Small Bumps:

“Are you coming?” Parker smacked my bicep.

“Uh, not yet, I don’t think. I think I’m just going to watch…” the word ‘you’ was on my tongue but I dropped it. “For a minute.”

Parker squeezed my bicep and shrugged. He stuck his feet to his skateboard and threws an ollie into the bowl.

I watched for a minute, just like I said I would. I could skateboard too, but no other fourteen-year-old was as good as my best friend. He made skating look like an art form, look like a ballerina performing her most graceful pirouette. I preferred my inlines, making myself look like an ice skater, instead.

I pulled the laces on one of my inlines to tighten it. As I did, I watched a thin line appear just above the boot of my skate. It was a red and angry line. Blood leaked into the hem of my white sock. I screamed.

Parker looked up from a jump without breaking his concentration on his landing.

I pushed myself off the side of the bowl and slid into it.

“P!” Parker shouted. He ran over to me and helped me off my knees.

I settled down on my bottom as he pulled my skate and sock off to inspect my scratch.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I- I- Something scared me and I fell,” it wasn’t exactly a lie. The scratch just appearing did scare me, and I forced myself to fall. It wasn’t the first time I feigned an accident to keep people from asking questions.

“This scratch looks pretty deep,” he said. “We should get you to your Uncle Joe so he can stitch it up.”

I nodded.

He hooked a hand underneath my arm to help me up. With his free hand, he grabbed my sock and other skate. “Let’s go find Crispin,” he said.

I rested my bare foot on the skate I was still wearing and allowed him to lead me to the edge of the bowl.

He lifted me up onto the concrete outside the bowl, then climbed up after me. He led me to the parking lot, and we went to Crispin’s car.

The Douchewagon. It was actually an old station wagon, but Parker’s older brother pimped it up to make it look all douchey. I kind of hated him.

“What did you do to your girlfriend?” Crispin asked his brother from behind the wheel as Parker opened the back door for me.

“I didn’t do anything to my best friend,” he glared at Crispin. “She fell into the skate bowl.”

 “I already told you, P,” Crispin sighed. “If you can’t skate, then you should stop going into the skate bowl.”

“Shut up,” I frowned at him as I slid in the backseat.

Parker came in with me. “We need to take her to the hospital,” he told his brother.

“That is not a thing I agreed to,” Crispin looked at us through the rearview mirror.

“Come on, man, she’s hurt.”

“Fine, I’ll drop you off,” he said. “But you get one of your uncle’s nurses to take you home, young lady. I am tired of chaperoning you just because you insist on spending all your time with my younger brother.”

“You’re a jerk, man,” Parker said.

I simply stayed silent as Crispin started his car and put it into gear.

Parker grabbed my knee and smiled reassuringly.

I smiled back. I would be fine. We would get to the hospital soon, and then I wouldn’t have to deal with Crispin until school in the morning.