“So Nick, how are you doing today?” Mr. Roberts asked.
“I’m fine,” I offered, and I was feeling fine.
It was strange, but over the past week when people said to me, ‘how are you,’ they really meant it. I’d missed two days of school. I’d felt kind of weak, and sick to the stomach. When my mom had taken me to the hospital, I’d seen a doctor and he’d told us that I had a ‘minor concussion.’ If this was minor, I’d hate to ever find out what a major one would feel like.
“Nick, you don’t have to come out and watch us practice,” Mr. Roberts said.
“I’m not here to watch, I’m here to practice.”
“I don’t think that would be wise.”
“The doctor said it would be okay,” I said, as I pulled a note out of my pocket and handed it to him.
He studied it carefully. “I guess it’s okay if the doctor says so. You are feeling better, right?”
“Much better.”
“Good. Just take it easy… nothing too hard.”
“I’ll be careful.”
I walked over to the edge of the stage, where Kia was sitting. Everybody else was putting on their gear on the bench.
“So is he letting you practice?” she asked.
“I’m back.” I pulled my shoes out of my bag.
Kia smiled. “It was getting pretty lonely without you. Now at least I’ll have somebody to talk to while we watch the games.”
She hadn’t been on the floor since I was injured. I knew it wasn’t my fault, but I still felt responsible. Like if I hadn’t had my bell rung, then maybe Mr. Roberts would have felt okay and let her play more. I figured he was afraid she’d get hurt too. I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d get much — or any — playing time for the rest of the season.
Mr. Roberts blew his whistle and I quickly tied up the second shoe and jumped off the stage to join the group already assembling around him. I got there just as they started to run laps. I joined the end of the line.
“Come on, let’s move it!” Mr. Roberts bellowed. “A winning attitude starts in practice! Pick it up!”
The pace quickened and I found myself starting to struggle to keep up. My head felt better but my legs and lungs weren’t there. I puffed and huffed and tried to dig a little bit deeper. Maybe coming back this soon wasn’t smart.
“Pick it up!” Mr. Roberts yelled. “Everybody except Nick… you slow it down.”
For a split second I felt grateful to slow down until I looked at the expressions of my teammates. They didn’t look happy about me receiving special treatment. I was just glad I couldn’t read minds… although I knew what most of them were thinking.
Sitting on the bench watching us lose was even worse than sitting in the bleachers and watching the same thing. And it wasn’t like the game was that interesting. Blow-outs are always boring.
As it got more and more one-sided, I stopped even looking at the score. I stopped looking at the play. Instead I put my eyes elsewhere. At first I looked at the bleachers. I saw the other kids and the teachers and the parents from our side and the other team’s parents. Then I saw my father sitting there beside my mother. He’d gotten off work early to see this. Me sitting on the bench in a losing game.
I didn’t know, but I thought my mother would be happy that I was on the bench. Not that she’d said anything, but I think she felt some of the same things that Mr. Roberts felt. With me sitting on the bench, she knew I couldn’t get hurt. At least if I didn’t get a splinter in my butt.
My mother waved and I gave a little wave and then looked away. There had to be some-place else to look. I turned my eyes to the ceiling. I started counting the vents and then tried to figure out how to get down the bean bags and dodge balls which were lodged up there in metal beams.
The final buzzer sounded and disturbed my thoughts. I joined the rest of the team at center court to shake hands with the other team. As I walked out, I realized I didn’t even know the final score. But I did know some things: 1) we’d lost, 2) we lost big, 3) we were now 0–4 for the season, 4) neither Kia nor I had played, 5) I didn’t think we’d play again this whole season, and 6) there was nothing we could do about any of the above.
I took a deep breath and then quickly pulled my sweater over my head and took it off. I stuffed it into my gym bag and did up the zipper, sealing in the smell. My mother had started to make me keep the bag in the garage. She said it smelled like a small animal had crawled into my bag and died. She was wrong. It smelled like a big animal had crawled in and died. I would have liked to have let her wash it, but that smelly sweater seemed like the only thing that I shared with my teammates.
“Well, that was a complete waste of time,” I said to Kia.
“Maybe you would have gotten more out of the game if you’d have watched it.”
“I watched it… some of it,” I protested.
“I watched all of it. And because I did, I think that I’ve solved our problems.”
“What problems?”
“Boy, you really weren’t paying any attention to that game.”
“I meant what specific problems did you mean?” I asked.
“The obvious ones. You and I not playing. The team losing. I’ve got it figured out.”
I gave her a questioning look. “And what exactly is the answer, or answers, that you’ve figured out?”
“I can’t tell you. I have to show you.”
“Okay, go ahead and show me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. Not here and not now.”
“Then where and when?”
“Tomorrow, at your house. But first I have to talk to a few other people and convince them to come.”
“Who do you have to talk to?”
“Marcus, Kingsley and Roy.”