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I’m lacing up my left cleat when my phone buzzes with an incoming call. I glance at the screen out of habit, already deciding not to answer it since we’re about to head out to the pitch for warm-up. Freeze, when I register the name on the screen.
Mom.
She never calls me. I try to do some quick math in my head and figure out what time it is there. I can’t think fast enough to come up with an estimate even.
Heart racing, I answer. “Hello?”
“Will.”
From that one word, the worried way she says my name, I know something is wrong. I knew it before I answered, based simply on the fact that she called at all.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Olivier walks past, his expression creasing with concern as he glances over at me.
“Tripp was in an accident. The police just called…I’m on the way to the hospital…” Her voice drifts in and out, either because of poor reception or the deafening rush of blood in my ears.
“I’m on my way.” The words come out automatically, without me deciding to say them, a sigh of relief on the other end of the line echoing loud and clear across the Atlantic.
“He’s at Mass General,” my mom tells me.
“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I hang up the phone. Kick off the cleats I just put on and step into my sneakers instead.
“You okay?” Fritz asks from his spot two lockers down.
My, “No,” is abrupt.
I’m in shock, I know. I should have asked my mom more questions about what exactly happened. How seriously Tripp is injured. But it was bad enough for her to call me, which tells me all I need to know. Which means time listening to details would have been time wasted. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Go?” Fritz looks confused. “Go where?”
I don’t answer. Don’t have time to explain.
I grab my keys and my wallet, make sure I’m still holding my phone. Leave the locker room, ignoring all the questions called out behind me. Fritz isn’t the only one who’s noticed my strange behavior. We usually leave the locker room as a team, not alone.
Wagner is standing out in the hallway, talking with one of the equipment managers.
I walk right up to him. “I can’t play today.”
His bushy brows lift, the only shift in his stern expression. “You’re starting, Aster. You asked me for this. Haven’t shut up about it since you arrived.”
The disappointment is crushing. I had a feeling—a hope—that this was coming. But I didn’t know for sure until now.
I just shake my head. “I have to go.” Keep walking.
There’s a short list of things I prioritize above soccer, but there are some things. My baby brother is one of them.
“Aster!”
I turn back. Every second seems precious right now, but Wagner deserves some explanation. “My brother was in an accident. He’s in the hospital.”
Wagner’s face softens a fraction. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I nod, then turn to go. He didn’t give me permission to leave, but I’m not waiting for it.
“Aster.”
