Parallel

down.”
    “Abby, you’re bleeding all over the floor. I’m not putting you down. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
    I consider arguing with him but decide that I don’t have the mental stamina. The pain is all I can think about right now. It’s blinding out everything else.
    I force myself to look at the wound, then immediately regret it. The nails went all the way through the ball of my foot, leaving four ragged holes beneath the knuckle of my big toe. Blood is seeping out from the bottom of my foot, leaving a trail in our wake. Looking at it, I get light-headed.
    When we reach Ilana’s house, Josh sets me down on the curb next to Caitlin’s car and sprints inside to get her. I close my eyes and lie back in the grass. The music from inside is even louder now, so loud that the yard vibrates beneath me. My foot throbs in sync with the thumping bass. I focus on that instead of the pain radiating up my leg. It hurts so much it’s hard to breathe.
    “I shouldn’t have let her take off her shoes,” I hear Josh saying.
    “My guess is she didn’t ask for permission,” Caitlin replies.
    I open my eyes. Josh and Caitlin are standing over me. “You weren’t kidding about the blood,” Caitlin says to Josh, inspecting my foot.
    “I’m calling her parents,” Josh says.
    “Do it from the car,” Caitlin says, popping the trunk. “We’re going to the hospital. Someone has to clean those holes out, and it isn’t going to be me.” She walks around to the back of the car and disappears from view.
    “What about Tyler?” I ask as I try to stand up, which isn’t impossible so much as really awkward. With one leg out of commission, I have to sort of heave all my weight forward, then push up with my good leg to get to standing. I possess neither the coordination nor the leg strength to pull this off gracefully. Fortunately, Josh grabs me before I topple over.
    “Tyler can fend for himself,” Caitlin retorts, still hidden behind the trunk door. There’s that catty tone again. A few seconds later, the door slams, and Caitlin emerges with a stack of textbooks, all business now. “Here, prop your foot on these.”
    “You’re letting me bleed on your books?” I joke, then grimace from the effort of smiling.
    “Let’s not get crazy now,” Caitlin says, slipping out of her sweatshirt. She wraps it tightly around my foot, then uses the sleeves to tie it off. Only Caitlin would ruin a Helmut Lang hoodie to save a stack of books. “Hand me those,” she instructs, pointing at the wad of plastic grocery bags tucked into the pocket behind the driver’s seat. She drapes the largest one over my foot, knotting it loosely at the ankle. “There,” she says. “Now elevate.”
    I obey, propping my foot up on top of a worn copy of Advanced Quantum Mechanics .
    “Give me your phone,” Josh instructs as we pull away from the curb. “I’m calling your parents. We’ll need their insurance information when we get to the hospital.”
    “I’ll call them,” I say, knowing that Josh will tell them the truth about what happened and wanting to give a more parent-friendly version instead. I’m dialing my home number when we pass a police car with its lights on, headed toward Ilana’s house. Followed by three more. Josh and I turn in our seats, watching as the first two pull into Ilana’s driveway and park. The third one turns into the driveway of the unfinished house and turns on its spotlight. Josh and I look at each other. “Looks like we left at the right time,” he says.
    Unless Northwestern’s definition of a well-rounded applicant includes a police record for trespassing, then yes. We certainly did. I feel a momentary surge of gratitude for the four holes in my foot, but the feeling is quickly replaced by the dull throbbing that has taken over my whole body.
    “So there was a two-by-four in the middle of the street?” my dad asks when I tell him the censored version of what happened. “Just lying there? With nails in it?”
    “Yeah, it was crazy,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “They’re building a house next door, so maybe it fell off a truck or something.” Josh watches me as I relay this concocted story, then looks away. Does he think less of me for the lie? I can’t tell.
    My parents are understandably concerned, especially since none of us can remember when I had my last tetanus shot. They agree that I need to go to the hospital and say they’ll meet us there.
    “Drop Josh off,” I