Ethan sat sunk into the soft beige cushions of the living-room sofa, both legs stretched straight out in front of him. The bright red casts covered his feet and ankles completely. Over the open ends he had carefully pulled thick white athletic socks, stretching the fabric until it hugged the rim of each cast. The socks hid his toes completely. Ethan stared at the socks and felt the familiar knot tighten in his stomach. School started again on Monday. Everyone would see. They would notice the red casts first, of course, but then their eyes would drop to the pale toes poking out like something that didnât belong. He hated the idea of that.
The doorbell rang, a sharp sound that made him flinch. A moment later the front door opened and Connorâs voice floated down the hallway, bright and easy.
Connor appeared in the doorway, curly red hair still damp from the walk over, freckles standing out against his flushed cheeks. He wore a short-sleeved striped shirt and carried the faint outdoor scent of cut grass and sun-warmed pavement. His eyes went straight to Ethanâs feet.
âDude,â he said, dropping onto the couch hard enough to make the cushions bounce. âWhy are you still wearing those socks?â
Ethan shrugged, the fabric of his blue T-shirt shifting against his shoulders. âI donât want people staring at my toes.â
Connor kicked off his sneakers. The soles made a soft thud against the rug. Then, without asking, he peeled off his own socks and tossed them aside. His bare feet looked ordinary and freckled, the skin still a little pink from the walk. He reached over, gentle but sure, and hooked his fingers under the cuffs of Ethanâs white socks. The cotton was warm and slightly damp where it had been pressed against the plaster. One tug, then another, and the socks slid free, revealing Ethanâs toes completelyâpale, a little wrinkled from being covered, the nails cut short.
Cool air brushed across the newly exposed skin. Ethan felt suddenly bare, as if the whole room could see something private. He started to pull his feet back, but Connor just stretched his own bare feet out beside the casts so they were side by side on the cushion.
âThere,â Connor said. âNow weâre both barefoot. No big deal.â
Ethan stared. The red fiberglass looked even brighter against the soft beige fabric. His toes felt strange in the open airâtingly, almost too sensitive after being hidden. They stayed like that for a long time. Connor talked about a new video game, about the dog next door that always barked at the mail truck, about nothing important. Every so often he nudged Ethanâs cast with his own bare foot, a small, wordless reminder that he was right there. The knot in Ethanâs stomach slowly loosened. The afternoon light shifted across the floor. The brick wall glowed warmer. The plantâs leaves caught the sun and threw soft green shadows.
By the time Connor finally stood up to leave, the white socks still lay crumpled on the rug where he had dropped them. Ethan looked at his toes one more time. They didnât look quite so strange anymoreânot with Connorâs ordinary bare feet still in his memory right beside them.
Monday morning the house was quiet and cool. Ethan stood in front of the hallway mirror in his school clothes, the red casts bright against the dark fabric of his shorts. His toes were fully visible, pale and unprotected. He could feel the slight roughness of the plaster edges against his skin, the way the air moved between his toes when he shifted his weight. For a second the old nervousness flickeredâthen he remembered the couch, the warm light, Connorâs freckled feet next to his own.
He picked up his backpack, felt the familiar weight settle against his shoulders, strapped on his cast sandals, and walked out the door into the bright morning. The sidewalk was already warm under the early sun. He was going to school. And he was going to show his toes.
