Kenya had done pretty well all week, she stayed busy with work and school to keep her mind off the guy she couldn’t have, shouldn’t want. Each time she started to fantasize about Tristan, she reminded herself that she had bigger goals in life then to get knocked up her senior year; which was where her attraction to him was headed. They were in high school and she knew high school romances rarely made it past graduation.

Work had kept her extra busy. In addition to the overtime she was already working on the weekends, her team leader asked her to fill in for a team member who recently had a baby. Her normal 4 to 5 hours of sleep were now reduced to 2 or three. She could feel the stress starting to take its toll on her mind and body.  She wasn’t eating much, she wasn’t sleeping and it seemed like one day was running into the next.

By lunch time Monday, Kenya was ready to take a nap in the choir room. It wasn’t like anything important ever happened in there.  She and Page were sitting across from the football players table. Tristan was leaning in close toward one of the beautiful blonde cheerleaders.  From her obnoxious giggle and the wink Kenya saw Tristan shoot the girls’ way, it was obvious what he wanted from her.

Well, good.

Not good.

Shit, she couldn’t decide. What was it about him that made her veer towards crazy? When she was at a comfortable place in her life, why did he have to enter her life and stir up everything?  Page waived her hand in front of her.

“Have you heard anything I’ve said?” Page gave her a funny look.

Kenya gulped down her water and nodded.

“Yeah, of course” Kenya tried to follow the conversation about Page’s mom and their trip to Universal Studios over the weekend. She wasn’t the least bit interested but to spare Page’s feelings, she pretended to listen.

“Why do you keep looking at Tristan? Do you like him or something?” Page asked her.

Kenya almost choked on her water. “No, of course not,” she said averting eye contact.

Page still looked at her as if she knew she was lying. Deciding that was her cue to leave, she drank the rest of her water and got up from the table.

“I’m going to get to class early and take a nap. See you later.”

As soon as she took a few steps away from the table, however, loud shouts erupted from the football table and the skaters table, followed by the sound of glass breaking and tumbled chairs.

“Great,” Kenya mumbled. “Idiots are about to fight.”

The fight between several large linebackers and barely muscular skaters went from bad to worse in seconds. Kenya tried to move out of the way but she was accidentally pushed into the middle of the crowd by other scared students. The teachers and coaches jumped right into the thick of it, blowing their whistles, shoving and prying people apart. As soon as they managed to separate two students, others joined in.

Fucking great.

Kenya dodged a flying glass cup a moment before it would have cracked against her forehead. She saw her political science teacher get a hold of one of the linebackers, but he lost his grip when the football player head butted him.

Curses flew through the air, and those not caught in the middle fled out of exits on the side of the cafeteria.  She saw an opening in the crowd and made a move to exit the violent scene when a punch came out of nowhere and hit her hard in the cheek. The power of the blow knocked her backward. She tumbled into other people on her way down to the floor.

Kenya’s brain rattled against her skull, and her vision blurred. On the verge of passing out, she couldn’t gather enough energy to pull herself out of the way of trampling feet. But someone else did. One moment she was in danger of serious injury, the next someone strong grabbed her under her arms and dragged her to safety. Her vision cleared enough that when she looked up she saw the face of her rescuer.

Tristan Kelly, in all his green-eyed fineness.

Kenya’s breath caught in her chest for a moment as she stared up at Tristan, who stared right back. Was it a sign of insanity to want to reach up and kiss him when there was chaos going on behind her? No doubt about it.

A small iota of common sense clawed its way to the front of her mind and allowed her to break eye contact. She shifted so she could lift herself off the floor.

Tristan gripped her arm, stopping her before she could stand. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She gestured toward the exit. “To get the hell out of here.”

Tristan shook his head. “I’m going to take you to the nurse so you can get checked out. You might have a concussion.”

Kenya turned and gritted her teeth against the searing pain that shot through her head. The fight had finally stopped and the students who had instigated it were being ushered to the principal’s office.

“That’s not necessary. I just need help getting up and I’ll be fine.”

Kenya sat of the floor, dreading moving as she watched everyone filing out of the cafeteria. With a sigh, she shifted her feet and hands under her and pushed herself to a standing position. She blinked against the throb in her cheek. It was a good thing her skin was so dark, that hit was going to leave a mark. She was still riding out the pain as Tristan guided her to a chair.

Tristan stepped away, but only for a few seconds. He extended a plastic bag filled with ice. “Here. This will help keep it from swelling too much.”

Her hand brushed his as she took the ice pack. Despite her jaw feeling as if George Foreman and Mike Tyson had punched her, she jolted at the warm contact. She hesitated a little too long in bringing the ice to her cheek, so he guided her hand. She winced when the ice made contact with her skin and tried to pull it away, but Tristan’s hand gently held hers in place.

He stepped away again to talk to the vice principle. By the time he came back she was ready to leave. There were so many people there looking at her and talking about her injury. She hated being the center of attention.

“Vice principle Rollins said that you can go home for the day,” Tristan announced.

Kenya was surprised. She expected a reprieve from her classes but being sent home never crossed her mind.

“That’s not necessary. I’m fine.”

“Listen, you just took a full out punch from a dude that’s at least twice your size. I can tell you that if I took a punch from someone twice my size, I’d be a little woozy too,” Tristan pointed out.

“You think I’m going to keel over during class?”

“Probably not, but falling face first down a flight of stairs and hitting your head would be a sucky way to go, wouldn’t it?”

She would have laughed if she didn’t know it would hurt.

“Plus the v.p. just gave me permission to drive you home so you don’t have to take the bus.”

Kenya wanted to argue but he made a good point. Her head hurt like a bitch, she was tired and if she had to walk around with her head feeling like it was splitting open, she was going to lose her lunch.

Too tired to argue, Kenya allowed him to walk her out of the building and to the student parking lot. Walking took more effort than normal, and the image Tristan painted of her falling on her face felt like a real possibility a couple of times.

When they got in his car, she lowered the ice pack to thank him. He guided it back to her cheek.

“You want to keep that on, trust me.”

“Been through a few punches?” she tried to ignore the warmth flowing through her as his palm briefly cradled her hand.

“Some people call them punches, I call it football.”

Kenya grinned but immediately regretted it when her cheek started pounding even more. The ride home was torture. She felt every bump, every uneven spot on the road. She breathed a sigh of relief when Tristan finally pulled up to her apartment complex.

They sat in silence before Kenya spoke up. “Thanks for pulling me out earlier and thanks for the ride home.”

When she moved to open the door, he gently touched her left arm stopping her movements. He removed his hand when he got her attention.

“There’s a party at a friend’s house this weekend and I was wondering if you would go with me?”

Kenya didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t believe he was still interested after their last conversation.

“I’m sorry Tristan but I can’t. I already told you that I don’t do social gatherings, I don’t do parties, and I don’t date.”

A look of total defeat took over his face.

“Please don’t do that,” Kenya continued.

“Don’t do what?” he asked his voice sounding distant.

“Don’t act like this is a surprise, like I’ve hurt you in some way. I’ve always been honest about my feelings so this shouldn’t be news to you,” Kenya elaborated.

Although she hated relationships, hurting Tristan wasn’t the goal.

“Look, I get it. You’re new to this town, this school and you don’t think you can trust me. I guess I’ll have to earn your trust. I want to get to know you but I know that won’t happen unless it’s on your terms.”

He took out a pen and paper.

“Here’s my cell number. Call me if you ever need anything.”

To spare his feelings from further bruising, Kenya took his number.  Without another word she went inside to lie down. She still had work later that day and it would help if her pain and swelling diminished.

Kenya stared at the boxes of toys in front of her. She was having trouble discerning what toys went into what box. Her headache was worse than earlier that day, she had double vision, and her chest hurt. She must have looked extra shitty if people she didn’t know were asking her if she was okay.

“Kenya, can you go get box 42E please? Thank you.”

Damn you Heather, Kenya thought. Didn’t she understand that she was barely keeping it together? Why couldn’t she send someone else? Instead of saying what was on her mind and possibly losing her job, Kenya slowly headed towards the pile of boxes in the corner. It seemed like her heart was beating at an alarming rate, she was breaking out into a cold sweat, and her vision blurred. She stopped a few times, taking deep breaths to slow her heart down. Something wasn’t right. She shouldn’t feel like this from a punch, even if it did come from a large football player.

After a few moments of breathing, she attempted to walk again. She heard someone calling her name but she didn’t know where the voice was coming from. The last thing she felt before blacking out was hitting the hardwood floor of the warehouse.

The paramedics arrived ten minutes later and hurried Kenya into the ambulance.

“Her heart’s beating way too fast. Did you get any information from the supervisor?” Derrick Richards asked his partner as he quickly took the girl’s vital signs.

“All she told me was that her name is Kenya Nomenyo and she’s 17 years old. She also gave me her emergency contact, whom they’re calling now but that’s about it. Shit. That can’t be right. Her blood pressure is 288 over 90?” Hannah Stinson said, the severity of their patients condition setting in.

Before Derrick could respond to her question, the steady tone of the heart rate monitor filled the back of the ambulance.

“Fuck she’s crashing! Give me the paddles. Crank it up to 100!”

Derrick placed the pads on Kenya’s chest, administering the shock. Nothing.

“Again! 200!”

Still nothing.

“Again! 350!”

The steady tone of the heart rate monitor continued.

“Derrick, it’s been over a minute. I think we need to call time of death,” Hannah reasoned.

“Fuck that! I’m not losing a fucking kid on my last day, do you understand me? 500!”

Kenya’s limp body jerked but still nothing. Derrick, who hadn’t prayed since his daughter died 5 years prior, sent up a desperate prayer for God to let Kenya live.

“550!”

Derrick once again placed the paddles on Kenya’s chest. The heart rate monitor beep, no longer eliciting the steady tone it had earlier. Derrick almost broke down and cried when Kenya took a breath, slowly opening her eyes.

He shouted at the driver. “Drive faster Danny!”

Derrick sat back as Hannah talked to Kenya, reassuring her. He wanted to shout his happiness to the world. He could retire on a happy note because he had just witnessed a miracle.