My teammates are left scrambling as our opponents take advantage of the situation. Falling isn’t new to me—we knock into each other on the field all the time—but this time, no one else was around. It was just me and gravity, and for some reason, I’m down. When I’m finally able to catch my breath, I see Walnut West’s forward on a breakaway to our goal. They must have played a long ball down the field while I’ve been on the ground. And now my cousin, guarding our net, fails to save my mistake.
“Nooooooo!” I shout faintly as Walnut West scores a deciding point.
Sweat drips down my temple and onto my jersey.Is it hotter than usual?I mean to stand up, but I’m hit with exhaustion, so I stay planted in the grass. Coach calls for a time-out.
“What was that, Jackson?!” Liam shouts, running my way. He towers over me, his light skin reddening with anger as he spits on the grass. It didn’t seem to be aimed at me, but I can’t say for sure.
Tucking his gloves beneath his arm, my cousin runs over from the end goal to help me up. While the rest of the team keeps their distance and joins the huddle, undoubtedly processing their feelings about the turn this game has taken, Darius is the only one who seems concerned about me. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”
“I—” I’m usually quick to bring the optimism, but the words are hard to find.
It’s difficult to explain, because I do have a sinking suspicion about what happened. Shaking out my legs, I try to feel out if there’s more numbness than usual.When will this go away?
They fell asleep a week ago, and I never imagined this many days later I’d still be waiting for them to wake up. What started as a strange vibration at the bottom of my feet quickly spread to my toes and up my calves until my entire legs were engulfed in some indescribable tingly feeling. I thought I could wait it out.Fight through the pain, as my dad always says.Pain is just weakness leaving the body. Stop making excuses and try harder.There was no reason I couldn’t live with this numbness and play the rest of the season in spite of it, like it was some strange fluke.
I notice as my parents leave their seats and rush to the field. They’re the holistic type, avoidant of making doctor appointments unless absolutely necessary. Which is why I hadn’t told them about my legs. I could still wiggle my toes and walk normally. I didn’t need a doctor. Now I’m not so sure.
Liam is still looming nearby, muttering some choice words, but he clears the area as adults hurry over.
“Messina!” Both my cousin and I look up as our last name is called out. Coach approaches, leaning beneath my arm to hold me up, gesturing for his assistant to grab my other side.
“I can walk it off,” I insist, but Coach immediately puts a stop to that.
“This willlookbetter,” Coach whispers to me. “Let’s get you to the trainer.”
Right, because otherwise I look like the clumsy asshole who blew the game for no good reason.
Coach and Darius return to the team while I wrap an arm around the assistant coach’s shoulder and hobble off the pitch. My parents trail closely behind us.
Mom seems to be talking to herself now, probably trying to figure out which one of her supplements I should have been taking to prevent this. “Are you all right, Jackson?” she asks.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” I say with no strain in my voice.
From my dad’s scoff, I can tell he disagrees with this display of frailty. I really wish they’d let me walk off by myself. Yet, as I put one foot in front of the other, my legs drag heavily along the ground, and I stumble. I guess I’m playing into appearances even if I don’t mean to. I’mfine, really—it’s embarrassing to have this many eyes watching me struggle to get away.
“You can lie low for a bit,” the assistant coach tells me reassuringly.
“Accidents happen, I guess,” I say, mustering up a half-hearted grin. “They can get it back.”
So close to summer break, it’s not surprising to find the school is empty on a Saturday. We go in through the door nearest to the field, making our way through the dark hallway to the athletics office. I shrug off assistance. There’s no need to keep up the pretense now that we’re away from the curious crowds. “I can walk by myself.”
But my gait is slow and meandering, and I reach to steady myself against the wall a few more times than I’d care to admit. I can’t remember it ever taking this long to get through these corridors before. My parents observe me closely.
“It isn’t swollen,” my dad states, scratching a finger against his freshly shaven cheek.
Mom gathers her long brown hair over one shoulder and squats to check my legs, but I don’t stop long enough to let her inspect. “No, it doesn’t seem to be. But we’d need to get the shin guard off to tell.” She tries to pull down a knee-high sock to get a glimpse.
“You’re going to trip me.” I shoo her away.
She stands back, hands resting on her hips. “Does it feel like anything’s strained?”
“We’re almost there;relax.” I wish they’d chill, but they have a tendency to hover. It’s the major downside of being the only child ofparents who have more time and money than they know what to do with. And ever since discovering CrossFit a few years ago, they think there’s nothing heavy weights and protein smoothies can’t fix.
After what feels like forever, we reach the athletic trainer’s office. She is eating a granola bar and watching a movie on her laptop but jumps to assist immediately. There’s obvious relief when she sees no blood or terribly contorted body parts.
I climb onto the examination table, and she inspects my ankle and leg, not seeming too concerned. It’s awkward, lying here while my parents and one of my coaches stand around. I’m mortified there’s nothing wrong. Like, obviously I want there to be nothing wrong, but at this point, alittlesomething wrong would make this whole situation not a waste of time. Can there just be anything to prove this hasn’t all been in my head?
“Hmm,” the trainer says, bending my left knee back and forth, then switching to the right. “Does anything feel different?”
