The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 42: Ronan

Becca said there would be consequences if I called Jesse. Fuck consequences. Jesse is my best friend, and I'm not letting some fake psychic predictions prevent me from talking to him. That's all psychics are, really— frauds that are either really good at making predictions, or really good at making observations. I can't believe that I got fooled into thinking otherwise.

"Ronan? Are you ready?"

"What? Oh, yeah. One second."

"I understand that you might be scared that the person who hit you will hurt you again if you tell on them," Owen continues, in a tone he must think is reassuring, "But I can tell you that once you give us their name, they'll—"

I drop the water cup away from my mouth. "I'm not scared."

"Of course not," says Owen, quickly backtracking. "But either way, it's very important for you to tell us who hit you—"

"I thought you already knew."

Now he looks thrown. "Excuse me?"

"I heard you and Karen talking before I woke up. She said she was going to go talk to the Director."

A funny look passes over Owen's face, and it's obvious that he didn't know I overheard his conversation with Karen until now. "You're right, Karen has her suspicions. But I prefer to hear the truth from the victim."

"Victim?" I repeat. The telephone glints in the corner of my vision, promising, tempting. I just need to get Owen to leave. Finally, an opportunity to be difficult! Now all I have to do is bother the counselor until he gives up and leaves. "Is that what I am now?"

"I would expect so," Owen says, his voice bordering on exasperation, "unless you punched yourself in the face."

"Maybe it was an accident."

"What are you trying to say, Ronan?"

I stare at Owen for a few seconds. I realize that if I'm going to convince him to leave I'll have to kick things up a notch.

"Well?" Owen prompts.

"My nose hurts," I say.

Owen just stares at me. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking completely lost. I switch my expression to an agonized grimace.

"Oh no," I say. "Oh, this is really bad. I think I'm going to faint again."

His milky-blue eyes widen in alarm. "Should I go get the nurse?"

"Ouch— yes, go get the nurse! But take your time though, too, I think I might need some quiet time to just rest and close my eyes."

"Okay," he says, rising hastily to his feet. "Alright, I'll go get the nurse. I shouldn't be gone for more than ten minutes."

"Really, don't rush," I say. "Take all the time you want...."

Owen gives me one last bewildered look before leaving the room. "Don't get out of bed!" he calls over his shoulder. "Just— stay put!"

"Won't be a problem!"

The door slams shut, and I throw the covers off my legs. Maneuvering over towards the telephone is frustratingly difficult thanks to my screwed-up ankle, but I manage to figure out a hop-walk that's effective enough to get me to the wall without falling. Then the phone is in my hand and I'm dialing Jesse's number...

And all I can do is wait and pray that he picks up.

Thank the Lord he does. Jesse picks up, as usual, on the third ring; I'm already grinning when he answers. "Who is it?" he asks, and I know he's a thousand miles away, but right now, at this very moment, it feels like he's standing right next to me. I don't even care that my nose is probably broken and my ankle is fucked up beyond belief; because somehow, I'm talking to Jesse Brooks.