"You must be strong now, and never give up. And when you are afraid of the dark, don't forget that the light is always there." Ralph Waldo Emerson

Joe

"Get off, Frank. You're being such a pain." I tried to swat my brother away and ended up doubling over in pain. Stupid chest. Stupid kidney. Stupid Joe.

And as soon as I did, Frank stopped. He always treats me like a china doll now. I wish he'd stop. I'd already lost my kidney and football and my school. I didn't need to lose Frank too.

Football. Remembering it made me sigh again. No football for the rest of the season, or ever, probably. Some rule about having two kidneys that I didn't even pretend to understand.

At this point, though, I seriously doubt we're going to have a football team at all.

For some reason, this thought brought tears to my eyes. I wiped them away angrily. This was my first day home from the hospital after spending two straight days there. Dad was coming home, after hearing about the shooting on the television. Funerals started tomorrow. No one knew when school would start, since the school was still a crime scene. I'd be fine with it not starting at all.

Frank sat down next to me and I couldn't look at him. Once, when Frank was out of the room (which wasn't often, but mom made him go home to sleep), John Growe had told me about That Day. How Frank had gone towards the shooting to make sure I got out. How he's carried me out and made sure I was okay. How he wouldn't leave my side for the hours after surgery.

I knew that Frank had it harder than I did. He had to think I was dying for hours when I had no idea what was happening. I didn't remember anything of the shooting -- everything after getting into the car in the morning is blissfully blank. But Frank remembers.

Without thinking, I leaned against Frank. I was really crying now. I hadn't cried since I first woke up, and that was crying from pain. I didn't know what I was crying for now.

Frank just let me stay there, one of his hands in my hair, another on my back. He hadn't been out since it happened. No one had. Everyone, everything was too…scary.

It was impossible not to know at this point. Rumors were spreading like wildfire. The shooter was Jacob Roffman, a Junior. He had killed twenty-eight people, critically injured nine more (I was in that part). He had been cornered in a locker room and was now on twenty-four/seven suicide watch. There would be a trial.

The noise of a car interrupted my thoughts. Frank eased out from under me, placing hands on both my shoulders. "You going to be okay?"

I nodded, because I didn't think I could talk. Crying, for those who don't know, hurts like Hell when you have a recently-collapsed lung. Frank peered out the window, smiling the first smile I'd seen in days. "Dad's here."

I was out the door in a second, Frank on my heels. "Slow down, buddy." He caught my sleeve, forcing me to go at a walk. My lungs were already burning from the few feet I'd gone. I walked as slow as Frank made me and managed to get to the door the same time dad threw it open.

Dad stared at me for a second, and I'd only seen him look like that a few times before. When I was kidnapped for the first time. When Frank was in the hospital, almost dead, and we didn't tell him until after he got back. He looked like something inside him had broken. Very quietly, in a voice that broke, he said, "Joe, are you alright?"

I didn't know if I was alright. I didn't know if I'd ever be alright. But I felt Frank's hand on my arm and was immensely glad that my brother was here through this. I swallowed, knowing the answer I must give, even if it wasn't the truth. "I'm fine, dad."

He didn't believe me. His job was not to believe people and I am probably the worst liar in the known world. He started to wrap his arms around me -- something dad rarely does. I must have tensed, though, or he saw Frank tense because his next words were. "Joe, are you huggable?"

Again, I really didn't know if I was or not. I felt Joe step away, heard my mother enter the room, and knew what the answer had to be. "Yeah, dad, of course I am."

He hugged me then, very carefully, the same way Frank always did. Like I was made of glass. I pressed my face into him, hoping that he'd make me feel safe for the first time since the hospital. Safe from something I didn't even remember. It almost worked. I was able to relax into him before I winced, my chest hurting again.

Dad broke away from me, looking far more upset at my plight than he should have been. "Did I hurt you?" And he was so worried that I could only shake my head, knowing once again what my answer had to be.

Frank brushed against my arm again, reminding me without saying anything that he as there. I was glad of that. For a second, I wondered if I could ever feel truly safe around anyone but Frank.

The television was on in the living room but no one was paying attention to it. Mom and dad were talking in low voices in the kitchen and from dad's sudden outbreak of volume I could guess what they were talking about. It seemed to be the only subject of conversation now.

I tried to pay attention to the news. It was a story about how an old man had caught a toddler as she fell from the second story of a mall. Somehow, it didn't interest me that much. I sat on the couch, my mind a million miles away from everything.

"Bayport High School." The words made me look up to see our school on TV, sheltered behind a wall of police tape. But they weren't talking about the actual shooting this time. Frank started to change the channel, as he had every time a news story about us had come on but I stopped him. I wanted to remember what happened that day. I needed to.

"Jacob Roffman, the shooter, is now on trial…" the words started to distort until they seemed to be talking in another language. I felt something touch me and I jumped away, my stomach protesting at the violent reaction.

I looked over at Frank, who still had his arm outstretched. Then I looked towards the television and saw a picture, probably taken out of our yearbook. It was a kid. The one who had tried to kill me.

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