The Friendship Equation

by J. R. Gray

  I didn’t want what the summer might bring if Harden couldn’t say no. What college might bring if we had to be apart. The distance scared me. His father wanting him to travel for the summer scared me. Since we weren’t out what excuses would we use to allow us to see each other as much as possible while being so far apart. I didn’t like the uncertainty in it all.

  "Have you decided where you're going to college?" Harden asked as I laid on his chest. “Have you gotten any more offers?”

  I glanced up at him, lifting my shoulder. "No. Not really. I want to go see some of the places, but they are so far away. I think some of the schools are waiting to see how I place at sectionals and state to put their money up. They have time." I wasn't him. He'd gone to state freshman year, so barring some sort of injury, he’d be coveted no matter what.

  "Probably. I bet you start hearing after we kill sectionals this weekend."

  "I can't believe that's tomorrow." I checked the clock. "We should go to bed. Coach is going to have our asses if you're tired in the morning."

  "I won't be. I don't usually sleep before big tournaments."

  This was news to me. "What?" I racked my brain, but we didn't usually sleep over the night before. It was always a Wednesday night, and because of all the heats it took to get through the process, we got to skip school Thursday and Friday.

  "I'm too pent up. I keep going over each race in my head, over and over."

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  He turned toward me, forcing me to slip onto his bicep. "Have you never ever listened to Michael Phelps or his coach?" He genuinely looked perplexed.

  "No..."

  His brow pulled in. "I'm sorry."

  He rarely apologized, so I was even more confused. "For what?"

  "Not telling you all the stuff that's helped me. I guess I just... I don't know what I thought."

  "Are you keeping secrets from me?" I asked, piecing together what he was saying.

  "Not on purpose."

  He pushed at me until I sat up, and he grabbed his laptop, putting on the video he'd been talking about. We laid and watched Michael Phelps talk about his success.

  "This stuff works?" I asked when it finished.

  "I don't know. I do okay."

  I rolled my eyes at him. "I'll try it. Can't hurt at this point."

  "You're going to kick ass. Our relay is going to make it to state too."

  I grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him to me. "Only because of you."

  He scoffed. "Right."

  "So this is the meditating you've been doing beforehand?"

  He nodded. "Yeah."

  "And you never invited me." I shoved him playfully.

  He shoved me back. I leaned into him, and he dove on top of me. We rolled around, wrestling and laughing.

  "I'm going to fuck you into the mattress when I pin you," he said against my ear, grappling for the top spot.

  I wasn't about to give in. He flipped me but couldn't hold it. I hooked a leg around his hip, but he kept us rolling. He toppled back, and I realized we were falling. I grabbed at him before he fell off the bed. My fingers slipped through the material of his shirt.

  He cascaded towards the nightstand.

  FUCK.

  He clasped my arm, but we had too much momentum, and we both fell, hitting the floor with a clash. We were frozen there, staring at each other.

  "Are you okay?" I stammered, not daring to move, fearing the worst.

  "I think so..." He sat up. "My bubble ass clearly saved us."

  "Jesus Christ. I'm so sorry."

  He pulled me into his arms. "I'm okay. You're okay. It was as much my fault as yours." He kissed my forehead, and I melted into his touch.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling something. "Did we knock my water?"

  "Huh?"

  "You're wet."

  He glanced at the nightstand, and I froze in horror.

  "Harden."

  "What?" He turned back, concern showing on his face. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

  "You're bleeding." I jumped to my feet, needing to do something. I worked as a lifeguard in the summers, so I had like a fraction of first aid. I grabbed a dirty shirt off the floor, springing to action. "Let me put pressure on it."

  "I'm not…" He lifted his hand to the back of his head and winced. "Shit."

  I tried to get behind him, but he kept his face to me, spinning in a circle.

  "Come on, we need to put pressure on it."

  "It's fine. Head wounds just bleed a lot." His hand hovered over the spot like he was afraid to touch it.

  "Can I at least look at it?”

  He shook his head, finally putting his fingers into his hair. Realization crashed over his face when his hand came back coated in red. It was a lot of blood.

  "Harden," I pleaded.

  "Let's go to the bathroom," he said, staring at his fingers.

  "Put this on it. Now." I forced the shirt into his hands.

  He did as I said and turned to leave my room. I stalked after him as he darted into the bathroom. The harsh glow of the bulb made me squint, trying to blink past it so I could get a better look.

  He tilted his head, trying to see it himself when my vision came back, and I cringed, glad he wasn't paying attention to my face.

  "I think you need stitches."

  "No. Fuck that. I can't be in the damn ER all night. We have sectionals tomorrow."

  I didn't want to tell him, but how could I not? "If you need stitches…they won't let you swim."

  He turned on me, emotions washing over his face. "No."

  "Yes."

  "No stitches. I don't care if I'm missing half my scalp."

  "If you don't stop bleeding, there won't be a way for you to swim."

  He shrugged.

  This stubborn ass bitch. "Harden. I need to go wake my dad up."

  He grabbed my shirt. "Don't."

  "You could die." I really didn't think it was that bad, but still, blood loss was serious.

  "Let's see if it stops. It's fine. Head wounds bleed a lot. We'll be laughing about this in the morning." He put on a smile, and I didn't know how he was so positive sometimes.

  "Okay, but only a few minutes."

  He sat on the edge of the counter and pressed the shirt into the wound. "Isn't it like twenty minutes pressure? Just wait."

  I gave a single nod, not thinking twenty minutes would help at all. It looked like way too much blood. "Can I just look at it?" I felt like I could be a pretty good judge of if he needed stitches. A gaping wound would be easy to tell, right?

  "No, it needs pressure. You can look at it after."

  I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms. Seconds ticked by at the speed of molasses. It felt like we were in that damn bathroom for a year.

  "Okay, it's been twenty minutes. Let me see."

  "Fine." Slowly he turned around, and I cringed.

  The shirt was soaked in blood. I didn't really know how much blood it would take to do that, but it did not look good.

  "Harden..."

  "Don't give me that tone. Just look at it."

  "Bend down." He did, and I pushed matted hair, finding the cut. The corner of a square in the perfect shape of my nightstand. There was no way it was going to close. It oozed blood still. "We need to go to the hospital."

  "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Each fuck got progressively louder. "My dad is going to murder me."

  "I'm so sorry." I tucked my arms around myself.

  He turned on me, anger in his eyes. "Don't you fucking dare think this was your fault. We were fucking around."

  "But it was—"

  "No. And if you say such a thing out loud again, I'll make sure you pay for it."

  My brows pulled. "What?" He couldn’t really be mad at me for feeling bad, could he?

  I was about to try and say more when he held up a finger silencing me.

  "You won't get my dick for a fucking month, Vance. Do you fucking understand me?”

&nb
sp; Jesus, he was serious. My mouth hung open and I didn’t want to argue with him anymore. I mattered that much to him. So much he wouldn’t let me feel bad. He wouldn’t let me take any blame. He would always protect me. He really would always be more than my best friend. He was my best friend over it all. The love of my life.

  My eyes started to water and before I totally lost it in an emotional moment I needed to go wake up my dad.

  "Let's go wake up my dad."

  Seventeen

  I took the stairs two at a time, knowing there wasn't exactly a sense of urgency but wanting all the same to get to the hospital. Maybe I held on to some stupid illusion we'd get there and it would all be fine.

  My dad snored lightly in the recliner, which was a saving grace. If he'd moved to his room, he'd be dead out. I glanced over my shoulder to see Harden wavering on the last stair, pale and still holding the bloody shirt to his head.

  "Dad," I whispered not sure how to do this. If someone would have told me as a child I would be waking my dad up from a dead sleep, I would have called them a liar. Not even if the house was on fire. The man worked hard and didn't get enough sleep.

  But I couldn't exactly call Harden an ambulance. I was sure that would piss off his father more.

  "Dad," I said a little louder.

  "That's not going to do shit." Harden shoved past me. "Mr. Finch, I need help."

  Those seemed to be the magic words to get his eyes open. He was on his feet in a second, assessing the situation.

  "What happened?" He didn't sound mad.

  "We were horsing around and fell off the bed, sir," I said, knowing this would be much worse if I lied about it.

  My father's brows got real high on his forehead. "You two did this..."

  "No," Harden and I said at the same time.

  "Promise. We were joking around," I said, sounding less convinced than I should have.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. "How bad is it?"

  "He's going to need stitches."

  "No, I'm not," Harden said in a growl.

  "Let's not split hairs. None of us are doctors." My dad glanced around the room before grabbing his wallet off the end table and then his phone. "We should get going. Harden, you need to have your parents meet us there."

  "Do I have to?" he said, sounding sheepish.

  "I reckon you do." Next, his keys came off the counter. He sighed. "Let's go."

  We were at the hospital in fifteen minutes, and they took Harden back immediately.

  "Are you family, sir?" the nurse asked when I tried to follow him back.

  We both replied yes.

  She narrowed her eyes but didn't stop me from coming. "Your father not coming?"

  Harden shook his head. "He's a friend's dad. We were there. My dad is on his way." He said it in a way it was easy to tell he wished his dad wasn't on his way. We both did.

  "Let me have a look at this." She put on gloves and gestured at the shirt.

  He started to peel it off his head, but she stopped him and carefully pulled it free. She made a face he thankfully couldn't see and started to move his hair. He didn't have a ton, but it was matted with blood.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and started to pace. "Is he going to need stitches?" I asked when I couldn't take the silence any longer.

  Harden glared at me. "It's fine."

  "We'll let the doctor decide." The nurse gave me a flat look which I interpreted as telling me not to get him worked up.

  She returned in minutes with the doctor and Harden's parents in tow which was just peachy. Neither of them looked pleased, but they did a good job of playing concerned.

  “Governor Hart, I'm Doctor Mikels." They exchanged a firm handshake and pleasantries before the doctor turned to Harden. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked.

  "We were joking around, and I fell off the bed backward and hit my head."

  Governor Hart made eye contact with Harden behind the doctor's back. Harden jutted his chin out and stared back like he was daring his father to say something.

  "Let me take a look." Dr. Mikels stepped behind Harden to wash his hands and snap gloves on.

  No one breathed while the doctor looked at Harden. All eyes on the doctor while he worked. "I think you need staples, Harden," the doctor said as he took his gloves off and tossed them in the trash. "Let me go get what we need and grab a nurse, and we'll get you out of here real quick." He looked at the governor, who nodded.

  "Perfect. Thank you," Governor Hart replied.

  As soon as the doctor was out of the room, Governor Hart glanced around and stepped closer to Harden. "What the fuck were you two doing?"

  "Literally messing around." Harden set his jaw.

  "You have sectionals tomorrow."

  "Clearly not," he said so flippantly if I hadn't witnessed it, I wouldn't have believed it. “I don’t swim tomorrow anyway. It’s fine.”

  "Harden, what the fuck are you doing?” his father said through his teeth.

  "It was a fucking accident."

  The governor turned around and smoothed a hand down his shirt. "How can you be so careless?" he said, his tone totally changed to be on-brand.

  "Accidents happen."

  I glanced at Mrs. Hart, and she stood with her arms crossed, clearly not getting in the middle.

  The governor turned towards me. "Maybe you can explain it to me?"

  "It's like he said. We were just messing around, and he fell backward." I didn't want to give away that it had been entirely my fault. Harden could blame me for ruining sectionals for him, but I wasn't going to say it to the person who could control whether we could keep seeing each other.

  "What were you even doing at Vance's house?" he said, the edge creeping into his voice. "I thought you were in bed."

  "He was helping me with some homework," Harden said smoothly, and I was glad he'd come up with something because I'd have stammered.

  I hadn’t known he’d snuck out. I met his eyes, and he shrugged.

  "Him helping you?" The governor sneered.

  My hands balled into fists, but I didn’t say a word.

  "He's way better in science than I am, and his grades are just as good as mine." Harden's words were laced with attitude.

  "Don't speak to me that way, boy."

  Harden rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything else, the doctor came in and everyone shut up. I took a seat next to Harden, wanting to pull his hands into mine and apologize but I didn't dare. So instead, I sat and studied his face as the nurse started to clean the blood out of his hair.

  "I still don't know what we are going to do about your meet tomorrow," Harden's mother said softly, causing his head to snap up.

  "I'm not talking about it here," Harden said through his teeth.

  "It's in seven hours; I think we need to discuss it." She adjusted her purse on her shoulder like only a rich white lady could, as if she could dismiss everything he had to say in a single gesture.

  I checked my watch. We were due to get on the bus in less time than that. The meet started at eight, and he was getting blood cleaned out of his hair.

  "Do we need to call the coach?" the governor said to his wife.

  "No," both Harden and I said at the same time.

  “I told you I don’t swim tomorrow. It’s fine,” Harden went on. “I’ll be fine.”

  "He needs to know what he's gonna wake up to."

  "I'm swimming," Harden whispered.

  "Er...." the nurse began. "I don't want to get in the middle of anything, but you can't be in a pool..." She trailed off as Harden pulled out of her grasp.

  He turned and looked at every person in the room. "I will be swimming this weekend."

  "You've already qualified for state. Do you need to? If you don't swim, your seed will suck but..." I didn't know where I was going with all of this and already regretted asking

  "You think I'm going to not be in the pool? You think I'm going to fuck my goddamn taper and ruin the possibility of placin
g well at state my senior year?" Anger firmed in his expression, and I wanted to pull him into my arms, but I didn't dare. Not with his parents here.

  The realization broke my heart. I couldn't hold my—boyfriend—because we were terrified of what his parents would think. Of what anyone else in the hospital would think. Or it getting out and ruining his father's campaign.

  “You think I’m going to make it so our relay doesn’t qualify? Vance you need the relay to qualify for state and if I don’t swim it won’t.” He was right and there would be no way to talk him out of anything that could help me get recruited by Yale.

  I stuck my hands in my pockets, about to say something, anything, but the nurse cut me off.

  "If you swim, especially in a public pool, you have a very high chance of getting an infection. With the placement and how close it is to your brain…” she trailed off but we all knew what she meant.

  "Harden," his mother said, the worry bleeding into her tone.

  "I don't care."

  "Unacceptable." His father's voice didn't betray any emotions, but his hands clamped into fists at his sides did.

  "What?" Harden turned towards his father, blood dripping down the back of his neck. "Say it."

  "You can't risk your life. State is in two weeks. You should be healed enough by then to compete."

  "And fucking fail?"

  "You may think your language is okay considering the circumstances, but you will not speak to me in such a way."

  Harden didn't roll his eyes, but I could tell he wanted to.

  "Sir." The nurse got in between Harden and his father. "Can you and your wife step out so we can get him cleaned up?"

  The governor looked like he was going to call down God and country on the woman but he nodded, and Harden’s parents stepped out. Harden reluctantly took a seat again so the nurse could return to her work.

  I met his eyes, and he stared at me. I wished I could take it all back somehow. I just hoped it didn't change the way he felt.

  "I'm sorry," I said when he kept staring.

  "No," he whispered as if we could pretend to have a private conversation.

  "No?" I asked, keeping my voice as low as his.

  "You're not allowed."

  “I’m not allowed to what?” I asked again, trying to clarify.