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“What?” he gasps. “My knee? Feels like my knee.”
Before I can reply, a man about my father’s age appears and gently nudges me aside. He doesn’t say anything to me; there is a phone pressed to his ear, and he rattles off information: street names I’m not familiar with, a description of the car, of Maverick.
“Honey.”
I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up into the kind face of a middle-aged woman. She gestures for me to stand up. “Let’s step over here.”
“I have to stay with him.”
“There’s nothing you can do for him right now. An ambulance will be here soon.”
I ignore her. Maverick’s screams have faded into loud groans. His face is still pressed to the ground. Suddenly I’m desperate to look into his eyes. “Maverick.” I grab his hand and hold on. “Maverick, can you hear me?”
“I hear you,” he rasps.
The man on the phone looks over at me. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“I’m a doctor. Can you give me some room?”
I move so I’m kneeling next to Maverick’s head, still grasping his hand, and the man turns his attention back to Maverick’s leg. He’s talking, on the phone or to me or to Maverick, I’m really not sure, but I’m not listening. I lean over Maverick, resting my forehead on the back of his head. I stroke his hair and neck. “I’m here, I’m here,” I murmur, unsure what else to say. “I’m here.”
His hand tightens around mine. He grunts out his words. “Call my dad.”
“I don’t have his number.”
“In my pocket.”
I look up and see the man beside us already digging out Maverick’s phone. He passes it to me with a nod. More people are gathered around us now. I hear sirens approaching. “Here,” the man says, holding something else out to me. “Your car keys. You can follow the ambulance to the hospital.”
My entire body is shaking. It takes my quivering hands three tries to get a grip on the keys. “I can’t drive.”
The woman who tried to move me away from Maverick earlier reaches out a hand. “I’ll drive you.”
I don’t have the energy to argue. I don’t know this woman, but I’m willing to hand her Maverick’s car keys, get in the car with her, let her drive me through streets I don’t know to a hospital I’ve never heard of. I gesture weakly to the car, unable to form words.
An ambulance pulls into the parking lot, closely followed by several police cars. I watch as the ambulance approaches, coming to a stop right in front of us. The crowd around Maverick parts as paramedics hop out of the vehicle, carrying various pieces of equipment. One of them unloads a gurney and sets it up.
The woman next to me gingerly takes my arm. I get the sense that she doesn’t want me to watch this part. “Okay. Let’s go.”
I watch helplessly as Maverick disappears behind the wall of paramedics. Even the man who pushed me aside earlier gets out of their way. I don’t know what to do except stumble away in a daze.
Atthehospital,Icall Maverick’s dad first. Then I call mine.
Shortly afterward, two police officers find me sitting on a bench in the waiting room. One of them hands me a cup of water. I sip on it as they ask me questions: what happened, what the car looked like, if I saw the driver. I answer them mechanically. I talk a lot in that first hour of waiting, but I can’t help feeling like most of what I have to say is useless. It all happened so quickly.
Our dads arrive within minutes of each other. Brad is permitted to go back and see Maverick; my dad stands in front of me and looks me over. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”
I glance down at myself. I have scrapes on my knees and palms, scabbed over by now. My ankle is a little sore; I probably twisted it on the way down. That’s it. Maverick saved me from any real injury. “I’m fine.”
Dad gives me another onceover before seeming to accept my answer. “Alright, Zay-Zay. Let’s go home.”
“What? No,” I snap. “I’m staying here until I can see Maverick.”
“That could be hours.”
“Maverick wasn’t anywhere near the car, Dad. I was. I was in my head and not paying any attention, and I walked out into its path. Hesprintedacross the parking lot to shove me out of the way. If I had been paying attention—”
