Clinch: Chapter Ten

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"How's the physical therapy been going, anyway?" Mike asked, steering the car away from the station.

"It's going, I guess," Stef replied, tiredly. "The doctors keep giving different percentages for the progress of his hand movement."

"How well can his hand move?"

"You want the honest answer or the lie?"

"...The lie...?"

"It's moving great—he'll be in the clear in no time."

"Oh."

"Yeah,"

"Poor kid," Mike sighed.

"The best way to describe it is that his fingers won't do what he wants them to do. He'll try to bend his pointer finger, and his middle finger will move."

"Maybe he's doing that on purpose and he just wants to keep flipping off Vico."

"Maybe," Stef laughed. "Probably,"

"And how was his first day back at school?"

"Are you ready for a story?"

"Always ready."

"Okay, well, he came home absolutely miserable, and went straight to the couch to do his homework, right. Of course, Lena and I were concerned, so we wrestled the story out of the twins. And apparently," She exhaled. "There was only one seat left for a student to sit—and that student was Vico, and that seat was right next to Brandon."

"Oh good Lord,"

"Oh wait, there's more," Stef assured. "The teacher called on him to answer a question, and of course, he couldn't answer, because his jaw is dislocated. So evidently, he kept shaking his head no and pointing to his jaw. And everyone was laughing. But the teacher kept asking him questions, like "You can't talk?" and "Why can't you talk?"."

"Was this teacher mentally impaired?" He asked, appalled.

"She's gotta be." Stef rolled up the window. "And then, she made him come up to the board and write down why he couldn't talk, and how it happened—in front of Vico, and in front of the entire class who were laughing their heads off."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope. And that's all we were able to get out of the twins."

"Well, if they know, then I'm sure the rest of the school does, too."

"Exactly,"

"Is this kid ever gonna get a break?" Mike sighed.

"I don't know," She paused. "But he's so determined, Mike. You can tell. He's determined to play again, and to get his life back on track. I mean, the physical therapy is going slowly—almost at an unnoticeable rate, but he still believes. Lena and I talked to him about believing that the therapy will work and that life will get better, and he's doing it."

"Looks like he's taking your advice," He noted.

"Yeah, I mean, it gives him a positive goal to focus on instead of dwelling on everything that's happened to him in the past couple months."

"Well that's good, isn't it?"

"Really good," She smiled a little. "Because there is hope, and he needs to believe in it."

Okay, seriously. These people needed jobs. Was he really that incredible to stare at? Didn't these guys have stuff to do? Friends to squeal annoyingly with? Boyfriends or girlfriends to bang in the bathroom? Did they really have to test his last nerve with their stupid stares and giggles and whispers?

Man, he hated high school.

He was pretty sure everyone knew about the incident—no, incidents, plural—from yesterday. But what did he care? Why should he care? They were just a bunch of stupid kids with an iPhone glued to their hand, saying 'hashtag' before every word they spoke.

"This essay is due Monday." The teacher informed.

Essay? Did he zone out again?

The teacher passed out the rubrics, and Brandon looked at the topic.

Well, whaddaya know.

The topic: "What is the most powerful emotion?"

He already knew the answer to that.

One more chapter...

Do you think you know Brandon's answer to the topic?