I drink some Gatorade as I watch our kicker make the extra point, after which our defense runs out onto the field, led by Carter. Not al owing Woodbridge to get a first down is tougher than usual for us, but Carter manages to sack their QB once. But they stil make it into field goal range. On fourth down, they go for a field goal from the twenty-five-yard line and score. We’re up 7–3 when I run back onto the field.
Huddling with the guys, I say, “This time, Woodbridge is gonna be al over Henry. We’ve gotta throw them off a bit.”
“What do you want to do?” Henry asks. He puts his hands on his hips.
I’m so nervous, I’m sweating, so I wipe my hands on my towel. “Red Rabbit to Bates?”
“Let’s do it,” Henry says with a clap.
JJ hikes the bal , I make a short ten-yard pass to Henry, he catches it and as the defense moves in to clobber him, he pitches it to Bates, who runs it up the left side of the field. He goes another ten yards before getting tackled.
“Hot!” I yel as we move up to the line. I give Henry a high five, then squeeze Bates’ forearm. Our victory doesn’t last long, because the defense steps up their doesn’t last long, because the defense steps up their game. I’m not able to get another first down.
When’s the last time that happened? Last year’s state championship.
On the sidelines, I sip my Gatorade and try to relax. I turn and look at my family, and Mike and Jake raise their fists at me. When I look at Dad, he gives me a thumbs up. Whoa.
By halftime, the score is stil 7–3 Hundred Oaks, but the guys are pumped and we haven’t lost our spirit. As we’re running for the locker room, I see Dad and Mike waving Ty over to the bleachers. Ty jogs over and shakes hands with the Tennessee head coach.
I feel jealous because I know the Tennessee coach is taking Ty seriously. He’s treating Ty like a real player, not some meal ticket, some beauty queen, some poster girl. But I’m the one who’s holding her own against Woodbridge; stil , none of these col ege coaches think of me as a real player. No one has made an offer except for Alabama. Every time a recruiter comes to a game, it’s Henry and Carter and Ty they’re looking at. Not me. Which I don’t get, because girl or not, I’m an amazing footbal player. That’s what it should come down to, right? That I can throw an awesome perfect spiral.
I don’t even know what Dad was talking about when he said I should consider al options. Are there other options?
The third quarter starts, and I hear Coach through the speaker in my helmet. “Woods, run the bal for the first play. See how far Bates can get. As soon as we’re within thirty yards of the end zone, bomb it to Henry. He can run faster than any of these Woodbridge players.”
I do as Coach says. We run the bal until we’re almost at the thirty-yard line. There, I yel , “Blue fortytwo! Blue forty-two! Red seventeen!”
JJ hikes the bal to me and I take five steps back as Henry darts down the field. The defense is blitzing. Oh hel . The entire defense is coming at me. My offensive line is being pummeled. JJ can’t hold off both the safety and the linebacker who are trying to get at me. JJ chooses to block the safety. Henry’s nearing the end zone, and I only have about a second before the linebacker wil crash into me. I’ve gotta get rid of the bal . Now. Just as I hurl it, the linebacker hits me low and hard, and I’m crushed to the ground. Then I hear our stands erupt.
“Touchdown!”
JJ yel s, “Suck it, fools!”
And for a second, I’m celebrating, but then the pain hits me. Something is very, very wrong with my knee. I scream.
He Stopped To Get Flowers?
Grasping at my left knee, I’m crying, but not because of the pain, but because I am terrified. What the hel did I do to my knee? Did I hear a crack? Did something rip?
A tendon? My ACL? Oh God…my future…
Both Henry and Ty fal down next to me, Ty on my right, Henry on my left. Everyone’s yel ing.
“Just stay stil , okay?” Henry says, careful y pul ing off my helmet. He runs a hand over my hair.
“Jordan, are you okay? Talk to me, Jordan,” Ty begs.
“Oh God, please be okay…”
“Man, stop crying,” JJ says, pul ing Ty off me and dragging him away. Thank God.
Henry takes my hand. “Where does it hurt?”
“Knee,” I say, panting.
“Okay, I’m not going to let anyone touch you,” Henry says as al the guys huddle around me. “Carter!” he cal s out, “Get these fools away from us!” Tears are pooling in my eyes, but I’m trying to show a brave face for my team, for Henry, who’s caressing my hand. I’m stil staring up at Henry’s face when Coach kneels down next to me, but I don’t hear what he’s saying because al I can concentrate on is the pain and Henry’s fingers. But one voice knocks me out of this Henry trance: Donovan Woods’s.
“Nobody touch her!” Dad says, kneeling down next to us. “Talk to me, Henry.”
“It’s her left knee.”
“Oh hel —that’s the leg she plants to throw.” Wait, Dad cares about if my knee wil be in good enough shape to throw passes in the future? “Has she tried to move it?”
“No. And I didn’t let anyone else touch her.”
“Good man,” Dad replies, pul ing a cel phone from his pocket. I listen as he cal s the Titans’ team doctor and tel s him to meet us at Vanderbilt Hospital. Then he cal s for an ambulance. “I don’t want to risk further hurting your knee, so we’re going to do this right.”
A referee says, “Coach Mil er, let’s get her off the field so we can keep playing.”
“Like hel you wil ,” Dad says, glaring at the ref, who puts his hands up and moves away.
When the ambulance final y comes, Dad and Henry get into it with me. The pain is nowhere near as intense as before, so I’m able to speak. “Henry…the game? You should play.”
“Who cares?” Henry says. In the past twenty minutes, he’s barely let go of my hand. And I’m loving it. Maybe I should’ve hurt myself a month ago, I chuckle to myself.
“Dad?”
He cradles my neck with his hand. “Yeah?”
“I’m so sorry,” I reply, biting my lips together. He gives me a slight smile and says, “Everything’s okay,” and then gets back on the phone.
Dad cal s his doctor again, tel ing him what’s up, what my knee looks like, saying that from one to ten, I’m at a six on the pain scale. I don’t even know what the hel that scale is supposed to mean. What does ten represent? Getting your head chopped off? Is one a paper cut?
At the hospital, the EMTs push me down the hal as Dad storms around making demands, private rooms and portable X-ray machines and shit, but Henry keeps holding my hand. Having driven separately, Mom comes rushing in behind us, taking my other hand.
“Mike?” I say to Mom.
“He stayed with the Tennessee coach to watch Ty. We couldn’t leave your boyfriend there alone.”
The EMTs bypass the emergency room and wheel The EMTs bypass the emergency room and wheel me right into my own room, which reeks of sterilizer and hospital food, but I’m glad I don’t have to share. Having the great Donovan Woods for a father does have its perks. The EMTs careful y move me from the rol ing stretcher to the bed and wish me luck. A technician comes in with a portable X-ray machine.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Dad asks the technician. “If you make the damage worse and ruin her dreams of playing footbal in col ege I’l —”
The technician drops the lead blanket he was about to drape over my abdomen onto the floor. He looks like he’s going to shit his pants. So does Henry, who’s gaping at Dad. I’m gawking too. Dad cares about my dreams?
“Donovan, please,” Mom says, grabbing Dad’s hand and pul ing him away to sit in a chair. The technician careful y cuts my footbal pants away from my left knee and slides a cool, metal plate beneath it.
“Any chance you’re pregnant?” the technician says as he pul s the X-ray lamp over my swol en knee.
“No,” Henry and Dad say at the same time.
Laughing, the technician says to me, “That true?”
I nod. He takes X-rays from a bazil ion angles and then leaves. Standing up, Henry runs a hand over my hair. “Can I get you a soda, Woods? Anything you need, I’m your guy.”
Using my finger, I beckon him closer and closer until his ear is right in front of my mouth. “Stay with me. Please. Sit here. I’m so scared.”
He whispers back, “I won’t leave until you tel me to. Promise.” Henry takes a seat and grabs my hand again. “Woods, what do you cal a ghost with a broken leg?”
I smile. “What?”
“A hobblin’ goblin!”
“Oh God, you’re so embarrassing, Henry,” I say, giggling.
It turns out the only thing on TV Friday night is reruns o f Cops, so Henry and I watch an episode while we wait on the team doctor and the X-rays. Our favorite story line involves a woman who cal ed the cops because some men stole her jeans. When the cops ask her why she needs the jeans back so badly, she replies, “Because my her**n is in them!” Together, we laugh so hard at the woman’s stupidity, it’s almost like before.
The team doctor final y shows up to examine my leg. Dad wouldn’t let any of the other staff look at it before Dr. Freeman got here. First, the two of them study the X-ray images of my knee more intently than they’d study
the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Whispering, Dr. Freeman points at my ligaments and Dad moves in close to examine whatever he’s talking about. Then the doctor comes over and flexes my knee a few times. It hurts like hel , but I don’t feel anything popping and I don’t hear any strange noises coming from it. If I had to, I bet I could walk.
Dr. Freeman squeezes my knee. “Does this hurt?”
“No,” I reply.
He squeezes it in a different place. “Here?”
“A little.”
“I think you just sprained it. Nothing’s torn, nothing’s broken. You’l be up and walking around by tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to wrap it, but for the next couple months, you and I are gonna do some physical therapy, okay?”
“Of course!” I say.
Smiling, I laugh, suddenly feeling relieved. About my knee, about my future. Mom and Dad hug me, then Henry does. I’m the luckiest girl alive today, so I take a risk and give Henry a quick peck on the cheek before he pul s away from me. Staring in my eyes, he purses his lips and sits down with me again, holding my hand. As Dr. Freeman wraps my knee, Mike and Jake As Dr. Freeman wraps my knee, Mike and Jake final y arrive.
“Where’s Ty?” I ask as Mike gives me a hug.
“Getting you flowers or something,” Mike replies.
“He stopped to get flowers?” Henry mumbles, his mouth fal ing open.
“Why are you stil wearing that uniform?” Jake asks.
“You’d look great in a hospital gown, Jor. Especial y if it opens in the back.”