The Girl in the Road

The Halfway Crooks

Aspen

In case you were wondering, getting hit by a car isn’t fun.

I really thought I was dead. Whoever that boy was that came and rescued me, I was sure he was an angel. Especially when he started talking about the Velvet Underground and wanting to find a girl who would break his heart. (Surely that part was in my head, right?)

“I think she’s waking up. Remember what I said—nice and slow, but direct. We need her name.”

I blink once, then blink again. Whose voice was that, and who were they talking to? The blurry shapes come slowly into focus, and I realize he’s here—the boy from last night. At least, I think it was last night. How long has it been since the accident?

“Hey,” the boy says gently to me. God, he has a nice face. A bit clean-cut compared to what I’m used to, but so warm and handsome. “I’m Cam. It’s nice to meet you.”

Cam? His name is as straight-edge as his face. And what kind of car was he driving last night? A Porsche?

My eyes trail to the woman next to him—a nurse, I think, or maybe a doctor. She’s not smiling at me like he is. She shoots him a rather impatient look.

“I know you don’t know me,” he tells me, seeming to take her meaning, “but I’m the one who found you last night. You had been hit by a car. We need you to tell us who you are so we can contact your family.”

I wish she hadn’t asked him to do it. It would have been easier to lie to the nurse.

“Don’t remember,” I say shortly.

He glances at the nurse, who looks annoyed. “Do you remember anything else about last night?” she asks me. “Who hit you, for example?”

That one, I actually don’t remember—no specifics, anyway. Just high beams and a honking horn.

“You said ‘last night,’” I tell Cam, ignoring the nurse. “How long has it been? Was I in surgery?”

He seems relieved that I have the ability to string basic words together. “It’s been about seven hours. They rushed you into surgery for internal bleeding and some pierced organs. They say you’ll make a full recovery… but also that you’re lucky to be alive.”

Depends how you define lucky, I muse grimly.

I definitely can’t tell them my name. Seven-hour surgery, plus the cast on my wrist? There’s no way we can afford this.

Seeming to sense that I’m not giving anything up, the nurse scribbles something down on a clipboard and rises to her feet. “Alright, then. I’ll just go and fetch the doctor.”

I smile a bit coldly at her as she exits, then more genuinely at Cam. “Thanks for saving me. Did we argue about the Velvet Underground last night, or was that a dream?”

He grins at that. He has a nice smile. “So you do remember. Why say you didn’t?”

I guess I shouldn’t have said that. There’s no way in hell Mr. Porsche could understand my situation. His daddy could probably pay off my surgery in an hour or two. “I’d rather not say.”

“Can you tell me your name, at least? Even just your first name—if I promise not to repeat it?”

I owe him at least that much for saving my life, I suppose. And he has no real reason to lie to me, right?

I part my lips to answer him, but before I get the chance, the answer is shouted from the doorway:

“Aspen!”

“s**t,” I mutter as Blue Marshall, my sort-of-best-friend, trips his way dramatically into the room.

“Blue,” I say, sitting up straighter in my cot and cringing at the pain it causes me. “Don’t—”

But it’s too late. Madame Nurse is on his heels, demanding that he provide her with my full name, address, and any other personal information he can give her.

Before he can answer her, though, Cam’s rather strong jaw falls open and he yelps, “Blue?”

Uhh… what?

It’s clear that Blue knows Cam, too; he looks just as dumbfounded. “Wh… what are you doing here? How do you know Aspen?”

“I… don’t,” Cam says, glancing at me with a frown. “I met her last night. How do you know her?”

“She’s in The Halfway Crooks. She was your replacement.”

The Halfway Crooks is the name of the band Blue and I, along with our other sort-of friend, Otto, are in. I joined a few years ago when their old lead guitarist-s***h-singer quit to go become a football star. Does that mean Cam is the football star?

“Right—The Halfway Crooks.” Cam looks annoyed. “Used to be called Rocket Glower.”

I knew that, though I’d mostly forgotten it. I consider making fun of him for it, but he seems so attached to the memory, I’m not sure it would be kind.

“If I may,” says the nurse, clearing her throat dramatically. “We need to ID this ‘Aspen’ as soon as possible and get her family here. Sir, are you able to help me or not?”

Blue glances nervously at me, clearly seeking permission. The jig’s up, of course. He obviously knows me, and they’re not going to let him off the hook without answering. So, reluctantly, I nod.

As Blue goes off with the nurse to tell her all about me, Cam takes a few steps closer to my cot and peers down at me as if seeing me for the first time. “You’re really in his band?”

I shrug the shoulder connected to my broken wrist, then cringe again. “Yeah. I mean, if you can even call it that. We’re not exactly wildly successful.”

He laughs politely at that, but I can tell his heart isn’t in it. To my surprise, he says, “You must have heard terrible things about me.”

That’s not exactly true. Blue has told me a little about the guy who came before me, but nothing that qualifies as “terrible.” I think he was just… disappointed. Hurt, you know, that his friend and band-mate chose popularity and sports over friendship and music.

“Can you do me a favor?” I ask him, avoiding the question.

His grin returns. “You mean, other than the one where I saved your life?”

I actually manage a laugh, which of course, hurts even more than the shrug. “Can I borrow your phone?”

He nods, reaches into his back pocket, and hands me his phone.

I accept it, but frown before dialing. “Would you mind…?”

“Oh.” He nods, seeming to follow. “I’ll wait outside with them.”

I wait until he’s with the other two, out of earshot, before punching in my mom’s number and dialing. I’m fairly certain she won’t answer—she rarely does—but, to my surprise, she answers on the last ring.

“Hello?”

Her voice is rough and drawled—like it always is when she’s drunk. Which is pretty much all the time.

“Ma—it’s me.”

Silence. Then, “Well? Where are you?”

“I’m… in the hospital.”

Another silence. Then a curse. Then, “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just… an accident. I’m fine. Look, Ma, just put your phone on Do Not Disturb. Blow off their calls. If they get a hold of you, they’re just going to try to pin the bill on you.”

“What kind of bill are we talking about?”

Trust my mothe to ask for the financial details before asking for the ones concerning my health and safety. “Nothing we can afford. I’ll figure something out.”

“Right. Well… thanks for the heads-up. When are you coming home?”

She clearly has no idea how bad this accident was. Then again, that’s on me, isn’t it? “I’m not sure. As soon as I can. You gonna be okay?”

“Always am, aren’t I?”

Her tone is, of course, ripe with bitter resentment. But that’s a story for another time.