Lists

Home is comforting. Home is peaceful. Home is full of people I wish would go away so that home could return to my preconceived notion.

Marc lies on his back beside me on the bed, Olivia on my other side, Tom across the end of the bed, perpendicular to the three of us. My leg throbs in its cast, but I look up at the ceiling and pretend that the pain does not exist. For a moment, the delusion exists, and then it is gone and I hurt I hurt so much but I cannot let it cripple me.

I pull in a breath and let it out again, long and even and controlled.

"All I'm saying is, this list could use a little improving," Tom says loftily, holding it above his head.

"Add improve list to the list," I say, and Olivia laughs as Tom sits up and writes it down.

"How many is that?" Marc asks.

"Well," Tom says, tucking the pencil back behind his ear. "One, go to the park. Two, use the swings at the park. Three and four relate to the sandbox and castles. Five, see a movie involving a car chase. Six, see a movie of chick-flick relations. Seven-" He pauses, looks at the paper with a confused expression on his face. "Tell Tom he is an Adonis?" I roll my eyes and he looks closely at the paper. "Come now, I'm know I'm ridiculously attractive, but that's going a little too far."

"'Ridiculously attractive' is going a little too far," I say. "Calling you an Adonis is more than a little questionable."

Tom clutches at his chest, crinkling the list between his fingers. "Cruel lady," he says dramatically.

I roll my eyes, and Olivia laughs. "Ok, someone else take the list," I say. Olivia sits up carefully, so as not to jostle me, and takes it from Tom, smoothing it out on her leg and pulling the pencil from behind his ear.

"Seven is really to go to the zoo. And that's as far as we've gotten." She taps the pencil on her knee and stares down at the paper thoughtfully.

I laugh bitterly. "My dreams are so wild."

Marcus wraps his hand around my wrist, loosely, his fingertips teasing the soft skin. "They're dreams. They can be whatever you want them to be."

I flush a little but force a smile. "Fine. But eight will be more epic that the rest."

"More epic than the zoo? That'll be pretty hard." Tom whistles through his teeth, and Olivia laughs.

They discuss what will ever be more epic than the zoo, and I hear a knocking sound from the front door. Mum's voice, quiet and polite. Dad's; booming and loud. Happy.

I frown a little, listen closer. And then smile.

Footsteps come down the hall, and a shaggy brown head peers through the doorway. "Lance," I say in greeting.

Everyone stops talking. His body follows him in, lanky but broad shouldered. He has a swimmer's body, strong and athletic. I see him kick Greaves, again and again, then shake the image from my mind.

"Hey," he says, smiling unsurely. "I just came by to see how you were doing."

"I'm good, apart from the leg. How's your sister?"

He smiles at the very mention of her and grips the back of his neck. "She's still talking about the fairy from the hospital. I- honestly, I can't thank you enough."

"Yes, you can." I point over to the chair by my dresser. "Sit." He smiles and does as I ask, a bemused expression on his face. And then he notices everyone staring at him, and shifts uncomfortably.

"Ummm, who's this, Syl?" Olivia asks, tilting her head to the side.

"Yeah, who's that?" Marcus asks, sitting up.

I groan as I lever myself up, and Marc slips an arm behind my shoulders to help me before returning his hostile glare to Lance.

"That's Lance, from the hospital," I explain.

"And from school," Lance says, ticking each place off his fingers as he says it. "And from down the street. And from-"

"The formal!" Tom says, straightening. "You're the guy who beat up Greaves! I knew I recognised you." Tom looks pleased with himself.

Lance shifts in the chair. "Yeah, I don't usually do that sort of thing."

Marc opens his mouth, but I shush him. "Stop it! You're making him uncomfortable." I grab his arm. "Help me up."

"I really don't think you should-"

"Just get me up, Marc. It's a good day." He closes his mouth and stands, then helps me slowly get to my feet, my cast thunking hollowly on the ground.

"A good day?" Lance asks, curious.

"One of Syl's ailments is this weird thing with her bones that I can't pronounce," Olivia says, pulling her hair over her shoulder. "Most days it's bad, and it hurts her to move, and her bones are very fragile. Some days, it's good, and it hurts less, and she can... move more, do more things, because her bones are less likely to break."

"Basically, that's it," I tell Lance, gently pushing Marc's arm from my waist and standing on my own. I smile, feeling accomplished, and take a step towards the door. I hear them all stand behind me, but ignore it; I am used to that sort of behaviour. I hold my hand out to Lance. "Come on."

Warily, with a look behind me at what I imagine to be a glowering Marcus, he stands and takes my hand, walking with me as I slowly go, dragging my leg along. "This is an amazing day, actually, considering I have this massive thing on my leg." I gesture at my cast with my free hand.

"Not to overstep or anything but, you shouldn't be walking on that, should you?" He looks at my cast with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't tell me what to do, Lance," I say, but I am smiling and my tone is joking.

"Never would I presume to tell you what your limits are," he says. I smile wider. His grip on my hand is warm and gentle, though tighter than Marcus' is. Marcus holds my hand like he's scared to crush me. Lance holds it like he knows how much pressure will crush my fingers, and just how much is enough. Enough to feel secure, but not breakable.

"So, where exactly are we going?" he asks.

"I have this bucket list," I explain, turning the corner into the kitchen.

"A bucket list?" he asks, perplexed.

"Yes- oh, wait a sec." I look into the kitchen, holding onto the wall with my free hand to steady myself. "Mum, we're going for a walk."

"A walk?" dad asks, sounding worried.

"I'll be fine. Marc, Olive, Tom and Lance are with me."

"Ok, but take a phone," mum says. I smile at her and continue walking. Their voices are hushed and worried as we go towards the door.

"As I was saying, I have a bucket list," I continue. "And we are going to complete the first item on it."

"What is it?" he asks, stopping with me. I start to bend down to put on my shoe at the door, but he stops me and crouches, takes my shoe and slips it onto my foot, doing up the laces with deft fingers.

"It's to go to the park," I tell him.

He stands, and there is a grin on his face. "Well, dream big, I always say."

I laugh. And then Marc steps forward, slipping his arm around my waist. Lance lets go of my hand and steps back, leaning against the wall. "You're not really going to do this, are you, Syl? Not today?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, I am doing this today. Now move so I can sit in my chair."

He sighs heavily but steps aside, and I lower myself into my wheelchair, provided by the hospital. Olivia opens the door and Marc pushes me outside. Tom closes the door behind us, the list in his hand. Lance falls into step beside the wheelchair, a thumb hooked in his pocket.

"So, why the park?" he asks.

"I haven't been since I was little. Some people dream of jumping out of a plane. I dream for the ordinary." I fold my hands in my lap and watch the street pass me by. Olivia skips, swinging Tom's free hand between the two of them. He laughs and puts the list in his pocket.

"Sometimes the ordinary is extraordinary." I look at him, examine his face for a moment. His is one made sharp by grief, but I can tell it would have been soft, before. It strikes me, then, how young Marc looks compared to Lance. Lance looks weathered, aged by circumstance. His eyes, though sad, are friendly and warm, a honey-amber colour. "Personally, I like parks better than planes."

I smile. "What, are you afraid of flying?"

He nods, a slight blush reddening his cheeks. Marc makes an incredulous sound. "You're scared of planes?"

"It's a perfectly reasonable fear," Lance says, looking at him, surprised. "Planes are prone to crash. Parks are... less so."

"Be nice, Marcus," I say, but I am smiling.

"You're on the swimming team, right?" Tom asks, running forwards with Olivia on his back. She holds on to him tightly, a grin on her face.

"Yeah, how did you know?" Lance looks at Tom questioningly.

Tom shrugs and shifts Olivia on his back. "The courts are next to the pool." Tom plays tennis. Apparently, he's very good, but I only know that from Olive.

"You swim? Are you good?" I ask, craning my neck a little to look up at him.

He flushes again. It's quite adorable. "I'm alright, I guess. Why?"

"The doctor said I should do water therapy, for my leg. They can't leave the cast on for too long, or the leg will grow weak from disuse." I tap it absently with a finger. "But on the plus side, I heal as quickly as I break, so it won't be necessary for me to wear this, soon." I push my hair from my eyes. "Maybe you could help me out, with the water part of the therapy."

"I wouldn't know what to do," he says, and I see him dart a glance at Marc, who is pushing the wheelchair a little faster. No doubt going into his overprotective mode.

I roll my eyes, exasperated. "You don't need to do anything but save me if I'm drowning. All I have to do is kick my legs in the water, build up strength."

"I can help, Syl," Marc says, his voice low and more than a little angry.

"You help me with everything. It isn't fair to ask you to do this, as well." I smile up at him before my neck starts to hurt, and then straighten in the chair. "Besides, it's good to make friends."

"Especially attractive friends," Olivia yells as Tom runs past, and then she whoops, holding one hand in the air with the other around Tom's neck.

I look up at Lance, smiling a little when he blushes, and have to agree.

We go to the park. Marc helps me sit in a swing and then goes off to chase Olivia, still riding on Tom's back as she taunts her brother. Lance stands behind me, holding the chains of the swing as it sways. "I'll help you. With swimming," he says. I can feel his chest against my back. He is warm and strong and he smells like a heavy, musky deodorant.

"Thanks," I say.

And then he steps back and pushes me gently, and I sit on the swing, swaying slightly, and smile. The first thing on my ridiculous list is done.