J O N A S

Jonas put the car in park as soon as it had stopped, bumper to bumper with the car in front of him. He didn't try to back up from the car; the thought didn't even cross his mind (or maybe it did, but got lost in the rapid fire of his brain's synapses).

With the car stopped, it was easier to extricate his foot. He glared at it in disgust. He imagined shoving it back into the corner of the closet. Or better yet, under his bed, where it could gather dust, completely out of sight. Prosthetic piece of crap, he thought, his hand massaging the point where the remaining part of his left leg met plastic. Jonas ignored the pins and needles sensation in his leg and turned his gaze back to the car in front of him.

Whoever he'd hit wasn't getting out. Jonas could tell it was a she, but nothing else about her. Would she be angry? Most likely. I'd be angry if someone hit me, he thought. Well, I was angry when someone hit me. He wondered whether or not he should tell the truth about what caused the accident. He decided he would just say he hadn't been paying attention. What was he supposed to say? Um, sorry...I have a fake foot and mental issues with semi trucks, and I rear-ended you because I was trying to decide if I was having a panic attack or dying. Better Jonas look like an incompetent driver than tell her the truth and watch her expression morph into that look of pity that people inevitably got whenever they learned that he was an eighteen year old with only half a left leg.

He saw the other driver turn her hazards on, and decided that he should probably do the same.

After doing this, he steeled himself to the inevitable conversation that would have to occur between him and the girl. So he slid over to the passenger side (having enough sense left to know that it would be inconceivably stupid to open a door into oncoming traffic, no matter how slow it was going) and opened the door. Jonas felt like every other driver on the road was watching him. He tried not to think about it. Who cares? He told himself. Not me. If anything, I'm used to being stared at by now. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the lie. Carefully placing both feet on the ground, he got out. With his pants covering his prosthetic leg, the view looking down was almost normal; there was no way to tell that one of his feet was plastic, except for the way it felt. Like it's dead. He wished that he was wearing almost anything other than plaid pajama pants and a too-big sweatshirt.

Jonas was careful to match his walking as closely to 'normal' as possible, ignoring the discomfort and pain that shot through the missing part of his leg with each step. Phantom pain can be triggered by emotional situations, Dr. Andy, his counselor, had said, back when he first went to see her. You seem to be having a lot of trouble with it. I know it's not what you want, but maybe if you mentally accepted the missing part of your leg, you might feel a little less of it. Some patients have said it helps...Easier said than done. Be normal, be normal, he told himself, as he made his way around the Bus. Jonas told himself to watch where he was putting his feet, due to lack of sensation in his prosthesis, so that he didn't step too hard, or trip forward. It was like he was stumbling around with impaired depth perception or something. He was used to the crutches, but not so used to the feeling of having a left leg, albeit a left leg that he couldn't feel below the knee.

When she saw that Jonas was getting out of the car, the girl rolled down her passenger window.

"Um...hi," Jonas said, rather lamely in his opinion. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, before gesturing towards the back of her car. "Look, I'm really...I'm really sorry," he choked out, fixing a half smile on his face like a piece of armor, and hoping he didn't look as unhinged as he had in the mirror that morning. "I just...I looked down for a second and then I looked up and the light was red..." Half truth. He had been looking at the semi truck. Don't think about it, he mentally ordered himself, trying to ignore the way his heart sped up at the memory.

"O-oh," stammered the girl. "It's fine. You know, accidents happen. I just, need your insurance information I think? And your name, proably."

It struck Jonas that she wanted to be anywhere but here, talking to him. She looked like, if she could, she would have just driven off. She was staring forward as if it might kill her if her gaze deviated from the windshield. When she did look at him, it was at a point slightly to the left of his face, maybe his ear.

"Of course," said Jonas, keeping his lips fixed in the contrived smile, although he was now sure that his eyes weren't cooperating with his mouth. He wondered how he wasn't better at fake smiling by now. Rhys always said he frowned too much, even before the accident. Afterwards...Jonas wasn't sure when the last time he'd really smiled had been. He glanced at the traffic that seemed to be backing up somewhat as more and more people slowed down to see what was going on or to let the cars stuck behind the accident into the open lane.

Jonas turned back to the girl in the car. She was still refusing to look directly at him. "I think that both vehicles look moveable," he said, calmly, hiding his discomfort behind a veneer of pretend confidence. "I think if we pull into the parking lot over there..." He gestured to the mostly empty parking lot of the nearby Walgreens. "We should be able to inspect the damage a bit better and I'll...give you my information. This really is my fault, and I apologize."

The girl had been staring at Jonas, until he made eye contact to apologize, at which point she'd blushed even redder and looked away once more. "You're not supposed to admit fault in an accident," she mumbled, under her breath, almost so Jonas couldn't hear her. "I think it can be used against you or something..." Her voice trailed off.

Jonas frowned. "What?" he asked. What was wrong with this girl? Logic would say she'd be glad to have him admit to being at fault.

"Nothing," she mumbled, even more quietly.

"All right," he said. "You go ahead, and I'll follow you."

She nodded, turning her hazards off and shutting her window.

Jonas turned away, allowing his shoulders to slump and the fake smile to disappear. All he wanted to do was sit down, and remove the stupid prosthetic leg. The remaining part of his leg was clearly not used to having to bear weight, and every step was painful. He was also regretting not looking a little harder for the stump sock, as the inside of the plastic socket was starting to slicken with sweat. He moved back to the bus, getting in the still open passenger door and sliding across to the driver's side. He started the car once more and, keeping his left foot as far from the brake pedal as possible, put the car in drive and moved slowly forward until he reached the parking lot, where he turned in and parked next to the girl, who had gotten out of her vehicle and was inspecting the back of her car.

It didn't actually look that bad, Jonas realized, with relief. Maybe the cost to his parents wouldn't be too much. He was still on their insurance. He'd have to pay them back of course...but how would he earn the money? Jonas tried not to think about how the monthly insurance bill would increase after an accident. He shook his head. I'll worry about that later, he thought.

He got out of the Bus once more, relieved not to have to slide over to the passenger's side again.

The girl came around the vehicle to meet him. Now that she was out of the car, he got a better look at her. She was the type of girl that most people wouldn't really remember if she passed them on the street. Quiet and unassuming. Not trying to stand out. Not that that was a bad thing...She had brown hair, the majority of which was tied up into a haphazard knot on top of her head, except little pieces that frizzed around her ears and forehead in little wavy tendrils. And glasses...round glasses that seemed a bit too big on her round face. They made her eyes look bigger, like she was afraid or nervous. An animal in the headlights, Jonas thought. She was dressed in a slightly-too-big-for-her blue collared shirt and black pants; tennis shoes completed the outfit. Jonas's eyes went to the badge pinned to her shirt. Brennan. He resisted the urge to tell Brennan that there was a hole in her left sneaker, right where the side of her little toe would be. It might be weird for her...it was weird, right? The way he subconsciously noticed people's left legs now?

"I'm making you late for work, aren't I?" he said, instead, somewhat worriedly. It was bad enough that he'd crashed into her, now he was making her late. Inconvenience. This leg is always an inconvenience.

"It's fine," Brennan said, blushing again. She always seemed to be blushing. Her glasses were fogging up around her nose too. It was humid outside. She took off the glasses, awkwardly rubbing them clear on the corner of her uniform shirt. Kroger. She worked at the grocery store. Jonas's mom went there to shop sometimes. "I called my boss, anyway," she said.

"Ok," Jonas said. He didn't know what else to say.

He walked around to the front of the Bus. Thankfully, just a bit of scratched paint. Nothing worse than any of the Bus's other attributes. The scratches would fit right in.

He walked back to her car, half leaning on the bus to take some weight off his bad leg until he got around to where she could see him again. Then he went back to forcing himself to have as normal a gait as possible, even though his leg felt like buckling. Jonas noticed Brennan looking at him strangely and redoubled his efforts, ignoring the painful rubbing of the sweaty socket against his stump. Blisters, he imagined, already dreading the thought. He didn't need blisters on top of everything else. Where in the world did I put that stupid sock?

Biting back a curse, Jonas inspected the back of Brennan's car more closely. There was a bit of paint scratching, but it wasn't noticeable with the light blue-gray color of her car. The most concerning thing was the dent in the back of the vehicle.

Brennan was standing next to him now, having come forward quietly. The heat was starting to get a little oppressive in the Wash-U sweatshirt, and Jonas held his breath, hoping he didn't smell like sweat. He tried to remember when he'd last showered. A day ago? Two? He couldn't remember. The last two days had been 'gray days' as his mom called them. "Bird's having a gray day," he'd heard his mom tell his dad yesterday. Gray days meant that Jonas locked himself in his room and alternated between playing video games and staring at the wall or the ceiling. He brought himself back to the present when Brennan spoke. "I think it's really fine," she said, a little breathlessly. "I thought it would be much worse...this isn't even as bad as the time my mom backed into one of our vehicles with the other one..." She took a deep breath. "...And that dent popped out within a week. "I don't even think I need to take your insurance information." She said all of this too quickly, with only the one breath in between, as if she had to get it all out before she lost the nerve.

"Are you sure?" Jonas asked, frowning. "If I've damaged your vehicle, I should really pay."

She looked like she'd rather be anywhere but there. And if letting Jonas off was what it took to get her away from him faster, it seemed like she was willing to do it. It didn't ease his conscience.

"It's fine," Brennan said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "You can't see the scratches in the paint and the dent is hardly noticeable. Not really worth the rise in your insurance premium, is it?"

He shrugged. She was watching him. He tried not to think how he must look to her...messy hair and pajamas, like he'd just rolled out of bed. You did just roll out of bed, Jonas reminded himself.

She turned to leave. "I'd better get to work though," she said.

"Wait!" Jonas pulled out his wallet, opening it and taking out a twenty-dollar bill that had been there since before the accident. "At least take this." He held it out to Brennan, and when she didn't make any move to take it, he inwardly groaned in frustration and took a few steps forward until he reached her. He pressed the bill into her hand, admittedly a bit roughly.

"I don't need..." Brennan spluttered, weakly. Her glasses were half-fogged up again.

"Take it," he said.

"It's really fine..."

"Take it!" he demanded, frustration creeping into his voice "I don't want it!"

She looked startled by his change in tone, and she took the bill wordlessly. "Ok," she said, still watching him carefully, brown eyes wide behind her glasses.

"Ok," he said, letting out a breath. "All right. I'm sorry. Again."

"I'm really not upset about it," she said, quietly. She was starting to look a little uneasy, and made eye contact even less than she had before (if that were possible). He wondered if she was just shy. It wasn't as if Jonas couldn't understand it if she was. He'd never been a social butterfly himself, and his sister Taylor was constantly plagued with social anxiety if she was doing anything other than playing sports.

"All right," he said. "I guess I'd better head off then. I've got something I need to drop off for my sister."

"Ok," she said. "Just pay a little more attention to the road." She laughed uncomfortably, as if she had been trying to make a joke or a witty comment.

Jonas stared at her blankly for a moment, and then forced an uneasy laugh, not because he found it funny, but because he felt awkward on her behalf.

He got back into the Bus, and Brennan got into her car, pulling out of the parking lot and driving away, off on her way to work. He sat there for a few moments, leaving the Bus idling. Eventually, he shook his head and put the van into gear.

Taylor looked absolutely shocked to see him when he pulled into the school parking lot next to the soccer field. Jonas had expected her surprise; why should she expect her brother, who never left the house except for visits with his doctor, his prosthetist, or his rehab therapist, to actually be out and about? She would have made a big deal about it, but Jonas shut her down with a frown and a shake of his head.

So Taylor just thanked him quietly and took the permission slip.

Jonas drove home and locked himself in his room, throwing the fake leg back into the corner of his closet and settling in to play the Playstation, trying to drown out the pain in the stump and his missing left foot.

He didn't leave the room the rest of the night, except to use the bathroom down the hall. His mom brought him a plate of dinner, at which he muttered 'not hungry' from his place in the bed, staring at the wall. She set the plate on his desk and walked over to the side of Jonas's bed. He didn't turn over. She hesitantly touched his forehead with the back of her hand. "No fever. Are you feeling ok?" Her words were laced with concern. Guilt squeezed his stomach again.

"Yeah, fine," he said. "I'm just not hungry. Thanks though. I'll try to eat some in a little while."

Elise Avery was quiet. She sighed and gently ruffled his hair. "Ok," she said. "I love you. I'm here, ok?"

"Ok," he whispered. Whispered, because he was afraid that if he spoke any louder, some of the churning inside him might escape and he might cry again. He didn't want to cry right now. You're angry, not sad, he chided himself.

His mom's hand stilled, entwined in his hair. She seemed like she might say something, but she just turned and left the room.

Later, she peeked in again. "Thank you for taking the permission slip to Taylor."

Jonas hadn't told her about his fender bender. He wouldn't tell her; she'd just feel bad about asking him to go in the first place. She'd think it was her fault, and it wasn't.

"You're welcome," he mumbled. He heard the door shut, and turned over so he could see the poster on the closet door, with its mass of black ink. Irrevocable. Un-take-backable.