August 21, 2007. The week before eighth grade began and the summer sun sizzled on my tan skin. My sister and I came to Kaitlyn, our friend’s house. Our mom gave us one hour to play. Kaitlyn lived in the beige and maroon house only a few houses down from our home. Amanda, my sister, and I always went over her house; it wasn’t anything new. That warm afternoon all three of us spent our time mostly talking about school and guys. Kaitlyn, Amanda, and I all talked the same way, our eyes looking into the distance as we twirled our hair and smiled. Throughout that afternoon, Mandi and I begged over and over again to go on Kaitlyn’s trampoline. “It’s really hot outside. I just don’t want to,” Kaitlyn told us with her warm brown eyes.
“Fine,” Mandi and I said in a monotone. We realized fifty seven minutes passed. Three minutes left. Kaitlyn, Amanda, and I dragged ourselves onto the hot cement sidewalk silently.
“I wish we didn’t have to leave,” Amanda sighed looking at her feet. Kaitlyn and I nodded in agreement. At that moment, my sister and I realized the massive squirt guns waiting in Kaitlyn’s garage. Amanda smiled devilishly and turned to me. “We could squirt each other on the trampoline! We wouldn’t be hot!” Amanda became excited thinking of her idea. Kaitlyn’s eyes flickered from Mandi’s to mine.
“I don’t know Mandi,” I began doubtfully, “Weren’t we just about to leave?” She threw her hands up in the air,
“Who cares!” she said in a naïve tone. Mandi skipped towards the guns and filled them in Kaitlyn’s garage sink. She handed one giant weapon at a time to Kaitlyn and I. Kaitlyn looked at me,
“I don’t feel so good about this,” she said with cautious eyes. But Amanda was already jumping on the trampoline. She was jumping awkwardly though, because of the weight of the gun. I shrugged my shoulders and sprinted towards the trampoline. The trampoline had a net around it, so at least it was safe. Before I knew it, we all started giggling like two year olds, because of all the slipping and bouncing. In slow motion, or it seemed as if it happened in slow motion, Mandi and Kaitlyn jumped at the same time, sending me about three and a halt feet into the air. I landed on my right ankle, pain bombarding my whole lower right leg. I screamed, like the characters do in all my favorite horror movies: shrill and loud. The pain increased and I opened my mouth, my vocal cards stretching until they were sore. Kaitlyn and Amanda stared in shock and confusion. The rest of the night I suffered with a sore ankle, sore to the point where I couldn’t put any pressure on it. The next morning, my ankle was as big as my calf, and it was a sickening green color. My mom rushed me to the hospital. A week later, I found myself staring at my bright green cast on the first day of eighth grade.
On that misleading August day, I broke my ankle. Kaitlyn, Amanda, and I were blinded by excitement to trust our instincts. I believe God gave all of us knowledge of what’s right and wrong. I believe we all have instincts we should trust.
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