When the final bell rings I head straight to my car and drive to the doctor's office. Luckily, I arrive with ten minutes to spare which is good considering it will take me that long to waddle my injured body across the parking lot and into the building.

All day I've tried to move as little as possible to avoid my back hurting, but given I sat all day at school and it is still aching, I’m starting to worry that something may be really wrong with me. That irrational thought is probably just my never-ending fear of being forced off of the ice because of my mom's injury in her early twenties, but just to be sure, I'd spent most of my ninth period Calculus class searching back injuries online.

According to a figure skating blog, fractured hips and broken tailbones are all very common for skaters who fall badly on the ice. I clicked out of that site the second I read that. I can't have an injury like that holding me back. Especially not with a competition coming up in December. December isn’t far off at all, so there is absolutely no time for a broken anything.

I open up the sun visor in front of me to check my makeup in the mirror. I find my cherry lip-gloss in the center console and put a small dab on my lips, smacking them together before heading into the doctor's office. My mother's voice rings in the back of my head: You never know who you'll see in public sweetheart, you always want to make sure you look the best that you can at all times. You are a figure of this family as a whole. You must never leave the house undone.

I shake the thought of her nasally voice out of my head and make my way into the doctor's office. When I walk in, a tiny pale girl at the receptionist's desk greets me.

"You must be," she looks down at the white clipboard in front of her and taps her pen to her lips. I want to tell her how unsanitary that is, especially given it is probably the same pen that all of the other staff members use as well, but I just watch her, wincing with every tap. "Scarlett James, right?"

I nod my head, and without looking up at me she motions her hand for me to follow her. When we get to the back of the office she points to the scale and I step in front of it.

"Do you know what you weighed during your last visit?"

I nod. Of course, I do. My mom would be pissed if I came home and didn’t tell her.

"123 pounds and I'm 5'4"

I take my Mary Jane Dr. Martens off before stepping on and hold my breath as the small girl moves the weights along the scale.

"123 pounds. Very good," she scribbles something on an iPad and escorts me to a room in the back of the building. "Dr. Lipinski will be right with you. You can take your uniform off and put this on," she hands me a paper bag looking dress to put on, and I look at it in disgust. You’d think the medical realm would be able to afford something a little nicer than a paper bag to dress people in.

"Thanks," I force a smile onto my face, and she mimics mine before heading out of the room and securing the door shut behind her.

I pull my skirt over my legs and decide to leave my knee highs on because I don't want my feet touching this disgusting floor. I'm glad I made the decision of wearing a tie and a white button-up shirt this morning, because unbuttoning a shirt and slipping it off is much easier than having to lift it up and over my head.

I'm in the paper bag dress, and pulling myself onto the crinkly white paper that’s spread out on the exam table when the doctor knocks on the door.

"Come in,” I place my hands under my thighs and sit on them. Why is it always so cold in doctor’s offices?

When Dr. Lipinksi makes his way in he's wearing his usual white coat, a stethoscope wrapped around his neck, and his hair that was just a dirty blonde color last year is starting to grey.

"Hello, Ms. James. How are we feeling?"

I contemplate lying, but I know he will see right through it.

"Awful," I roll my eyes.

"Let's take a look, shall we?" He pulls a pair of tan medical gloves over his hands, snapping them at his wrist to make sure they’re secure.

I nod and brace myself for his cold touch.

"Hmm," he lightly brushes over the bruise with a finger. "I'm going to touch this very lightly, tell me if it hurts."

I take a deep breath, and when I feel his cold touch on my back again, I shift in my seat.

"Are you okay?" He sounds concerned which only manages to freak me out even more.

He presses down on the bruise again, and I wince.

"That hurts," I suck my cheeks in and roll my head back. “That really hurts.”

"Okay, how about here," he presses down again.

"Yes," I nod.

"One more time. Here?" He presses down harder this time, and I almost cry.

As I nod, he backs away the table a few steps and cranes his neck around me to get a closer look.

"Hmm," he says again.

I hear his rubber gloves snap again as he takes them off and I watch as he throws them into a wastebasket.

"So?" I raise an eyebrow at him and he rubs his chin as he looks down at me.

"Nothing is broken. Which is good. Your tailbone, as I'm sure you know, is severely bruised," he picks up his iPad and looks at it. "Now, knowing your extracurricular activities include ice skating - which I assume is how you managed this," he stops, and I nod. "I'm going to tell you that you're going to need to stay off of the ice for three weeks, and I’m going to give you a set of crutches."

I sigh, and he looks up from the iPad. Before he continues he folds his hand in his lap.

"It's crucial for your long-term health as a skater that you stay on these crutches for two full weeks. Minimizing your movement these next two weeks is very important," his voice is stern. I'm sure he's dealt with my kind before… the kind that rarely ever listen to medical advice and is back doing the thing that hurt them within a week of the doctor's expertise.

"If you're still in pain after two weeks, we will take some X-rays. They're not needed right now as I can tell by where your pain is that it's just sore and not fractured. You are very lucky, this could be much worse Scarlett," his jots something down on a piece of paper. "I'm going to write you a prescription for a higher dosage of Tylenol than what they sell over the counter. That should help relieve some of your pain," he looks up at me and smiles before opening the door and leaving me to get dressed.

I tug my clothes back on and let my forest green tie hang loosely around my neck. I tuck it under my collar and take a deep breath. Two weeks on crutches will be fine. I'll be fine.

I check my phone and see a few missed FaceTime calls from Sienna, I'm about to call her back, but instead I'm interrupted by a light knock on the door.

"You can come in.”

The tiny receptionist struggles to carry the crutches and a small donut-looking ring, so I grab the donut from her hand and hold it up in front of me.

When she notices my confused state, she nods her head at me.

"Oh, that's for you to sit on. It will help relieve some of the pain in your back," she smiles and hands me the crutches. "One time, I had to use crutches, and they kept rubbing against my armpits. It hurt pretty badly, so my parents put this fuzzy pink material on them. I was the most stylish girl in school," she laughs, and I smile at her. I hate people who go on about their personal life when you don't ask for it to begin with. "Anyway, you can see the person at the desk for your prescription, and you're good to go," she smiles again before turning around and heading toward the lobby.

I stare at the donut ring and contemplate leaving it sitting on the exam table. I will not be caught dead sitting on this thing in school, that's for sure.

I crutch out of the room and up to the front desk where a man in blue scrubs hands me a pink slip.

"You can take this to the RiteAid around the corner, and they'll fill it for you," he smiles at me sympathetically, and I want to gag. I'm on crutches for God’s sake. Surely they’ve seen worse injuries than this.

The man makes his way around the desk and holds the front door open for me. I roll my eyes at the gesture.

"Thanks,” I mutter. I hate needing help from strangers.

When the cold air hits my face, I shiver and wish I'd brought my coat inside. The wind howls, sending leaves dancing along the ground and causing my hair to blow all over my face, a thick strand getting caught in my lip gloss, because why would that not happen to me right now. I stifle a scream. Why is this happening to me?

I stop moving and reach my hand up to unstick my hair, but I lose my grip on the donut pillow, and it falls to the ground.

I shake my head at myself in disbelief. This is going to get old real fast. Before I can bend down to pick it up, it a tall body is bent down next to me reaching for it.

When he stands up, he bites down on his lip and clears his throat before speaking. I scrunch my face up at the sight of him.

"Hi,” he looks down at me and a smile forms on his lips. I’d managed two months of never speaking to Graham Ryan, and here we are running into each other two days in a row.

When he looks at my crutches his smile fades.

"Shit. Did uh… did we do that?" He nods toward my crutches. His hazel eyes burrow into mine, and I look away quickly to break our eye contact.

I don't know how to answer his question. Obviously, he didn't have a direct connection to my injury, but the bellowed laugh that his asshole friend, who I now know as Jake, let out during my session had undoubtedly been a contributing factor to my fall.

"Do you need help?" He asks when I don't answer his question.

"You ask a lot of questions," I roll my eyes.

He holds his hands up in defense, and I realize that he's still holding the embarrassing donut pillow in his hand. I wonder if he knows that it's meant to form around my butt when I sit down. A gust of wind almost knocks me over, and I shiver again.

"Shit, you must be cold," he looks to my legs and sees that I’m still in my uniform skirt. "Please. Just let me help you to your car."

Crutching toward the parking lot, I can hear his footsteps fall into place behind mine. I stop in my tracks, and he stops just short of running right into me.

"What are you doing here anyway?” I don’t even bother hiding the annoyance in my tone. "Are you stalking me or something?"

He laughs nervously and takes a step closer to me. His large figure blocks the wind from hitting me, and my hair finally stops blowing from the wind.

"No, actually," he laughs again. "I have physical therapy in this building," he nudges his head toward the door that I just walked through.

Ignoring his answer I continue crutching toward my car. He walks a little bit faster to keep up with me.

"I knew you'd fallen hard, but I didn't think you'd be on crutches,” he scratches his head as he talks and he looks nervous. Graham Ryan… a star hockey player, is nervous around me?

"I'm fine," I shrug.

"I saw you wincing in school. That didn't look fine to me," he steps in front of me and I stop walking. "I was worried."

I don’t know why he feels like he needs to worry about me. I don’t need anyone worrying about me. The more I look at him the angrier I get, but I know it’s not just from him. It’s also from the doctor's orders, these damn crutches, and the stupid pillow that I have to sit on for the next few weeks.

When we get to my car, I attempt to take my pink Nike lanyard off of my neck while still leaning on my crutches, and I'm knocked off balance. His hand reaches out for my arm and he steadies me. When I look up at him the corner of his lips twitch into a smile and I have to force myself to breath. With his eyes staring into mine, I completely understand why every girl at school swoons over him. He hesitates before pulling his hand off of my arm.

"Uh, thanks.” I need to get out of this parking lot and out of his general vicinity.

After I unlock my car, he opens the front door and motions for me to hand him my crutches. After setting the donut onto my seat, he opens my back door and shoves the crutches inside.

I’m pulling my door shut when he closes the rear door and grabs my door before its shut all the way.

"You know, we still haven't been properly introduced," he reaches his hand out towards me and I take it. He shakes it firmly, and not like I'm some delicate little flower who less than a minute ago almost fell trying to unlock her car.

I'd heard about the kind boy that is Graham Ryan constantly in school and on the radio. He’s practically known as the new boy that’s managed to win people's hearts over instantly, but I always thought it was just an act. This is definitely not an act.

"Graham Ryan.”

"Scarlett James," I feel the warmth of his hand against mine, and he tightens his grip slightly.

"I know," he laughs. "We've gone to school together for a while now."

I pull my hand away from his and put it on my steering wheel so he won’t see that it’s shaking. What the heck is going on with me right now?

"Well, uh...I've got to go...pick up a prescription at RiteAid.”

He taps the top of my car and smiles again. I wish he’d stop doing that.

"Alright, well… I'll see you at school then?" He asks casually, obviously knowing that he’ll see me in school.

I nod.

"Sweet, have a good night, Scarlett," he turns around and jogs toward the building before I can say anything, which is completely fine by me because I've lost the ability to form words.