Forty-Five: JaredThe itching under my cast was annoying. I lay awake on the bed far past a reasonable time for sleeping and straightened out a wire hanger from the guest-room closet to be able to stick it down the white plaster torture chamber and scratch.
I hadn't let anyone sign it. When I was thirteen, I broke my arm playing football at school. I was so pissed about having to wear that cast, but everyone made a big deal and signed it for me. Thirteen-year-old me was secretly psyched to have an excuse for a girl to touch me. I remembered the day I had it cut off, and it was like freedom- I couldn't wait to throw a football again. At this point, I didn't even know if there was anything to look forward to at the end of this. I guessed it would be cool not to take those stupid crutches eve
