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I sit up, wincing when my shoulder throbs. It took the brunt of the hit.
Beck is standing next to me, the ball neatly trapped under one foot. I ignore the hand he holds out, standing on my own and gingerly rolling my shoulder once I’m vertical again. It’ll be sore for a couple of days, but I’m fine. I shake my arm, then straighten my shoulders so I’m prepared to play again.
“You protected your knee,” Beck states.
I pretend like I didn’t hear him, focusing on the fresh grass stain on my shorts. Damnit. I did laundry yesterday, and these are my favorite pair.
“Saylor.” He says my name like it’s a command, the current of authority impossible to ignore. “You protected your knee.”
I blow out a long breath. “Yeah, I heard you the first time.”
“You’re injured?”
Most girls would probably find the concern in his voice sweet. I find it annoying. “I’m fine.”
“What happened?” His voice is a muddling mix of confusion and concern.
I exhale again. “I sprained it a couple of months ago.”
“A couple of months ago?”
I bristle in response to the incredulity in the question. “That’s what I just said.”
“Why the fuck are you playing on it?”
“Because I’m fine.”
Beck shakes his head. “You haven’t been cleared yet, have you?”
“Not for full play. Pick-up in the park doesn’t count. And you asked me to play with you, remember?”
He rakes a hand through his hair, surprised edging into anger. “I didn’t know you were hurt!”
“I’m not. Jesus. They’re clearing me tomorrow, okay? I’m all healed.”
“Getting cleared tomorrow is not the same thing as being cleared now. You shouldn’t have even been out running. You’re risking your career; do you get that?”
Now, I’m pissed. “My career is none of your fucking business, Beck.”
This was such a mistake. And not for the reasons he’s saying. If my knee started hurting or if Alizée had told me something different last week, I wouldn’t have stepped foot on this field. But my knee is in the same shape today as it’ll be tomorrow when I get cleared. This wasn’t the risk he’s making it sound like.
We’re athletes. Injury is always a possibility. That doesn’t mean you stop playing.
“It would’ve been my fucking business if you’d just fallen on your knee and reinjured it. You should have told me.”
Fine. Maybe he has a small point. But I didn’t want him to look at me differently, look at me the way he’s staring right now. Like I’m fragile. Like I’m not an equal. And I’m too annoyed—and embarrassed—to admit that now.
“Well, I didn’t. Enjoy the rest of your day off—alone.”
I spin and stalk off, showing off just how uninjured my knee is with each stride.
And this time, when he calls out my name, I don’t turn back around.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bright sunshine makes me squint as soon as I step outside. I fish my sunglasses out of my pocket and perch them on the bridge of my nose.
I got the all-clear on my knee yesterday, and tomorrow’s the first day I’ll be practicing in Kluvberg’s stadium with the rest of the Scholenberg attendees. Today is our weekly film day. There’s a bus that shuttles us the dozen blocks to the stadium, but I prefer walking. I’ve grown surprisingly attached to the scenery of Kluvberg, and it’s a beautiful day.
