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“Pope!” JJ hups, approaching a makeshift campfire on the beachside. John B is at his heels, and they’re both tugging surfboards under their arms, faces damp and dripping from their recent endeavors.
“What?” Pope calls back, craning his neck over his fold-out chair to watch the two boys emerge from the dark.
Kiara, sitting on her own chair across the flames, makes a comment. “You guys came back sooner than I thought.”
The boys jog up to the campfire, shivering slightly as the cold of the late-winter night battles against their wet bodies. However, they make no move to cozy up right away.
“Yeah, well, that wasn’t the initial plan,” John B says through chattering teeth. “JJ got himself hurt.”
“What?” asks Kiara.
“Seriously?” Pope moans.
All eyes are on the blond now, and in response he just sets down his board and gives a small chuckle. “Honestly, it was not my fault.”
“Honestly,” John B mimics, “it was totally your fault. I told you taking that barrel was a stupid idea.”
JJ does his best to reply nonchalantly, despite the flaming ache in his shoulder as he clenches his fist by his waist. “But, according to my philosophy it wasn’t stupid, because stupid things have g—”
“Oh my god,” groans Pope, standing up from his seat. “I told you guys surfing in the dark was stupid and dangerous, and now JJ is hurt? I wish I didn’t have to say ‘I told you so.’”
“Chill out, man,” JJ sighs, trying his best to pacify his friend’s outward disappointment.
Kiara rises from her chair, looking at John B for answers. “Where’d he get hurt?”
“His shoulder,” John B says, laying his surfboard on the sand a few feet away. He winces, glancing between JJ and his friends. “It’s hard not to tell if you look at him.”
There JJ stands, gripping his right wrist with his left hand to alleviate the shooting pain down his arm, being gasped and grimaced at by his friends.
Kiara steps up to get a closer look, and her face scrunches. “Your shoulders look like they're on two different planes,” she mutters, looking a bit grossed out aside from her concern.
“It’s definitely dislocated,” Pope notes with a sigh, glancing up at JJ and John B after some visual examination. “I mean, based on its position away from your clavicle, it’s a no-brainer.”
JJ blinks. “My…”
John B clarifies for him. “Collarbone.”
He understands. “Right. Doctor words—” JJ’s chance to retort is cut short as he attempts to move his arm, hindered by the bolt of pain to follow through the movement.
“Don’t move,” directs Kiara, looking a bit frazzled now.
“Yep,” JJ grunts through his teeth. “Got that one.”
After drying off his hair, John B slings a towel around his neck and turns his gaze to Pope. “What do you think we should do?”
The teen freezes briefly, not prepared to make any decisions. There’s lots of things they could do in his mind, but only a couple of them would be the safest and “right” thing to do in the long term. First things first, he knows one thing they have to do right now.
“Taking care of injuries in the cold is not very ideal,” he states, taking note of JJ’s failure to quiet his shivering breaths and stiff body.
“I can go warm up the Twinkie,” John B suggests instantly.
“Wait, wait,” JJ halts, finally looking a bit worried. “We’re not gonna try to put it back in first? I can deal with being cold just fine.”
Pope stays persistent. “No, JJ, that’s not how it works. If you’re tense, we can’t do anything.”
“I’m not tense. I’m chill. Calm— I mean.”
Kiara deadpans. “He means like physically, Jayj.”
“I’ll go start ‘er up,” John B announces before promptly walking away with his and his buddy’s surfboards in arms.
“Come on,” Pope says, beckoning to the remaining gang to follow. Kie cocks her head and JJ exhales as he trudges forth, still gripping onto his right forearm. He accepts that no matter which direction they go after this, taking care of his arm is really going to suck.
Once the gang of Pogues hop into the idling vintage VW, a towel is thrown to JJ. Kiara instantly directs him to dry off while John B consults his phone from behind the wheel, typing in “dislocated shoulder” into the Google search bar.
“What happened anyway?” Pope asks, sitting himself across from JJ on the rear-facing seat behind the driver.
“Me and John B were trading barrels, and stuff. The yoozh ,” JJ begins to explain, half-heartedly patting himself down with his beach towel. “And I saw this opportunity—”
“A huge, black, unsafe opportunity,” John B mutters, though his voice is just background noise to JJ’s recounting.
“I’ll give it to JB. He did tell me not to take it but, come on.” JJ smirks in a way that implies that they know himself better than that, and they do. “It would have been fine if it weren’t for the wind.”
“Wind schwind,” Pope grumbles.
“Hey, I’m not lying,” JJ insists.
Kiara tries to sort him out gently, joining him on the back bench. “Look, JJ, you’re an awesome surfer and all, but you really can’t be pulling shit like this.”
JJ’s smirk falters.
She continues, sounding defeated. “I mean, what if we have to take you to the hospital? I wouldn’t even know where to begin with that.”
John B shifts his body around to face the crew. “What if we don’t have to take him anywhere?” he inquires as he brings out his phone. “Pope. Read this.”
Apprehensively, Pope takes John B’s phone and gazes down at the screen of text before him.
“Easy enough, right?” asks John B.
“Oh, hell no,” Pope says, voice bursting with mortification. “We are not medical professionals.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, bubba. I’ve seen lifeguards do this all the time,” John B reasons with a grin..
“They’re trained, we are not. Not as much as they are anyway–”
“Guys,” JJ interrupts loudly. There’s a beat of silence as he massages his forearm by his bare chest, beach towel forgotten on his lap. “Are we putting my arm back or what?”
“No way!” Pope exclaims.
“Are you serious?” Kiara cries.
“Hell yeah, I’m serious,” JJ declares. “The Twinkie’s warming up, I’m loose and limber. You guys are smart, right? As long as I still have an arm by the end of all this, I’m cool.” His voice is fast and pitched to match his peaked anxiety.
Everyone is able to read JJ well enough to reconsider quietly. Kiara looks torn, Pope nervously reads the article on the phone while John B peers over his shoulder.
“Please?” JJ asks, voice faint and a tad desperate.
Kiara looks at him, pressing her lips together as she mulls this over. “If we do this, I’m making you wear a sling.”
JJ cringes. “And look like a loser? Nah. My shoulder will be back, why does that even matter?”
“Because your muscles and tendons are almost tearing,” John B answers.
JJ makes an expression as if John B has betrayed him.
“And if they aren’t torn now, they probably will be if you make us do this,” Pope adds carefully.
The van goes quiet except for the sound of the engine running along with the blasting hot air.
“Do you still want us to try and relocate your shoulder?” Kiara asks, breaking the silence.
With a limp hand across his chest, JJ sucks his teeth, considering more. He looks to John B who gives him a discreet thumbs up, and then to Pope who looks slightly more forgiving.
“It won’t hurt to try,” JJ says.
John B’s expression falls into a smiling and grimacing combo. “Might wanna word that differently.”
JJ snorts. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be.”
“Shit, shit!”
“I haven’t even pulled anything,” John B says defensively.
The gang is right outside the van, a shirtless JJ lying on a mixture of grass and sand and John B fixated with his foot pressed right up against his buddy’s armpit. His wrist is being held up by John B only a couple inches from the ground, yet there’s a readable terror in his blue eyes already.
JJ tries his best to play it off. “I know. I just don’t want you to yank my arm off, y’know?”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” replies John B before looking up to Pope for directions.
“Please do not jerk it,” says Pope, circling around the top of JJ’s head.
“Yeah, don’t jerk it , John B,” JJ snickers, glancing at John B who smirks.
“I’m not holding your hand if you’re going to be gross like this,” Kiara says, crouched at JJ’s opposite side.
“Well, you’re lucky you’re holding my left hand then.” The innuendos keep on rolling, and it might be the last thing keeping him from totally freaking out.
“I can’t with you,” Kiara scoffs quietly, dropping JJ’s hand she’d previously been holding onto.
“Because my right hand is stronger, Kie. Wouldn’t wanna crush your hand with mine, now, would I?” JJ asks, smirking still.
Kiara shakes her head, biting back a smile.
Pope looks up, phone screen illuminating his face in the dark. “Okay, everybody,” he states. “It’s time to get serious.”
“Right,” JJ whispers. Kiara picks up his hand, John B secures his hold on his wrist.
“So,” Pope begins, gazing down between Kiara, JJ, then John B. “Just guide his arm outward, carefully…”
“And pull it towards me,” John B finishes, having remembered previously read instructions.
“Can we just start, please?” JJ sounds impatient.
“Alright,” John B says under his breath. He exhales through pursed lips. This might be harder than it seems, he realizes. “Let’s do this.”
He takes his buddy’s wrist out at a forty-five degree angle from his supine body; JJ secures his grip onto Kie’s hand, heart dropping in his throat.
“Okay,” whispers John B, reaching out to wrap another hand around JJ’s forearm.
“No jerking,” Pope mutters. “I mean—”
Kiara is the only one to acknowledge Pope’s accidental rerun with a glance. Below is JJ who might already be holding his breath. Beside him is the established arm-puller, staring as he ponders his next actions over in his head.
Blinking out of his temporary daze, John B carefully pulls on JJ’s arm without warning.
“Oooww…” JJ moans.
John B nods ever so faintly as he allows his arm to rest again.
“Okay,” says Pope. “Um, maybe a little less carefully.”
As he speaks, John B repositions his foot against JJ’s side,
“You’re sweating,” Kiara tells JJ, referring to his clammy hand in hers.
“No dur,” the blond replies. “I’m literally getting my goddamn limb—”
His reply is interrupted by a profane shout. His own profane shout, followed by an intense strained grunt as John B tugs on his arm with greater force.
“John B, it’s not gonna work,” Kiara exclaims over JJ’s noises of resistance.
“No, no it’s fine,” rasps JJ.
Pope seems to be hiding behind his phone. “I can’t watch,” he mumbles.
With a grimace, John B contemplates letting go and restarting until he feels a tiny sensation of slipping beneath his hands. Biting on his tongue, John B digs his foot further against JJ for more leverage and yanks back. The limb less-than gracefully pops back into place, loud enough for everyone to take a breath of relief as John B lets go of JJ’s arm.
“Ohh, dude, I’m gonna throw up,” JJ breathes, pulling his hand away from Kiara to rake his fingers through his hair.
“I did it,” John B says, smiling with satisfaction.
Kiara laughs lightly. “You seem surprised.”
“I was more confident before Pope tried to use my lack of a degree against me,” John B jokes, climbing onto his feet to clasp said friend on the shoulder.
“It was important to note,” Pope replies matter-of-factly, pocketing his phone.
Kiara stands and helps JJ up with an outstretched arm. The teen stumbles on his feet, then flinches when John B taps his fingers on his injured shoulder.
“Hey,” JJ scoffs, pointing a finger at John B. “No touching.”
“Yeah, no touching,” Pope says, a knowing expression on his face. “We’ll pick up a sling for you at the drugstore on the way back.”
“Nah-uh,” JJ refuses. “I’m good.”
“Right.” In one quick motion, John B reaches to squeeze his shoulder.
“Fuck!”
Kiara gives him a spiteful smirk. “Told you.”
The next day, JJ shows up to school with no sling.
“I forgot it at home,” he lies, obviously so, to the group.
Kiara presents a slab of folded black fabric.
“Good thing we got a two-pack, right?” Pope asks.
JJ’s lips twitch in defeated yet amused fashion and Kiara approaches to help put on the backup sling.
John B smiles from behind her. “Told you,” he mouths.