#Superfan by Jae Hood Page A

lands on the ground beside me with an oomph . His face spins on his shoulders in a swirl of dark skin and yellowing teeth.
    “My hero.” Giddiness swirls inside me. An odd sense of euphoria infiltrates my system. I can only imagine this is the sensation one gets after a near death experience. Any and all traces of terror ebb away, replaced with utmost happiness.
    Toothless scrambles out of my arms, but I’m having none of that. I’m taking this homeless guy home to live with me. Hell, I might even marry him. Damn society’s standards.
    “Hon, I ain’t homeless. Just trying to get home from the club.”
    I didn’t realize I was speaking aloud, and don’t even have the decency to blush. “Club? Club Champagne?”
    Toothless grins, cocking his head to the side. “Do I look like I hang out at Club Champagne?”
    “You do now. Grab your coat and let’s go. Drinks are on me.” I attempt to stand. Dizziness grows tenfold.
    Toothless touches my shoulders, directing me back on his wrinkled, stained coat. “I tells you what. You sit right here and wait on that ambulance. Get checked out at the hospital, and when you get better you can take me for drinks at Club Champagne, you hear? You ain’t acting right.” Worry lines his forehead.
    This stranger, this complete stranger, is worrying about me. The up I felt earlier now drags me crashing to the ground. Tears swallow my eyes, and as the first sound of a siren breaks the chatter of pedestrians on the sidewalk, I begin to cry.
    “You don’t understand.” I rub my nose with the back of my arm, potentially ruining Madi’s jacket. “This is how I always act. That’s what’s wrong with me. I’m a mess. And I nearly died, and if I had … I’d never …”
    Be able to tell Eight I’m falling in like with him.
    The thought hits me harder than the kid who rear-ended my car. For the second time tonight, I want to bounce off the ground and scamper away, but I’m frozen to the cold cement.
    The police are the first to pull up, then the paramedics. They ask me questions, they poke and prod. Someone cleans the wound on my forehead and places a bandage over the laceration.
    “She’s actin’ funny,” Toothless tells one of the paramedics. “But she says she always acts funny.”
    His words snap me from my trancelike state. I bark in laughter, those tears returning again. The paramedics exchange a “she’s loo-loo” glance that sends me into more forceful fits of giggles.
    “We’re gonna help you onto the stretcher, ma’am.” A blue-gloved hand touches my shoulder gently.
    “What about my car?”
    “The police will take care of it,” the paramedic assures me. “You can call the police department when you’re feeling better and they’ll tell ya where to pick it up.”
    “Where’s my phone? My purse?” Some sense of normalcy worms its way inside my head. Madi’s probably flipping out right about now, wondering where I am.
    Toothless clambers around inside my car until he finds my cell, keys, and purse. I try passing him what little cash I have inside, but he’s having none of that. He waves me away with his fingerless, holey gloves.
    “You go on to the hospital.”
    “Ride with me.” I fist his worn shirt, pleading.
    “Gotta get home to the little lady.” Toothless points at the stretcher. “You go on and get on that stretcher for these nice folks. Don’t forget: when you get better, drinks are on you.”
    I give him a nod and wave as he disappears into the growing crowd on the sidewalk. The paramedics assist my dizzy ass onto the stretcher. I close my eyes during the ride to the hospital, only opening them when instructed to do so by the paramedic. One hand clutches my phone, the other my purse. I should probably call Madi and tell her what’s happened, but the throbbing of my head worsens with the thought of staring at the bright screen of my phone.
    I snap back into consciousness when I’m wheeled into the ER and placed inside a room. Still, I