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“You seem like a good kid,” he says.
I hate it when people call me a kid. I haven’t been a kid since I outgrew my dad when I turned fourteen.
“I know I don’t have to tell you hockey is a tough sport. But I’ve seen players who let these things grow into a beast they can’t defeat. If you start to get dizzy spells, experience memory loss, if friends or loved ones note that you don’t seem like yourself… don’t push it off. Take care of it. Got it?”
He sounds so genuine.
I nod. “Yeah, thanks.”
He stretches out his hand and I shake it. My phone buzzes as he leaves, and I check it.
FAYE: Please take care of that head. I can’t change adult diapers.
ME: That’s almost touching
FAYE: Put away the screen. You shouldn’t be on screens.
Krazowski pops his head through the door.
“What’s the prognosis? Do we have you for LA?”
I frown, looking down at my phone again. Faye’s bubble shows three little dots, and I stare at them, waiting for what she’s going to say next. And then they disappear into nothing. A wave of helplessness washes over me, twisting my gut. I can’t make her write more. And if I send another text, she’ll just tell me to put away the screen. I can’t win. My chest feels hollow at that realization. I can’t win, and I may never win.
“Coop?”
I look up as I tuck my phone away.
“Yeah,” I say, the word slipping out before I can think twice. “I’ll be ready.”
He frowns, but we don’t say anything more as he drives me back to the hotel.
14
4/22, 10:03 AM
FAYE: Zeke?
FAYE: Can you come get me?
ZEKE: You okay?
FAYE: I just quit
ZEKE: You quit? Quit what?
ZEKE: . . . ???
ZEKE: Where are you?
FAYE: Outside the school I no longer attend.
ZEKE: On my way.
15
faye
I siton a dirty curb outside the hospital, hugging my overstuffed backpack to my chest. Except I’m not really sitting. I’m rocking. Clutching the purple wannabe-mountaineering rucksack to my chest like it’s a punctured life vest, and rocking.
