Forget You by Jennifer Echols Page B

he said without opening his eyes. "My leg is swollen and I'm supposed to keep it elevated. Head or feet? Pick one."
    I looked doubtfully at his splint and his free foot, both of which seemed reasonably clean. His battered flip-flop must be somewhere on the floor. Again, I wouldn't mind having his feet in my lap so much. It was the idea of other people seeing his feet in my lap. A sane girl with high self-esteem wouldn't allow this to happen.
    But I hadn't forgotten the strange way Brandon may or may not have acted when he mentioned Doug in the wreck. Did he suspect Doug and I had gotten lovey-dovey in the ER? Was he jealous? If I held Doug's head in my lap for forty miles, Brandon would find out.
    The van braked hard.
    Every girl screamed. I caught the seat back with both hands so I wouldn't fly up the aisle. Doug wasn't as lucky. The length of his body hit the seat back all at once, and he fell onto the floor on top of his crutches.
    "Coach!" everyone yelled.
    "Damn deer in the road," Coach yelled. Actually we were at a stoplight.
    "Point taken," I hollered. "Enough already." I slid across the seat and held out a hand to help Doug, who eased up from the floor. "Are you okay?"
    "Thank God for Percocet." He ignored my hand. But he asked, "Are you okay?"
    "This time."
    "Well, we're almost to the four-lane. Sit the hell down before Coach kills you." Doug crawled back onto the seat. He was precisely as tall as he'd been before he fell down, and there was just as little room for me.
    So I edged along the seat back with my backpack ahead of me, trying not to step on his crutches. When I drew even with his head, I gently slid my arm around his shoulders and eased him forward. He didn't resist, but he didn't help either. He was heavy. I slid onto the seat, crossed my legs under me, and laid his head in my lap.
    I walked a fine line here. I trusted Brandon, but what if Stephanie Wetzel really was after him? I didn't want to give her any ammunition to help break up Brandon and me.
    On the other hand, I wanted Doug to like me. As much as he could like me now that I'd apparently seduced and then jilted him in a twelve-hour period. He knew way too much about me and my problems, and he was too much of a loose cannon to be allowed out into the world with a grudge against me. Everyone would expect me to take care of him while he was hurt. That's how I functioned. And as long as he'd kept our secret, no one knew what had gone on between us at the wreck or in the hospital.
    I looked down at him in my lap. He squeezed his eyes shut, hurting and wired. To me this didn't say Percocet. "Doug."
    "Zoey," he said evenly. His very evenness dripped sarcasm.
    "Are you okay? You don't seem okay."
    He licked his lips, just a tiny pink stroke, upside down. "I didn't want to take these pills because they're addictive. It'll be hard enough for me to get a swim scholarship after all this. The last thing I need is a painkiller addiction. But the hospital warned me if you wait until the pain is unbearable, the pills don't take the edge off."
    "Oh." My concussion was bad enough. I could only imagine what Doug's broken leg felt like when the IV wore off, he hadn't taken Percocet yet, and he realized he was caught.
    I placed my fingers on either side of his forehead and rubbed his temples. Even though he was upside down, I could tell he reacted properly. He tilted toward my fingers, tensing at the pressure and relaxing all at once. He went still. I kept massaging him for a long time. His skin was hot.
    Finally I reached into my backpack on the floor and snagged my electronic sudoku. Ahhh, I still had problems, but nothing more pressing than where the nine went on the grid. Minutes passed. The conversations on the bus settled into a lulling hum. The van reached the four-lane.
    Just when I'd exhausted my possibilities horizontally on the grid, Doug sighed. Without opening his eyes, he rolled just enough to turn his head to the other side on my leg. I returned to