Sketch

            "Oh, it's you again," I say unenthusiastically when Spencer walks into the door, clad in a flowy, stomach-revealing tanktop and jean shorts with an armful of books in her hands.

            She scowls at me and sets them down on the table across the way, then pulls her red, exposed bra strap back onto her tanned shoulder. "How do you f--"

            "Like shit," I snap, my face void of emotion, but my tone like sharp icecicles. "Don't ask me again."

           "What's the matter with you?" she asks, seeming taken aback. She dares to come closer and has a seat in a chair at my bedside, watching me as if I was a rabid animal. "Thought you were being optimistic about this, Cappie."

            Clenching my jaw, I shake my head. "I'm not anymore," I say simply.

            Spencer falls silent for a moment until she has a look at my arm, where ugly bruises litter my forearm. "What happened to you?" she asks, her green eyes searching my face as she holds my arm tenderly in her hands.

            "The Grape," I say. She got angry with me and felt the need to burst capillaries in my arm as she jerked me out of my wheelchair. But when I said I was going to tell, she threatened to dump me out of my wheelchair down a flight of stairs. She even had me at the edge, her hands clenched on the handles.

           Spencer flicks her eyes towards the door and I'm half-expecting the devil herself to saunter in, but little Tara is the one to come in instead. I haven't said a word to her since I yelled at her on Sunday. In fact, I don't think I've seen her show her face since then...and it's Friday.

            "Who are you?" Spencer asks her, obviously thinking the same things about her that I did when I first saw her. She's pretty, her hair is nice...

            "Your friend's punching bag," Tara says, shooting me a playful glance as she comes my way. She hands me a cup of iced coffee that she obviously snuck in from the coffee shop across the street. Not just any old coffee, either. She got my favorite kind. "Better today, sweetheart?"

            After staring at the coffee for a moment, surprised that she bothered to think about me on her break, I reply with, "Not really."

            She gives me a somewhat sympathetic smile and sits down on the railing of my bed, gently patting my head and running her fingers through my hair as I sip my coffee.

            "Anyway..." Spencer continues, folding her arms across her chest and shifting her weight to one side. "Who's this person that hurt you?"

            Tara stops stroking my head and she looks at me as if she's expecting me to answer, though her eyes give her away. She looks pissed...and that's because she knows exactly who's behind my bruising.

            "No offense, Spence, but since when do you care about what happens to me?" I ask. Normally, she would have given me an "uh-huh" and proceeded to tell me about her problems without another mentioning of mine.

            Her expression darkens with concern and she bites her lip. "Can you leave for a second?" she asks Tara.

            Tara gives her a suspicious look before she goes, but finally leaves and Spencer scoots closer to me in her chair, making it screech against the tile in protest. "Kiefer and I spent the night together on Saturday..." she begins, her tone slow and unsure.

            I quickly sit up and gasp. "You slept with him?" I can't quite put my finger on her emotions right now, but she doesn't look as happy as I thought she would have. And I shouldn't be so surprised; after all, I knew they'd take things further eventually, since Spencer is unfortunately so willing. "Oh God, have you lost your mi--"

             "Almost," she interrupts, rubbing her knees. "But his sister came in and caught us making out...and you know how much she hates me..."