I had violently refused to be looked at by the actual team medic, batting his hands away when he ran onto the pitch, which is why Coach is the one currently inspecting the joint on the sidelines.
It’s a dark, twisted sort of miracle; somehow, despite feeling like someone had driven a red-hot iron spike through my leg, the knee didn’t look heavily inflamed on the outside. There’s not a speck of swelling. All you can see is the pale, jagged scar from my surgery cutting across the skin. Nothing else.
It was strange, really. I’m not sure how it works. It hurts, all the time, but it never shows it on the surface and is never caught by the tests the doctors do at my check-ups. It’s like it’s just invisible to anyone but me.
Maybe my body is as good at acting as I am.
“I’ll throw another roll of tape on it. I’m good to go. Let me finish the match, Coach. There’s only minutes left.”
Coach hesitates, his jaw working as he glances over his shoulder at the chaotic state of the pitch, and then lets out a tired sigh. He looks back at me, his eyes softening with a pity that makes my stomach churn. “Niall... I know how much what happened last season broke your heart. But you can’t do this to yourself again.”
“I’mfine,” I repeat, my voice cracking slightly. I have to be fine. Because letting the lads down isn’t an option. Because the last time I wasn’t fine, the last time I was broken and useless, my world had collapsed around me. I can’t be the boy on the crutches again. I wouldn’t survive it.
“No,” Coach shook his head sternly. “You’re sitting, got it? You’re done for the match, lad. Sit down.”
“Coach—”
“I said ‘sit!’ You got lucky last time, you aren’t taking any chances again. Not again. Now you hush and let the respondent come look at ya.”
I rub a hand down my face.I need a drink.
21
These High Walls
Molly
October, 2007
MY PHONE BUZZESagainst my hip, just as I step out of the building for the locker rooms. I pull it out, seeing the name D?? flash across the digital screen of my Motorola.
“Hi, Dad,” I answer quickly, doing a sweeping scan of the lot for Niall. Not just because he's supposed to be bringing me home (well, his home, Claire invited me to stay over at her place tonight for a sleepover, that's just the two of us), but because he got hurt during the game right before we took a bad loss.
“Piccolina! How was your game?” Just the sound of his voice still brings on a pang of homesickness, the one thing I couldn’t get used to about living in Ireland. He’s called mePiccolinasince I was a baby, because I was only five pounds when I was born. It basically means “little one” or in Italian.
“Lost,” I admit. “Three to two. I scored again, though.”
“Atta girl. Pride of the family,” he says, and I know my dad well enough to know he’s being genuine, not sarcastic. “How is your sister?”
“She’s fine. She’s at a friend’s house tonight, Mom drove her over earlier,” I say, playing with the little soccer ball pendant on the necklace I always wear. The one Jamie gave me the day she left.
“That’s good, that’s good, I’ll probably call her tomorrow then. She’s probably already asleep,” he says, sighing. “Are you and your mother getting along? She mentioned that she was worried you two weren’t... you know, connecting the way she wanted.”
The way she wanted, please. She can take that bullshit straight to hell, and Jamie can go right alone with her. Of course, I don’t say that to Dad. I could never.
“I’m being nice,” I say, then decide to pivot the conversation. “Did she tell you about Jamie?”
“What part?”
I don’t know what other part he could possibly mean, but I say, “Uh, that she’s here?”
“Yes, I know about that. How is she doing?”
I hear the door groan open behind me, and I look over my shoulder in time to see Niall emerge from the building. He looks up from where his gaze is fixed on his shoes, his deep blue eyes finding mine instantly.
“Listen, Dad, I gotta go. I’m heading to a friend’s house.”
“A friend? Which one?” Please. Like he would remember the names of my friends. He couldn’t remember more than two when we lived in the states and I was going to their houses everyday.
