Page 159 of Scoring the Player
“Great. Let’s take a few deep breaths. Ready?”
“Mmhm.”
“Okay, breathe in deeply for five seconds. Good. Now release the breath for seven seconds.”
My lungs fill on three, so I’m stuck holding air until she tells me to let go.
“Again. Deep breath in for five.”
I crack one eye open as I suck in air.
Twelve minutes.
“And release for seven.”
“Last one. Deep breath in. And release. Great.”
I was kinda on beat for that last one.
“I want you to imagine showing up to your game tomorrow night, and your coach announcing the starting lineup, and you’re not listed.”
My eyes shoot open.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to call it into existence if we imagine it,” she assures me.
Releasing a shaky breath, I close my eyes again.
“Tell me when you’re there.”
If Coach doesn’t start me, I can already hear the pundits.Welp, folks, it’s written in the glitter. Arnaz Cade—new face of progress or failure? Is this the last dance for the first out player in the league?
“Are you there?”
“There,” I mumble.
“Fantastic. Can you tell me what comes up for you the second you’re informed you aren’t starting?”
Another obvi question? What’s up with her today?
“I’m upset,” I grit out.
“Okay. Can you describe where you feel it in your body?”
“I feel upset.”
“Could you describe what sensations you feel and where?”
“Here.” I flick my hand from my head down.
“Okay. You feel it in your head, neck, and chest? I got that right?”
I nod.
“What about your stomach?”
Vodka and bile.
“Yeah.”
