Ciara Johnson comes up to me right as I’m biting into a slice of pizza. There is cheese and grease on my chin.
“You need to come and get Anton,” she says. “He’s puking in the parking lot.”
I quickly set down the pizza and follow her through the crowd to the back of the parking lot.
Anton is leaning up against his truck and wiping his face.
“Man, you don’t look good,” I tell him.
Anton doesn’t even look up at me.
“What is up with him?” Ciara asks.
“He got hit pretty hard at the end of the game.” Anton looks weak and shaky. I’ve never seen him this sick before, even when he had the flu last year. His pale face scares me.
“I wonder if he got a concussion,” she says, backing away as Anton heaves again. “I got one in a soccer game two years ago, and it messed me up. I don’t remember the hit or the end of the game, but I do remember puking like this.”
“I’m fine,” Anton barely whispers.
“You’re not fine,” I say as I dig in his truck for a water bottle and hand it to him. He takes a swig.
“I should take you home,” I go on, trying not to sound too frantic. “Your mom should take you to a doctor or something.”
He shakes his head, “My mom will get all freaked out and drag me into an ER, and we don’t have money for that. I’ll be fine. I just need to shut my eyes. I just need some sleep.”
“We need to call someone,” I insist. “You’re not okay, dude.”
“No,” he says as he opens the door of his truck, crawls in, and lies down.
“Seriously,” Ciara says. “You have to call his parents.”
“I’ll be fine,” Anton says. “It just takes a few days.”
“Concussions can be really bad,” Ciara responds. She turns to me. “He needs someone to look at him.”
She peers in the truck and then looks back at me. “Let’s take him to Dr. Wilson,” she says. “He lives next door to me. He doesn’t charge for advice. He’s been helping a lot of people out since he moved back a year ago.”
I’m immediately relieved that Ciara has come up with a solution, but then I look down at my phone. “It’s almost ten o’clock,” I say.
“He’ll still be up. I see his lights on until midnight most nights.”
I glance over at Anton. He doesn’t look good.
“Hey.” I try to get his attention. He opens one eye and looks at me, annoyed. “We need to get you checked out.”
Ciara walks around the front of the truck and gets in the driver’s side and slides over to the middle.
“This isn’t necessary,” Anton says, sitting up and shifting over to give her room.
“You smacked your brain,” Ciara says. “It’s kind of an important organ.”
“Fine,” Anton grunts. It seems like he’s too tired to argue anymore.
I get into the driver’s seat.
“Thanks,” I say to Ciara who is sitting next to me.
“No worries.” She smiles at me. “Dr. Wilson is a great guy. I know he’ll help.”
As I drive, we sit in silence. I want to say something to Ciara—now would be my chance. But I can’t stop thinking about how pale Anton’s face looks and how unsteady he’s been since his last hit.
We turn onto Main Street. There are a lot of empty buildings now. Half the businesses have closed. The bars are the only places that seem to turn a profit in this town. Families are leaving faster than they are coming in.
“Do your parents plan on leaving Warren?” I finally manage to get out as we drive by some homes for sale, still peering over at Anton every minute or two.
“They talk about it,” she says. “But my dad is getting by doing work on cars. He wants to open up his own shop.”
“That’s great,” I say, trying not to sound jealous. I wish my dad could’ve found some work in town.
“Yeah. But I’m hoping to get out of here. Go someplace far away after graduation. What about you?” Ciara turns to ask me. “What are you going to do when you graduate?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I’m just focused on our next game and trying to figure out how keep Warren High open so we can all walk across that stage together next spring. I don’t want to graduate from some other school with a bunch of kids I don’t know.”
“It seem so wrong to split us up,” Ciara says. “It won’t feel right if I don’t get to see you next year.”
I look over at her and then back at the road. For a second I stop thinking about Anton completely. “Yeah,” I say. “We can’t let that happen.”
Anton sits up and looks over at us, “Just date already.”
I blush and look over at Ciara. She laughs. I don’t know if the laughter is good or bad. All I know is that when I get Anton taken care of, I’m going to ask Ciara out on a real date.