not going to be making any sudden communication breakthroughs, Larson finally decided to drop the subject, and went back to staring mindlessly at the suave, minty fresh guys on the TV who he had nothing in common with.
He and McGill got the fancy houses. I got the decent parents.
.
That afternoon, Mrs. Larson came to pick up her son, and brought yet another pile of baked goods with her.
"How is my favorite little Quaker Oatmeal Man?" She asked, a concerned smile across her freckled face as she gently hugged the boy who was now more than a foot taller than her.
"Better now that you brought even more food!"
"Well, what can I say? I have to fatten you up somehow! Right now, I think you and Reid weigh about as much as I do, and I'm a lot shorter. Either you two are going to have to fatten up, or I'm going to have to lose some weight, and I really don't want to have to stop eating brownies myself!"
Looking down at his pleasantly plump former pre-school teacher, Adam couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the mom card his best friend had drawn. The short, sunny ginger matched her bright floral print GAP cardigan and fuchsia lipstick—she truly was as cheery and good-natured as she looked. She was, in other words, the exact opposite of the tall blonde upstairs who could go days without getting out of bed.
I wonder if she needs another son…
On second thought, never mind. Now that, thanks to my rich parents, I no longer have a future, I kind of need my rich parents.
Oh the fucking irony…
Later that afternoon, several other friends, including Charlie and Guy, called Adam to see how he was doing and asked about coming over, but not being in the mood to get cleaned up, he turned them all away. Larson seeing him with unwashed hair and stained clothing was one thing, but seeing anyone else required proper pants and a shower. He planned on returning to the world of pressed khakis and reasonable hygiene soon enough, but for the moment, he wanted to wallow, and wallowing was what he was going to do.
.
Monday brought a check up with the neurologist, and Tuesday brought another uncomfortable trip to Rochester for a follow up appointment with the orthopedic surgeon. Sitting in the cigarette smoke filled sedan as the now very familiar snowy Minnesota countryside passed by, it suddenly dawned on Adam that there was a certain irony to the fact that they were going to the Mayo Clinic for his arm, but that his dad trusted the senile, 92 year old Dr. Mueller to make sure that his brain was okay. During the cognitive evaluation the day before, Dr. Mueller had himself forgotten the correct answers, which Adam hardly found confidence inspiring, but which didn't seem to faze Phil in the least.
Dad always has been a man of well-placed priorities.
I guess Larson may have a point about Brian and me. I should probably start sucking up to him now so that one day he can help me write my name and figure out how to put on shoes. Maybe if play my cards right, he'll only help me, and dumbass Brian will be stuck walking around barefoot with shoes on his hands…
That's right, Future Brian. Sucks to suck, bitch.
.
By the time they got home Tuesday evening, it was time to prepare for a foray back into the world of normal people. One very long overdue shower and a clumsy attempt at left handed shaving later, Adam was relieved to see that there was no longer a nerdy Kurt Cobain wannabe staring back at him when he looked in the mirror. Of course, the nerdy Kurt Cobain wannabe had been replaced by an awkward 15 year old who looked like he'd tried to shave with a weed whacker, but relatively speaking, it still represented a vast improvement, even taking into account the weird patches of hair he missed and the trickle of blood now running down his chin.
I know they say girls like dangerous guys. I hope this counts. Because damn it, shaving left handed is very dangerous, indeed.
The next morning, after a valiant half hour struggle with his polo shirt that, at one point, involved a very humiliating shout for help and an incredibly undignified four minutes of Phil trying to free his son's head from the tangled mess of hunter green cotton mesh, Adam was finally dressed and ready for school. With one last glance in the mirror before making his way downstairs and out the door to the warm Mercedes waiting in the driveway, he was pleased to note that his reflection looked quite normal. Far more normal than actually he felt.
"You uh, you look nice, son." His dad awkwardly offered as he stared into the rearview mirror, slowly backing out of the long driveway.
"Thanks."
"I umm, hope you have a good day at school today. I talked everything over with your teachers, so you won't have to worry about homework or anything."
"Okay"
"And you won't have to worry about carrying your books, because I've got that taken care of. You probably won't really need them for awhile, anyway, since Dr. Mueller doesn't think you need to overdo it…"
Ah yes, school without books, homework, or thinking. Sounds like a productive use of time, Dr. Mueller.
"Okay"
"If you get to feeling too bad, just call the house. God knows your mom and Scott won't be going anywhere. Fucking dipshits."
"Alright"
"Well, uh, if you need anything or anything, you can always call my office."
"Okay"
And with that, Phil went back to focusing on his seventh cigarette of the morning, while Adam stared sullenly out the window at the midcentury ranches and 70's split levels lining the streets near the school.
I'll probably grow up to live in a house like that now.
Fuck me.
.
As soon as he arrived back at Eden Hall, he was greeted by Julie waiting for him at the student drop-off. Taking in her charcoal peacoat and brilliant white smile, it was hard to remain sullen. He practically jumped out of the black car, thrilled at both the prospect of a few minutes with Julie before class, and at getting a break from the stifling second hand smoke that his father seemed to specialize in creating. The man was a nicotine fiend under the best of circumstances, but with the stress of the last week, his addiction had reached such levels that Adam was pretty sure the Mercedes needed to be classified as a Superfund site.
"Julie!"
"Adam! Oh my gosh, school hasn't been the same without you! How are you feeling?" Julie gushed, her green eyes beaming with excitement that not only was he back, but that he was back in all of his impeccably groomed, Ralph Lauren wearing glory. She did feel a little silly for making such a big deal over someone she'd just talked to on the phone the night before, but she couldn't help it. Talking on the phone had not been an adequate substitute for basking in his perfect smile or the safe feeling his muscular arms wrapped around her waist.
Come on, Einstein. Get it together. It's only been ten hours; I don't think a lot's changed since you talked to him last!
"Nothing has been the same without you." He smiled, pulling her into a hug as he tilted his head down slightly to kiss the top of her forehead.
"You know" He added, noticing that she was still barely touching him, seemingly afraid to return his embrace, "contrary to popular rumors, I'm not actually made of glass. You can hug me back."
Looking back up at her favorite starting center, Julie gave an embarrassed smile that made Adam feel like he could melt at any moment.
"I'm sorry" She apologized, "I just didn't want to hurt you. I know you've got to be in enough pain as is."
"I've been playing hockey since I was three. Plus, I've probably got enough Vicodin in my system to handle being trampled by an elephant. As big and scary as you are, I think I can handle your hugs."
"Okay, I guess you have a point." She smiled, gently pulling his toned waist in towards her.
"Owww!" He screamed, causing her to jump back in horror. Looking up, she realized that he was laughing mischievously, a huge smile across his face.
"Oh my God, I hate you so much!" She replied, playfully slapping his good arm.
"Ah man, beating up the poor, defenseless injured guy. That's just low. You should feel so guilty!"
"There are no words for how much I hate you!"
"That's because you don't. You love me. You think I'm awesome. You want to marry me and be with me for forever!"
I mean, I kind of do, actually.
"What I want to do is kill you for being a horrible person!"
"But that would definitely involve hurting me, and I think we just established that you don't want to do that! Well, I mean, other than the fact that you viciously attacked me for no reason."
"I didn't want to hurt you before we established that you're evil!" She laughed, gently running her fingers through his clean, sandy hair. "Now that I know how horrible you are, I have no qualms about anything!"
"Well, you killing me would still technically involve spending my last moments with you, and if I'm with you, I'll die a happy man."
Once again, he squeezed her in as tightly as he could considering that he had a giant, plaster covered arm in the way, and planted a quick kiss on her soft lips, completely undeterred by the fact that they were not only in public, but within sight of other parents dropping their freshmen off. For a long moment, she kept her arms wrapped tightly around him as well, reveling in finally being able to hold her best friend again.
Together, they walked hand in hand towards the main academic building, the chilly late February wind blowing through their hair and nipping at their noses. As they made their way across the snowy campus, Julie's hand periodically squeezed his as she thought about how things really had not been the same without a certain delightful preppy to pass notes to in chemistry or to steal hugs from in the hallway. Over the course of the past week, as her immediate concerns about his wellbeing had started to fade, they'd been replaced by an incredible sense of boredom. The excitement of having him around had always distracted her from the stifling monotony of short winter days and long hours of homework at night, and without him around to make her heart flutter, the sheer drudgery of Minnesota winter had started to sink in. Now that he was back, things suddenly seemed much sunnier.