pushed weakly against the floor once, then twice, and then I collapsed.
I woke up sprawled on my living room sofa with the thick braided edge of a cushion embedded in my cheek. The bright midmorning sun streamed through a familiar picture window; pots and pans clattered in the kitchen. My mother was quite possibly the loudest cook in the history of the known universe, but I was used to it. I flipped onto my belly, wriggling into the depths of the couch, searching for sleep again.
When my nose pressed against the pillow, pain lanced my face. I pushed myself up to see Michael sitting on the floor next to the sofa. It all rushed back: the callbacks, the suicide drills, the whole hot-guy-with-a-shocking-touch thing.
“Holy crap!” I flailed in surprise, sending half of the cushions to the floor. “What’re you doing here?”
“I just came by to check on you. Your mom said I couldhang for a while and see if you might wake up. And here we are,” he said. His voice practically made me purr, but I wasn’t about to let that show on my face.
“Wait.” I settled back into the remaining cushions, glancing at the windows. “What day is it?”
“It’s Sunday. Almost ten a.m.”
My stomach clenched. I’d been out for about fifteen hours. I’d slept that long before, especially after a dose of painkillers, but this was different. Over the past few months, I’d gotten used to flipping out over every cough or sniffle. I knew it was just paranoia, and I could force myself to put the panic out of my head if I worked hard enough. But this time I wasn’t overreacting; frankly, it seemed like everyone else was
underreacting
. Why wasn’t I in the hospital? I should have been hooked up to about a billion monitors right now; my mom should have been studying my blood counts and helping me put on my lucky hospital pajamas, not dorking around in the kitchen.
“Casey?” Michael looked concerned.
“Oh. Uh … it’s okay. But I’m assuming I didn’t make the team?” I said. “That’s probably a good thing. You can go now.”
“You … you think?” He sounded uncertain. “I wanted to talk about possibly making you an alternate. I think I might be able to petition the league—”
“You’re not listening to me.” I stood up slowly, taking careful stock of my body. No dizziness, which was a bonus. I ached all over, but I couldn’t honestly say whether that was from derby or something else. “I can’t be on the team. Healthy people don’t randomly lose consciousness. I’ve got to get tothe hospital so they can see if I’ve relapsed. Maybe we can talk later. If you want,” I added hastily.
It seemed like I should be panicking, but I felt this strange sense of relief. At least now I knew. No more worrying, no more fearing the worst. Because the worst was happening, and it left me exhausted and empty, like a scooped-out melon.
“Before you do anything, there’s something I need to tell you.” He gently pushed on my shoulders until I sat back down. It didn’t take long, because I wasn’t fighting. I needed to save my strength. “I promise it won’t take too long. But here. Drink this first.”
Michael handed me a glass of water, and only then did I realize how parched I was. I gulped it down and barely restrained myself from trying to lick the last few drops from the inside of the glass. My tongue probably wasn’t long enough for that anyway.
“I’ll get you some more,” he said, holding out a hand. I gave him the glass and watched him walk into the kitchen. His shoulders were broader than I remembered, but maybe that was because I’d been too busy staring at his butt.
I heard the low rumble of his voice from the kitchen and the laughing tones of my mother’s response. I waited for Mom to charge in and fuss a little, which kind of seemed warranted, given the situation, but it didn’t happen. The whole thing was beyond surreal. I rubbed my temples and tried to put it all together in a way that
I woke up sprawled on my living room sofa with the thick braided edge of a cushion embedded in my cheek. The bright midmorning sun streamed through a familiar picture window; pots and pans clattered in the kitchen. My mother was quite possibly the loudest cook in the history of the known universe, but I was used to it. I flipped onto my belly, wriggling into the depths of the couch, searching for sleep again.
When my nose pressed against the pillow, pain lanced my face. I pushed myself up to see Michael sitting on the floor next to the sofa. It all rushed back: the callbacks, the suicide drills, the whole hot-guy-with-a-shocking-touch thing.
“Holy crap!” I flailed in surprise, sending half of the cushions to the floor. “What’re you doing here?”
“I just came by to check on you. Your mom said I couldhang for a while and see if you might wake up. And here we are,” he said. His voice practically made me purr, but I wasn’t about to let that show on my face.
“Wait.” I settled back into the remaining cushions, glancing at the windows. “What day is it?”
“It’s Sunday. Almost ten a.m.”
My stomach clenched. I’d been out for about fifteen hours. I’d slept that long before, especially after a dose of painkillers, but this was different. Over the past few months, I’d gotten used to flipping out over every cough or sniffle. I knew it was just paranoia, and I could force myself to put the panic out of my head if I worked hard enough. But this time I wasn’t overreacting; frankly, it seemed like everyone else was
underreacting
. Why wasn’t I in the hospital? I should have been hooked up to about a billion monitors right now; my mom should have been studying my blood counts and helping me put on my lucky hospital pajamas, not dorking around in the kitchen.
“Casey?” Michael looked concerned.
“Oh. Uh … it’s okay. But I’m assuming I didn’t make the team?” I said. “That’s probably a good thing. You can go now.”
“You … you think?” He sounded uncertain. “I wanted to talk about possibly making you an alternate. I think I might be able to petition the league—”
“You’re not listening to me.” I stood up slowly, taking careful stock of my body. No dizziness, which was a bonus. I ached all over, but I couldn’t honestly say whether that was from derby or something else. “I can’t be on the team. Healthy people don’t randomly lose consciousness. I’ve got to get tothe hospital so they can see if I’ve relapsed. Maybe we can talk later. If you want,” I added hastily.
It seemed like I should be panicking, but I felt this strange sense of relief. At least now I knew. No more worrying, no more fearing the worst. Because the worst was happening, and it left me exhausted and empty, like a scooped-out melon.
“Before you do anything, there’s something I need to tell you.” He gently pushed on my shoulders until I sat back down. It didn’t take long, because I wasn’t fighting. I needed to save my strength. “I promise it won’t take too long. But here. Drink this first.”
Michael handed me a glass of water, and only then did I realize how parched I was. I gulped it down and barely restrained myself from trying to lick the last few drops from the inside of the glass. My tongue probably wasn’t long enough for that anyway.
“I’ll get you some more,” he said, holding out a hand. I gave him the glass and watched him walk into the kitchen. His shoulders were broader than I remembered, but maybe that was because I’d been too busy staring at his butt.
I heard the low rumble of his voice from the kitchen and the laughing tones of my mother’s response. I waited for Mom to charge in and fuss a little, which kind of seemed warranted, given the situation, but it didn’t happen. The whole thing was beyond surreal. I rubbed my temples and tried to put it all together in a way that
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