I paced the hospital floor. I'd been here for three hours, and still no news.
I'd been the one that jumped in and saved Shane, bringing him safely to the rocks. I'd never felt the anxiety that I'd felt at the moment, the fear, the adrenaline. Only once I was sure Shane was safe did I call 911.
They'd flown Shane here by helicopter. He was still unconscious when they made it out to the waterfall, eight minutes after I called 911.
I tried Mr. Dawson's cell phone again, but there was no answer. I left another voicemail, that marked the seventh one.
"Excuse me, sir?" a nurse asked. "You're disturbing the other guests."
So that's what they call people waiting in the ER? Guests?
"Sorry," I muttered, taking a seat. I didn't even have a witty comeback for her. My mind was racing, my heart pounding. All I could think about was seeing Shane fall over the edge, unable to help him.
Trinity's voice came blaring through my phone. "Yeah, I'll have you beggin on your knees for me."
I quickly grabbed my phone. It was Mr. Dawson.
"Hello?" I asked, breathlessly.
"Did you call?" he asked, his voice light and cheery.
"I've been trying to call you for three hours!"
"Sorry, my phone was in the other room. Is everything alright?" His voice turned serious, more somber.
"I'm at the hospital."
"What happened? Is Shane alright?"
"I don't know. We were at the waterfall and he fell over the edge." My voice broke, and tears were building up in my eyes. I was unable to speak, afraid that I might start crying.
"He fell off of a waterfall?" Mr. Dawson was silent. "Tyler, this had better not be a joke."
"It's not," I whispered.
"Are you at West Park General?"
I nodded, and then realized he couldn't see me. "Yeah."
"I'll be right there." The line clicked dead.
A nurse walked into the room, a clipboard in her hand. My heart began to race.
"Parents of Rebecca Johnson?"
Two people stood up, and I fell back into my chair. They'd come in thirty minutes ago tops. In fact, all of the people in the waiting room had come in after us, and yet they were all receiving news before me.
Less than five minutes later, Mr. Dawson came bursting through the door.
I waved him down. His eyes were puffy and he looked like a wreck.
"What's going on?" Mr. Dawson demanded, as he reached me.
I shook my head. "They haven't told me anything."
"How long have you been here?"
"Three hours. My mom just ran out about fifteen minutes ago, but she's been here too."
Mr. Dawson collapsed in the chair next to me and buried his head in his hands. "How did this happen?"
"He was standing too close to the edge," I whispered. "I told him to move away, and he lost his footing and fell over."
"Why were you guys at a waterfall?"
"Shane was a wreck today at school."
Mr. Dawson was silent, needing no further explanation. Shane's mother had meant the world to him, and when she died he had left Shane, throwing himself into his work.
YOU ARE READING
Monroe Academy for the ArtsTeen Fiction
Completed. Thousands of students apply, and only 75 get in per year. This prestigious academy is seemingly perfect on the outside, it's every student's dream. But the students struggle to keep up the facade. Each student holds a secret, something de...