I was never, ever going to take two functioning arms for granted.

I mean, at minimum I could shower and go to the bathroom without feeling like I was going to fall on my face...or in the toilet.

But at maximum, it meant I could show off and show out at the homecoming game - more appropriately, my homecoming. I put up a gaudy stat line and reminded the masses of the Connecticut Group IV football that I was, in fact, still me. 88% pass completion, two touchdown passes (including a monster 55-yarder to Chris), and one rushing touchdown.

It also meant I had no choice but to show my face at the homecoming dance that night, because what right-minded monarch wins on the battlefield and doesn't show his face at the celebration. Long live the motherfucking king.

"Dallas!" my mother called from downstairs. "You need to get going or you'll be late!"

Late to my mother did not mean late for the dance; it meant not being ready in time for her to take, at minimum, 150 photos. I sighed and raked a hand through my mess of still-damp hair, then sprayed myself with my Tom Ford cologne. When I returned my cologne to its spot on the shelf in my medicine cabinet, I brushed my hand over my painkillers prescribed to me for my shoulder and instinctively pulled the bottle out.

I took one about an hour before the game, and even though I hadn't been roughed up too badly during the game, I still ached. Not just my shoulder, but my whole body, like I'd been flung from a moving car.

I ran my finger over the label - GUNTHER, DALLAS. VICODIN 300 MGs. When I shook it, I could hear all the empty spaces, and I shuddered. The thought of trying to play without them scared me more than I cared to admit. What if it affected my throwing? What if I took another bad hit?

I dry swallowed two and quickly stashed the bottle, and my thoughts, in the back of the medicine cabinet. After one last look in my mirror, suddenly hyper aware of the bruise on my temple and the way the lines between my eyebrows creased when I frowned, I ripped the tie off of my collar and undid the top two buttons of my black dress shirt. Fuck the dress code. I win games, I make the rules.

"Dallas, let's go!" My mother called again.

I slipped my dress shoes on and trudged down the stairs, where ladies in waiting stood with their iPhone cameras out alongside my supposed queen. An uncomfortable feeling knotted itself in the pit of my stomach as I had a premonition of being crowned homecoming king and queen, stitched together with little gold strings for everyone to see.

There was no denying Jordyn was beautiful. Model-level beautiful. Her silky green dress clung to her tall, curvy figure like a second skin, with thin straps and a deep neckline that exposed her sharp collarbones and a faded dusting of freckles on her chest from her summer in the Hamptons sun. Under the dim glow of the crystal chandelier in my parents' foyer, her blonde hair looked like it was made of gold.

So yes, objectively, Jordyn Wagner was beautiful, but when I looked at her, all I could see were the things that would keep me tethered to this godforsaken Connecticut town for the rest of my life. I don't want to be here. I don't want her. But the affectionate gushing that came from our mothers as they positioned us for photos at the bottom of our spiral staircase only added to that, so I swallowed a sick lump of anxiety and pride.

"Dallas, what happened to your tie?" My mother pointed at the open collar of my shirt, her nose wrinkled like she could have been angry but settled for discontent. Angry caused wrinkles. 

"It's got a stain on it," I shrugged.

"Wear another one," she suggested with a tight-lipped smile.

The little veins in my temple pulsed, and suddenly the light of the setting sun filtering through the glass panes in the front door was too bright and too warm. Heat pooled underneath my shirt collar. I casually turned away and put my hand to the curl at the bottom of the stair railing. "I don't have the time to go look for one."

"I'm sure your father has one readily available, it's not like he takes all his ties with him when he goes out of town for a conference," she insisted. I didn't need to look at her to feel the sting of her glare.

"For fucks sake, nobody will care if I'm not wearing a tie," I snapped. 

I felt Jordyn's hand on my forearm - a silent, desperate attempt to defuse the bomb I'd just set. "It's very fashionable. Seriously, nobody wears a tie to the Met Gala nowadays."

I looked down at her, starry-eyed and perfect teeth. She brought her hand up my chest and fiddled with one of the open buttons at the top of my shirt. "You look great." It was barely a whisper, like it was something sacred that needed to be kept between us, even though I knew that was the last thing she wanted.

"So do you." I absentmindedly reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Our mothers took that as the go-ahead to pose us for a countless amount of pictures. As if the first 100 on the stairs weren't enough, we were ushered out to the backyard, positioned in front of the wall of carnations that snaked its way up the white trellis leading up to my bedroom window. Petals littered the ground in front of us, and maybe in another universe it would have been pretty and romantic, but all it meant was that it was getting cold, and the flowers were dying.

"I hope they don't do this for prom," Jordyn whispered through her teeth. My heart sank into my stomach, and I was overcome with the urge to keel over and puke it up into the pool.

My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket, which startled Jordyn as it was pressed too close against her back.

"Sorry," I muttered into the top of her head. She unwound herself from me as I pulled my phone out of my jacket, but kept her hand on mine.

ROCHELLE EVANS: where are you?? Anthony's already drunk and Chris and Nina are fighting.

ROCHELLE EVANS: SAVE ME

"We have to go," I blurted out and pocketed my phone. "Everyone's at Rochelle's waiting for us. No more pictures." I pulled myself away from Jordyn's subtle grip and walked over to my mom.

"Alright, alright." She leaned up and kissed my cheek, still half a foot shorter than me in her designer wedges. She reached up and brushed a wayward lock of hair off of my forehead. "Have fun. Be smart."

"We will." Jordyn appeared beside me and reached for my hand again. My palms were sweaty and her thumb nail was too sharp on the back of my hand, but I grabbed her hand back and used it as a means to propel ourselves the fuck out of my yard.

I barely had one foot in Rochelle's yard when she came trudging up to us in her little skintight black dress and sequined sneakers. As if agitating Principal Maddox with her dress code violations during school hours wasn't enough.

"Please," she huffed out. "We need an exit strategy, and fast."

I glanced over Rochelle's shoulder, where her father was engaged in a seemingly one-sided conversation with Anthony - who could barely stand up straight - and Chris - consistently being tugged on by Nina for god knows what. Maybe in the back of my mind I knew Chris deserved better, but who the fuck was I to lecture him on the very thing I struggled with myself.

Rochelle and I found a way to divert her dad's attention to us temporarily, which included a far too in-depth conversation about my future as Cornell's quarterback. Smile and nod. Lie through my teeth. Like throwing myself on a grenade.

Finally Mrs. Evans came outside and tried to group us all together for more photos. Anthony's date Meret, a leggy junior on the soccer team, was even more off-balance than he was, although the sky-high heels she wore might have been a factor. I recognized Rochelle's date as Kennedy Prince, one of the girls on the field hockey team who was always circling in Kaia's orbit, but I'd never seen Rochelle utter so much as a single word to her. God forbid Rochelle asked someone she actually likes to homecoming. Rochelle's commitment issues were none of my business, but I almost felt bad for Kennedy as she stood on her toes to fix up a piece of Rochelle's hair that had fallen out of her elaborate braid. Rochelle scowled.

Then again, I wasn't really one to talk as Jordyn snaked her arm around my waist, making my stomach shudder.

We endured a few more photos in front of the Evans' white column, colonial style porch before being loaded into a few parents' SUVs and shuttled over to the school. Cliques from every grade kept to their own little corners of the courtyard, but I wasn't ignorant to the fact that they all took notice when we arrived.

The pristine, obscenely expensive gymnasium in the new athletic facility building was hosting homecoming for the first time, saving us all the trouble of being dumped off at some country club with heightened supervision. A function on school grounds was like homefield advantage - we knew every back door, hidden hallway, secluded corner to do whatever we wanted without detection.

Anthony, Chris, Cal and I peeled off into one of those little corners, and we traded shots of tequila from a flask Anthony hid in his jacket the way we used to trade Pokemon cards on the elementary school playground. I had catastrophic flashbacks of the last time we all passed around a flask like this at my birthday party, but I swallowed it down and drowned it with tequila.

"Wanna take a trip?" Anthony held out four white pills in his hand, and I hastily grabbed one and swallowed it. I pretended not to feel the concerned sting of Chris's gaze. I didn't need concern tonight - I needed to get through the night, and not remember it in the morning.

count your blessings early before the lot will hit the gates
winnings for the lucky living just takes
painkillers

painkillers / rainbow kitten surprise

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