Mindy McGinnis - Heroine

accident:a sudden and unexpected event, usually of unfortunate character

A car crash does not happen in slow motion, like in the movies. It happens like this:

Im talking to Carolina about the guy she likes, picking apart everything he said to her, every inch of body language that has been displayed for her benefit. Im breaking it down for her, because while shes beautiful and smart and tough and perfect, shes also the only Puerto Rican for about a hundred miles and doesnt think its possible that the quarterback would be into her instead of some white girl.

Last week he said something funny at lunch and everybody busted out laughing, but you were the one he looked at, I tell Carolina.

So? she says, hands curled around the pizza boxes on her lap.

So out of our entire table of football players and cheerleaders, Aaron looks at the softball pitcher to see if she thinks hes funny, I say, braking for a turn that can be nasty on freezing nights, like this one.

He is funny, she concedes, spinning her class ring on her finger. I think I even saw your lips twitch.

Maybe, I say. But Im not the one he likes.

People like you, Carolina insists, an old conversation that weve been having ever since I befriended the only other girl at recess who didnt have someone to play with. We were two loners then: her the kid whose skin wasnt the same color as everyone elses, me the one who never knew quite what to say, hesitating a little too long whenever I was asked to join in. The novelty of Carolinas race wore off, her smile overcoming any reservation the other kids had.

Me, I dont smile much.

Like is a strong word, I tell her.

Fine, she says, reaching for her phone to change the music. But theyre definitely in awe of you, and that counts for something.

Thats no lie. My classmates have been in awe of me ever since a badly aimed kickball sent our gym teacher to his knees in second grade. But that admiration never warmed into friendship, just high fives and first pick in gym class.

Ill take it.

The team loves you. Carolina isnt letting it go.

The team does love me. Weve spent our summers together: sweat-soaked hair tucked behind our ears, wet towels on our necks when the Ohio afternoons shot past one hundred degrees. We grew up that way, backwoods girls knocking down biggerand supposedly betterteams until even the city paper started sending out reporters to cover us, dirty kids with Capri Suns in our hands, arms draped over each others shoulders.

We love each other, yeah. Even if most of the time they dont know what to make of their catcher, and our conversations tend to focus on one thing only.

Maybe if you tried talking to them about something other than softball, Carolina wonders aloud, her thoughts following mine, like always.

I consider that for a second. I guess I could talk to them about basketball.

My friend busts out laughing. Ay, Dios mo, she says, wiping tears from her eyes. Ill know youre putting effort into it when you start talking to them about volleyball.

Volleyball, I say, rolling my eyes, which brings another peal of laughter from Carolina, her head thrown back, neck highlighted way too much by the oncoming car thats brighting us. I flick my lights at them.

Then Im not driving a car anymore.

Im lying in a field, surrounded by frost and glass and corn stubble and the constant tick-tick-tick of a motor cooling. I stare at the sky, trying to figure out what just happened.

Theres been a car accident, and I was in it. Actually, I seem to have sailed over it, out and above, to land facedown in snow and dirt, both of which are in my mouth. I dont understand, but I do know that Carolina was beside me and now shes not. Which means shes still in there somewhere, with exploded airbags and twisted metal and broken glass and all the things that make my car suddenly converge into sharp edges and crushing weight, a trap I escaped.

Im going to save her, going to make it still matter that Aaron most definitely is into her, and probably wont be shy about it after this. Im going to stand up and get my friend, pull her out of the wreckage, and see her in one piece, because thats the only allowable ending to this. Im going to do these things, but when I try to come to my feet, I collapse.

My legs have a job, and have always done it without question, so I cant get my head around the fact that Ive lost the ability to stand up. I spit out a mouthful of snowthe first snow, one my grandfather would have called a sugar snow, the perfect time to go tap the maple trees for their syrup. It doesnt taste like sugar though; it tastes like blood and dirt.