Anton is in the driver’s seat when I get to the truck. I have to argue with him for five minutes before he agrees to let me drive him home.
“You can’t say anything to my parents,” he says. “My mom will get all crazy and we don’t have any money for an ER visit right now. They have no savings left. I’ll be fine. It isn’t like I have broken arm or leg.”
“You’ve broken your head,” I say putting the truck in drive. I see Ciara walk to her house next door. She doesn’t turn around before she disappears inside.
“My head isn’t broken,” Anton says. “I’m walking. I’m talking. There’s no skull fracture. I’m fine.”
“You aren’t fine!” I think back to earlier in the night when I was trying to convince him that he was okay. When I made him play and get hit like this.
“I just need some sleep. I’ll take it easy this weekend, and I’ll be good as new on Monday.”
I take a right and drive past our high school. I think of every brick being laid by hand. Brick by brick. Built by people in this town.
“You need to at least talk to coach,” I say. “There’s no way you should play in next week’s game.”
“I’m going to be fine,” he says.
I pull into Anton’s driveway, and I can see his mom sitting on the couch watching TV in their living room.
“Please don’t say anything to her,” Anton says. “You know how much she didn’t want me to play football in the first place. This will just make her worry over nothing.”
“It isn’t nothing,” I say, but even as I’m climbing out of the truck I’m not sure I have the heart to tell Anton’s mom.
I grab my bag from the back of his truck and throw him his keys. He raises up his right hand to grab them, but misses. They clatter against the cement driveway.
I look at him.
“You need to tell coach.”
He picks up the keys and turns to his house. I watch him go inside. I want to follow him in and talk to his mom, but I don’t want to upset her—and I know Anton would never forgive me if I did.