patients to check on.â
Rick and I stand there looking at each other. A part of me wants to point out that he looks out of place in his workout shirt. This is a hospital, not a sports commercial. But most of me just likes the view. And really, a torso like his deserves to be shown to the world as much as possible. Putting a regular shirt on him is like putting clothes on a famous old naked statue. It just looks wrong.
Iâm thinking how fun it is to gaze at him from afar when I realize just how far afar is. Heâs still standing all the way across the room, a good fifteen feet away from me, which isnât like him at all. Usually, he canât wait to wrap his arms around me after a game.
âA concussion, huh?â he says. âAt the game, they just said you got knocked out.â
âI think knocked out and concussion mean the same thing, Rick.â
âReally? Concussion sounds way worse.â
âYou know you canât catch a concussion, right?â I say.
âWhat do you mean?â
âIâm not contagious.â
âWell, yeah,â he says. âWhy would you even say that?â
âOh, no reason.â Of course, there is a reason. Rickâs terrified heâs going to get injured before he officially signs one of his Division I scholarship offers next spring.
When we first started hanging out last season, he found me sitting in my favorite tree by the soccer field and asked if he could join me. By then, Iâd already spent so much time alone in that tree that Iâd begun to think of it as mine. But then again, this was the Rick Morris, so I was happy to share with him.
Except now he wonât go near the tree. Not even to touch it. I think heâs worried the bark will give him a splinter that will get so infected heâll never play goalie again.
âAnyway,â I tell him, âthe doctor says Iâll probably be able to play in a couple of weeks.â
âIn time for the playoffs?â
I smile. Great minds think alike. Or at least soccer players think alike. âThat was the first question I asked the doctor. She thought Iâd be back by then, but only if Iâm feeling up for it.â
âWhy wouldnât you? Do you feel sick right now?â
âJust a little headache,â I tell him, which is a lie. My head feels like an itty-bitty person is inside of it, trying to pound his way out with an itty-bitty sledgehammer. Everything still seems too bright. But the doctor told me these were totally normal symptoms. Theyâll probably go away in the next couple daysâno reason to worry Rick about it. âReally, Iâm sure Iâll be fine in a day or two.â
Itâs his turn to smile. He saunters over to the bed. âGood. I like you better on the soccer field than in the hospital.â
I know he doesnât mean to be insensitive when he says that. I like myself better on the soccer field too.
âTwo weeks, huh?â he says.
âAssuming Coach doesnât replace me with another goalie,â I say.
I âm not really worried about being replaced by another goalie. When I said it at the hospital, I meant it as a joke. After all, our backup goalie, Erin Hamley, isnât called Meat just because of her last name. Itâs not because sheâs a little on the hefty side, either. No, sheâs called Meat because when sheâs in goal, thatâs what she isâ dead meat .
Coach Berg put her in several times this season when we had big leads. Every time, she gave up goals so quickly he had to put me back in. It was our opponents who started calling her Meatânot loud enough for fans to hear but loud enough for Erin to hear. One time, Coach didnât take her out because she let in a goal. He took her out because she suddenly was crying. Between the sobs, she told us what theyâd been calling herâwhich is when we started calling her Meat too. Not to her face
Elizabeth Adler
Karen Schwabach
T Patrick Phelps
Shannon Wendtland
Anna Gavalda
Sarah Waters
Brandi Johnson
Ken Fite
Roy Johansen
Drew Sinclair