Chapter 7: The Shoulder

On Tuesday afternoon Linus came back from the library and found Mattias sitting on the floor of room 214 with his back against the bed.

He was still in his practice jersey.

His right arm hung wrong at his side, and his face had no color in it.

"Don't," Mattias said before Linus could speak. "Don't say anything. I'm fine."

"You're gray," Linus said.

"I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"A guy checked me into the boards. It popped out." Mattias's mouth twisted. "The trainer wanted to call my dad. I walked out."

Linus dropped his bag and knelt in front of him.

"It went back in?" Linus asked.

"The trainer put it back in. It hurts like hell."

"Then you need a sling and ice, and an X-ray," Linus said.

"I need you to stop talking."

Linus ignored him.

He had spent four winters shoveling a driveway for his grandfather and knew a person in pain when he saw one.

He found a bag of frozen peas in the dorm freezer down the hall.

He wrapped it in a towel and carried it back with a pillowcase.

"Shirt," he said.

"What?"

"The jersey has to come off if I'm going to put this on you. Raise the good arm."

Mattias stared at him.

Then, very slowly, he lifted his left arm.

Linus eased the jersey up and over his head, and then off the right arm in one careful pull.

Mattias hissed through his teeth.

Underneath he was broad and warm and bruised along the ribs.

Linus kept his eyes on the shoulder and out of trouble.

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