Page 3 of White Hole

“Hey, Kinsley. I’m Maddy. I’m your nurse tonight. Can you tell me your full name?”

Clearing my throat, I swallowed the minimal spit I had left to get some lubrication for my task. “Kinsley Alice Whittemore.”

“Great. When’s your birthday?” Maddy was half paying attention to my face and half to the wristband wrapped above my hand bandages.

My mother held a cup of ice water to my lips, and I sipped. It was the most refreshing thing I’d ever tasted in my life. I could answer clearly. “September third.”

Maddy laid my arm on the bed and asked, “What is today’s date?”

Behind her, I could see a whiteboard with her name written on it, and above that was the date. Attempting to jolt up in bed, the pain prevented me from moving as I yelled, “It’sMarch twenty-eighth?I’ve been laying here forthree days?” I’d missed three days of school!

Would Cara have taken over as vice president while I was out? Ugh, I bet she’d love that. I wondered if Chloe had hit on Cale. Probably asked if she could suck him off in the locker room first gym class I wasn’t there. Horror struck me as I feared he would let her.

My father and a woman wearing a long lab coat rushed into the room. The woman introduced herself as Dr. Sanchek and asked me questions to test my brain function. Although sluggish, I could answer most of them, except where we were.

“It’s a hospital, I’m assuming it’s General, but it doesn’t look like the rooms I’ve volunteered in.”

“You’re at Mercy Trinity.” Dr. Sanchek answered. My parents were standing in the background; Dad looked like he might give me the answers so I’d pass the test with one hundred percent, mouthing words at me like he used to do in my school spelling bees.

“That’s an hour away. Why was I moved?”

The hospitalist informed me my hands had required extensive surgery due to their crush injuries, and the closest hand surgeon was in Springfield, an hour away from my hometown. My legs were broken but would heal “just fine, but may require plastics to take a look.”

“Plastics?”

“Plastic surgery. The abrasions, the glass… it was extensive. You may have scarring. But you’re young, so the skin will likely mend itself over time.”

“But tennis…” I pondered how soon I could return to the court. Harvard wanted a well-rounded applicant. Tennis was my outlet for everything.

Dr. Sanchek looked at my parents. My mother popped over to my bedside. “Sweetie, we’ll have to think about tennis later. You’re going to need rehab after this.”

“She can talk about tennis now. She needs to get back to it. She needs that scholarship.” My father nodded at me to emphasize his point. Dr. Sanchek and my mother snapped their heads to him.

“F-for how long?” I asked. I couldn’t be out of school for much longer. Prom was coming up, and Cara would pickWind Beneath My Wingsas the song. Oh, my god. What if she chose thePirates Promtheme?

Dr. Sanchek said, “It depends on how well you’re healing. Take one day at a time. The physical therapists will work with you. Don’t give up.”

Don’t give up? Who was giving up? I was ready to go and get back out there now. Sure, I couldn’t move my legs or hands, but I knew if I worked hard enough, I could return to the shape I was. My father looked like he agreed with me.

“But, Kinsley. I need you to be prepared. Holding a racket as you did, your legs jarring in changing directions… You may not be able to move like that for a while. Give yourself a break.” The concern on the doctor’s face made me question my new reality. What if Icouldn’tplay tennis anymore?

I gasped.

What if I couldn’t walk?

The doctor told me to rest and that I would begin therapy the following day. Maddy adjusted my pillows and said she would bring in a cafeteria menu for me since I was starving. I wasn’t even sure how I could eat without using my hands.

I had taken my abilities, hell, my entire existence, for granted. Did that mean I couldn’t be a surgeon anymore? Who was I then? My mother stroked my hair, then walked to the small adjoining bathroom to wet a washcloth.

Dad slid to the side of my bed to take her place. “Listen to me. You get back out there and fight. Do what it takes to earn your spot back on the court. Cale brought over some of your classwork yesterday, and I’ll have him bring over the rest tomorrow. You can start working on it while you’re lying here.” My father’s brown eyes glanced down at my bandaged hands. “Well, maybe you can use one of those speech-to-text programs to type up your notes and papers.”

“Jeff, seriously? Stop. Just—” Mom returned from the bathroom with another towel.

“What? What am I saying? I’m just encouraging her!”

“No, you’re not. You’re trying topressureher—”

“She can handle pressure. She knows…” My father let his voice trail off as Maddy came back in, who probably heard the rabble-rousing from the hallway.

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