Page 60 of Scoring the Player
Please…the burning.
“Son, stay awake.”
CHAPTER 14
ARNAZ
“3:33 a.m.”
Sinking, sinking, sinking.
Iemerge from the darkness to a man in dripping red trunks, who looks like the one I tried to save, talking into a phone.
“…know if he was trying to drown. He’s out co?—”
My choking as I try to sit up steals his attention.
“He’s awake.” He pats my back. “You’re awake. Breathe. The paramedics are on their way.”
I start.
Paramedics?
I bolt to my feet, but my legs bend like rubber, and I retch up bile and water.
“Wait, they’re on?—”
“N-no...p-para…no.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I pulled you out, but you were in bad shape. You should have a doctor?—”
“No.” I stumble to my knees and crawl on all fours. Something sharp slices into my wrist, and the sting gives me enough of a rush to rip upright.
“Wait,” he begs as I will back the cramping burn in my lungs and legs and stumble again.
I retch up more water, gasping from the burn in my chest. My vision blurs as hot tears scorch my face.
I lurch from the distant ring of a siren, fear licking at my feet, and I stagger toward the road.
“You alright, man?”Wes asks.
My grunt razors my throat, sending a pounding to my head, turning the corners of my vision blurry.
Each swallow—razor, pounding, blur.
Two bottles of Gatorade in the last hour, and I’m still so damn thirsty.
We’re halfway through baseline sprints, and I still can’t get power in my legs, so I’m trailing behind everyone in what’s usually an easy jog.
I groan as Coach kicks up the intensity, ordering us to ping between the defensive and offensive ends of the court.
“What’s the matter, old man?” a rook talks shit, flying past me.
I search for a comeback as the shower of sweat from my scalp has me drying my face against my soaked jersey.
The rook reverses course. “Dude, you look…”
The court spins as I gasp for air, and salt fills my mouth as each rapid blink submerges me into darkness.
