These goddamn crutches. My boot is heavy, my crutches are long and awkward, and the school hallways are way too crowded for an injured person to maneuver through. 

Even worse than the crowded hallways, since the school is three stories high, I have to take the elevator. The school elevator is old and musty with pale fluorescent lighting, and my stomach twists every time it shudders to a start.

I lean against the shiny, metallic wall and press the third floor button. As the doors start to slide shut, someone sticks a hand in the elevator and the doors reopen.

"Sam, we have to study during lunch." Trina is standing in the hallway, her glossy lips twisted in an annoyed frown.

"Okay, see you then," says Sam, and steps inside the elevator, grinning. His cheeks are flushed. "Hey!" he says happily. "Care for company?"

"Sure," I say, adjusting my crutches. The elevator jerks to an ascent and my grip tightens on the rubber handles. 

"I wanted to ask you about Hailey's gift," Sam says, sticking his hands in his sweatshirt pocket. "For her birthday. I was at the store and they have really good telescopes for sale. Do you think she'd like one?"

"Honestly, I think she'd love anything you gave her."

"Okay!" Sam's grin broadens. The freckles on his nose are more noticeable in the bright elevator lighting. "Also, I'm sorry, but I can't tutor you the rest of this week. I have astronomy club, and then an award ceremony thing. But I'll see you at Hailey's party, obviously."

"Award ceremony?"

"Yeah, it's not a big deal."

The elevator doors slide open to the third floor and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. 

"What class do you have?" I ask, stepping out into the hallway. Students are slamming their lockers and talking loudly, sneakers scuffing against the waxy linoleum floor. 

"Calculus."

"You're in calculus?"

"No, I took it a couple years ago. I'm the teacher's assistant." 

"Of course."

Sam smiles. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, see you."

He disappears into the crowd, and I start walking at a painfully slow speed in the opposite direction. The flow of traffic parts for me, even though once in awhile someone will clip their shoe against the edge of my crutch.

"Hey, dude!" 

I glance over my shoulder. "Hey, Ethan."

"You look unusually happy right now."

"Do I?"

My eyes register the Lions sweatshirt he's wearing and a little part of me snaps. If I was smiling, I'm not anymore. I clear my throat. 

Ethan falls in line with my slow pace as he flips through his math notebook. "Shit," he mutters. "What was the homework?" 

"I don't know, the worksheet she gave us?"

"Shit! Can I say I left it on my desk?"

"You might've used that line one time too many."

Ethan groans as we head into our classroom. If there's one positive thing that came out of my sprained ankle, it's that Mrs. Gobfrey has been nice to me.

~

Hailey's birthday is on Sunday, so we go to church on Saturday. Since my hockey career is temporarily over (Sam says that sounds dramatic, but technically I think it's true) I don't have an excuse to skip church anymore. 

It's almost too cold outside to walk, but of course, we do. Even if there's a blizzard, Mom always has a way to justify walking to church. Even when I'm in crutches. That woman will be the death of me. 

Instead of taking my hand as we cross the street, Hailey grabs hold of my coat. I shiver and wiggle my fingers in my wool mitts, iciness nearly radiating from my skin. I push my hat lower over my ears and squint at the cathedral on the corner.

A wave of warmth washes over us as we step inside and kick the snow off our boots. An empty hymn is echoing throughout the airy room, and flickering candles line the walls. Dark light filters in through the stained glass windows, and the thick smell of smoke hangs in the air.

We take our seat in our regular pew, my crutches resting at my feet. Immediately, Mom fingers the rosary on her neck and her eyes flutter shut, her lips moving silently.

"Pray, Cameron," she whispers suddenly. Why does she always say that? She can't even see me. "Pray for your ankle to heal quickly."

Before I can answer, the priest clears his throat by the altar and everyone sits up straighter. His croaky, monotone voice can lull someone to sleep, I swear.

I don't mean to zone out, but it just happens. I like it when everyone stands and sings, though, because it's fun to watch Hailey. I open the song book to the page number and tilt it so she can read, and she belts the lyrics louder than anyone else here.

"Stop fidgeting," Mom whispers. I sit on my hands. The Lions lost again last night. Every game they lose and I don't play, the Cup and the NHL first-draft pick slip further and further away. 

Maybe I should pray about my ankle. But I don't. The mass ends.

As we walk home, our breath crystalizing in the freezing air, thunder rumbles in the distance. Hailey's grip tightens on my hand. 

"Cameron!" she says. "Will it rain on my birthday?"

"Maybe," I say. Her jaw drops dramatically. "What? The party is inside anyway."

"I know," she says, kicking a frozen pebble down the icy sidewalk. "I just like it when it's sunny on my birthday."

"Well, we'll have to see." I glance down at my little sister, her tangled blonde hair spilling out from underneath her hat. "Your birthday will be fun either way. Seven years old, that's an important one."

"Yeah," she says. Then she smiles up at me. "I'm excited for cake."

"Cake? Is that all?"

"Yes. Is it vanilla cake with chocolate icing? Because that's my favorite kind."

"You'll just have to wait," I say.

"Cameron!" She laughs and tugs my hand. "Tell me!"

I smile. "No way."

Maybe I do pray, a little. For sun.