Page 46 of Kicking It with the Point Guard

“Did you see her head bounce off the floor?”

“I need to go with her,” I say, my vision blurring.

“Jones!” Coach calls out. “Get your head back in it.”

The team has huddled up, taking advantage of this quick break to strategize.

“I…I…” My eyes follow the paramedics off the court.

“JONES!”

“I’ll stay with her, man.” Oscar squeezes my shoulder again. “I’ll fill you in later. Just get this over with already.”

I nod, barely aware of him letting go of me. I jog over to the huddle, and Coach’s instructions go in one ear and out the other.

A nasally laugh reaches my ears, snapping me out of my daze.

Allyson.

She’s surrounded by her little group of ass-lickers, and she’s smirking. When her eyes meet mine, the smirk falls off her face and is quickly replaced with a look of innocence.

My vision goes red. This was absolutely her doing.

And she went too far this time.

Violet

Everything hurts.

I groan and try to roll over, but I can’t. Faint whispers reach my ears, and I force my eyes open. Everything is blurry.

“I can’t see!” I say, panic lacing my voice.

“Your vision should return to normal soon, sweetheart.” A voice I don’t recognize says from somewhere off to my right. It’s soothing and quiet. “Give your eyes some time to adjust.”

I blink slowly and focus on a dark spot above me, willing everything to come into focus.

It takes longer than I’d like, but soon, I recognize my dad’s worried face.

“Dad?”

Relief floods his eyes, and he turns away. “She’s awake, hun, and she knows who I am.”

My mother pops up beside my father. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she’s dabbing her nose with a tissue.

Someone steps up on my other side. Mia. Her eyes sparkle with restrained tears, and her hair is frazzled, like she couldn’t quit running her hands through it.

Oscar steps up behind her and smiles grimly at me.

“Oh, baby,” Momma starts. “We were so worried when the phone rang and it was the hospital.” Fresh tears fall, and she sniffles.

“What happened, kiddo?” Dad asks. “Do you feel like telling us?”

“Give the girl some space,” the calm voice from before pipes up, and a nurse steps up to the bed, edging my parents toward my feet and earning a glare from my mom.

I snort and wince.

“Try not to laugh,” the nurse says as she clicks on the screen thing beside my bed. She jots down a few notes on a clipboard before looking at me with concern in her eyes. “You have several broken ribs. So deep breaths, laughter, that sort of thing, will be very uncomfortable for a while.”

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