by Mike Lupica
She was getting way ahead of herself. She needed to quiet her brain.
But she couldn’t.
“Maybe I just pulled something,” Gabe said.
Their dads were jogging toward them now, matching looks of concern on their faces.
“That’s probably it,” Alex said.
Please let that be all it is.
Alex and Gabe quickly told their dads what happened, and Mr. Hildreth examined his son’s knee before running back to the parking lot to get his SUV. Jack and Alex stayed with Gabe while Mr. Hildreth drove his car right onto the field. Then the two men helped Gabe up and carefully lifted him into the back seat for the drive to Orville Medical Center. Alex rode in the back with Gabe, his leg extended across the seat.
She spent most of the ride staring out the window at the bare, leafless trees rolling by. Every so often, she’d glance over at Gabe, see him wincing in pain and gripping his knee whenever they hit a bump in the road.
With each bump, her guilt ratcheted up another notch.
Mr. Hildreth said that Dr. Calabrese, whose son Cal had played center for the Owls, was going to meet them in the emergency waiting room.
During football season, when Alex had taken a hard hit—a cheap shot, really—during a game, it had been Dr. Calabrese who assured her that it wasn’t serious and all she really needed was ice.
Maybe it was going to be the same way with Gabe.
Alex could only hope.
She and her dad sat in the waiting area while they x-rayed Gabe’s knee to ensure nothing was broken. Dr. Calabrese seemed pretty confident nothing was, from the way Gabe had explained the injury. Then they took Gabe to a different floor for an MRI, which Dr. Calabrese said would give them a better look at the anterior cruciate ligament.
The dreaded ACL.
Alex was no doctor, but she was a sports fan, which meant she knew that a bad ACL injury, a tear, could lead to surgery.
Her brain was racing so fast Alex imagined it giving off sparks.
The doors to the waiting area finally opened, and Gabe came out on crutches, his leg wrapped in a temporary brace to keep it stable.
Mr. Hildreth and Dr. Calabrese walked out behind him.
“What did the MRI show?” Alex said to Gabe, anxious for the news.
“Doc says the earliest, like the very earliest, we can see the scans is tomorrow,” Gabe said. “He’s trying to fast-track the results.”
Dr. Calabrese came walking over and laid a hand on Gabe’s shoulder.
“Best-case scenario, and you know I’m a best-case-scenario kinda guy,” he said, “is that it’s a sprain and not a tear. Just by the way he’s able to move the knee, that’s my guess. But we’ll know tomorrow.”
Alex said she’d call Gabe later, and then he and his dad proceeded through the automatic sliding doors into the parking lot.
Alex watched them go. Then she and her dad drove home.
When they were pulling into the driveway, Jack said, “He’s going to be fine. Just a question of whether it’s sooner or later.”
“He was doing me a favor,” Alex said, getting a little choked up, “or it wouldn’t have happened.”
“Honey,” her dad said, “you can’t blame yourself.”
“Who else should I blame?” she said.
He asked if she wanted some lunch, but she said she wasn’t hungry.
“Y’know, not eating isn’t going to help Gabe.”
“Maybe later,” she said. “Just need to make a call first.”
“To who?” her dad asked.
“Mom.”
* * *
• • •
Dr. Liza Borelli picked up on the first ring, and Alex told her what had happened. Then her mom assured her that everything Dr. Calabrese had done so far sounded exactly right, and the only thing to do now was wait for the MRI results.
“There are basically three kinds of ACL injuries,” Liza explained. “Sprain. Partial tear. Complete tear. The last one requires surgery. Sometimes a partial tear does too. But just a sprain? Those heal, and sometimes fairly quickly.”
“But that gives Gabe a whole extra day to be scared,” Alex said.
“I haven’t spent all that much time with Gabe,” her mom said, “but he seems like a pretty tough kid to me.”
Alex gulped, her face feeling hot all of a sudden. “But if he really did tear it, he might not just have to sit out baseball season,” she said. “He could miss football too.”
“Well,” said her mom, “there’s nothing we can do about that today.”
“You could come see him,” Alex said, her voice small, yet pleading.
“Dr. Calabrese is doing all the right things,” her mom said. “There’s nothing else I can—”
“Please, Mom,” Alex said. “Just to help put Gabe at ease . . .”
So, her mom asked for Dr. Calabrese’s number, which Alex pulled off the football team’s contact list, and an hour and a half later she and Alex were sitting with Gabe and his parents in their living room. Gabe was on the couch, legs outstretched in front of him, crutches propped up against the nearby wall. On the coffee table was his PlayStation controller. He’d been playing MLB The Show.
He was wearing a pair of gym shorts and had removed his brace for now. Alex saw that his left knee was swollen and a little black and blue. Gabe said it was feeling better, but Alex wasn’t so sure. She knew him well enough to know he downplayed the seriousness of injuries, even if he was in severe pain. It was just in his nature. He never wanted to be considered a burden.
Liza gently prodded around the inside and outside of the injured knee. Then Mr. and Mrs. Hildreth helped lift Gabe off the couch, each taking an arm, so he could put some weight on the leg. Liza knelt down next to him and showed them all exactly where the ligament in question was.
“That pesky anterior cruciate ligament,” she said, smiling up at Gabe. “Sounds a lot simpler when you just abbreviate it.”
“It’s like you don’t even really know you have one until you do something to it,” Gabe said.
“But then it gets better,” Alex’s mom said. “That’s what our bodies do. They heal.”
* * *
• • •
Alex wasn’t sure how Dr. Calabrese worked his magic, but he managed to get the MRI results back the following day, even though it was Sunday. Orville was a small town, where most everyone knew each other. The woman who ran Quest Diagnostics, Ms. Ferrell, also had a son on the football team, Bobby, who’d played linebacker alongside Jabril.
Gabe was at Alex’s house when the doctor called. She’d insisted he come over so that he wouldn’t have to receive the news by himself. His parents were both at work.
It was about four in the afternoon when Gabe’s phone buzzed in his pocket. At first, he made no move to answer, as if avoiding the call altogether would prevent any possible bad news from existing.
“You have to answer it,” Alex said.
Gabe nodded and lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hey, Doc,” he said.
Alex’s eyes were trained on Gabe’s face as the conversation carried on, reading into every reaction. Every expression.
Gabe listened and was quiet most of the time. A few “mm-hmm”s and “uh-huh”s sprinkled throughout the call.
Alex was on pins and needles. She wished Gabe would have put the doctor on speakerphone but knew that wouldn’t have been right. This was private medical information after all, and Gabe would tell her everything anyway.
After several minutes, and a few more “okay”s and “yeah”s from Gabe, he said, “Thanks so much for everything, Doc,” before hanging up the phone.
“Well?” Alex said.
Gabe slipped his phone back into his pocket and said, “Just a sprain.”
No tear.
No
surgery.
Alex let out a sigh of relief.
Alex’s mom called about an hour later. With the permission of Gabe’s parents, Dr. Calabrese had emailed her the images of Gabe’s scan so she could take a closer look.
Alex put her mom on speaker so Gabe could hear. She said she noticed some slight fluid in the tendon sheath and that he ought to stay on crutches until the swelling went down. Gabe asked if he still might be ready for opening day of baseball season.
“When’s that?” Alex’s mom asked over the phone.
Alex grinned at Gabe. “Mom’s not exactly the world’s number one sports fan.”
“I can hear you,” she said.
Gabe told her when the Owls were supposed to play their first game—March 13. Liza said that starting now, the healing process would be up to the knee and up to Gabe. And that he might be able to lose the crutches as soon as next week.
“When can I start running again?” Gabe asked.
“Maybe light running in a few weeks,” Liza said, “after Dr. Calabrese takes a few more pictures of that knee.”
“It still doesn’t feel great,” Gabe said.
“I’m sure it doesn’t,” Alex’s mom said. “It’ll be a few more days, maybe even weeks, until it starts to feel better. But you’re still allowed to feel good today.”
They ended the call, and Gabe pulled up his sweatpants so they could both look at the knee. Then he bent it slightly and winced.
“I don’t know about opening day,” he said with a grimace.
“I do,” Alex said.
“What are you, my personal trainer?”
“No,” she said. “Just your personal cheerleader.”
“Sophie’s rubbing off on you, huh?” Gabe joked.
But Alex was serious. She might not get to have her season, but she was going to do everything in her power to make sure Gabe had his.
17
At lunch on Monday, some of the girls on the soccer team wondered aloud if they might try another sport in the spring.
Kim Callaghan had played club lacrosse until sixth grade. So had Ellen Carr, and Lulu Werner had only given up softball the prior year.
“I’d do anything for our team,” Kim said. “But if there isn’t going to be a team, what’s the point?”
“Right now, all we’re doing is having a good time after school and getting in some exercise,” Ellen said.
The team had pushed together two tables in the cafeteria and were sitting as a group for a change. The holdover players still hadn’t completely embraced the new ones, but at least they could put it past them for one forty-minute lunch period.
“Listen,” Alex said, “the tryouts for those other sports aren’t for another week. Let’s just all hang in there and see if something good happens before then.”
“Like what,” Carly said, twisting one of her chestnut brown curls, “somebody on the Town Council wins the lottery?”
“Ellen and Alex are right,” Annie said. “We’re having a good time and getting to hang with each other, so why not just hold tight for the moment?”
“Can I say something?” Lindsey said, standing at the end of her table and facing the group.
You’re gonna say it anyway, whether we like it or not, Alex thought.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” she said. “And what I’ve determined is that we can’t just take this lying down.”
Alex looked around. Lindsey certainly knew how to command a room.
“I get that a bunch of grown-ups didn’t single us out,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean we can let them take away our season like this.”
“But they already have,” Ally said.
“No,” Lindsey said, a note of authority in her voice, “that’s the thing. They can’t officially cancel until teams in our league start playing games.”
Now Annie chimed in.
“But I went to the league website last night,” Annie said. “We’re not even on the schedule. It’s like somebody hit the delete button on the Orville Owls.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Lindsey said. “We can un-delete ourselves if we do one thing.”
She scanned her eyes across both tables, making sure she had their full attention. Then, satisfied, she said three simple words: “Raise some money.”
No one said anything at first. Lindsey made it sound so simple Alex wondered why nobody had thought of it before.
Annie’s hand shot into the air, like they were in a classroom and not the cafeteria.
“We could do one of those GoFundMe things!” she said, but they all politely shot that one down.
“I always thought about that as something you used for people who were sick, or in need,” Rashida said.
“ ’Shida’s right,” Annie said. “We want a season, but we don’t need a season.”
“Or we could just ask our parents to chip in,” Lindsey said.
Alex wasn’t so sure about that idea. Lindsey came from an affluent family. It’d be no big deal to ask her mom and dad for cash. But others weren’t in a position to do that.
However, Alex had to admit Lindsey was on the right track and had clearly done her research.
“I went online to get a sense of how much money it would cost to fund a seventh-grade soccer team,” she said. Then she pulled out a piece of paper and started listing off the things the money would cover: insurance, referees, buses to road games, a doctor and an EMT van at all of their home games, even Coach Cross’s salary if she’d accept one. But the more Lindsey read, the more Alex’s heart started to sink right under the table. There was more to it than she had ever realized. She knew Orville was a wonderful town in which to grow up. But it wasn’t a rich town, not by a long shot.
Alex felt as if she were suddenly getting a tutorial, from Lindsey of all people, about how much sports actually cost, when they’d all grown up taking sports for granted.
“I’ve probably forgotten some things,” Lindsey said when she finished. “But still: if each of us could come up with a certain amount, I think we could do this.”
The girls all whispered to each other, their spirits visibly lifting. This was all sounding possible now, within reach.
Until a loud voice carried over all the others.
“No!”
Alex was shocked to discover it was her own.
18
The other girls on the team suddenly got quiet, and about twenty pairs of eyes turned to stare at her.
Lindsey, who was hardly her best friend to begin with, scowled at Alex.
Alex had never considered herself a loud person by any means. But she had been undeniably loud just then.
Lindsey had her hands on her hips.
“I’m sorry, Alex,” she said. “Did you want to share some of your insights with the rest of us?”
Alex tried not to let her embarrassment show.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt . . .” she began.
“Except that’s exactly what you did,” Lindsey said. “Apparently you think my idea is dumber than rocks.”
Alex reluctantly stood up. “No,” she said, “that’s not it, Lindsey. I think trying to come up with the money is a great idea.”
“Didn’t sound that way to me,” Lindsey said. “So why don’t you explain to us what the problem is?”
Alex breathed in. “There’s no problem except . . .” she said. “I think we should try to raise the money ourselves, you know? Instead of, um, asking people for donations.”
“And I suppose you have a brilliant idea for how to do that?” Lindsey said.
Alex couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
“I have no clue,” she said.
“So basically, you don’t like my plan, but you don’t have one of your own? How does that work?”
Alex took another deep breath.
“Lindsey,” she said quietly, not wanting to sound as if they were having an argument, “we’re on the same team here. We want the same thing.”
“Oh, you mean now that you want to be on the team again?” Lindsey said. “Good timing, by the way.”
“I want us to have a team because all of us here have a chance to be great,” Alex said. “But if we’re going to do this, we need to do it right. Which means we need to own it.”
“Let’s go!” Roisin cheered.
Lindsey pinned her eyes on Roisin, but Annie cut off whatever she was about to say.
“Let Alex finish,” she said.
Right then, Alex caught Sophie walking over from the other side of the cafeteria. She gave Alex a wink. It was enough to encourage Alex to continue.
“Just because we don’t have the Town Council behind us doesn’t mean we can’t figure out a way to get the town behind us,” Alex said. “This is just my opinion, but I don’t believe we should go looking around for handouts, not even from our parents. We’ve got to come up with an idea for how to raise the money ourselves.”
“But we’re already running out of time,” Lindsey said. “I still think my way is better.”
“We don’t have to decide this today,” Alex said. “Let’s everybody try to come up with some ideas over the rest of the week. No such thing as a bad idea. And if nothing works out, I’ll shut up and we can do it Lindsey’s way.”
Lindsey still didn’t look happy. She took a long time before responding, as if she’d suddenly appointed herself acting captain of the team.
But finally, to Alex’s surprise, she agreed.
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and Alex joined up with Sophie and Roisin before exiting the cafeteria.
Sophie looped an arm through Alex’s elbow and said, “Well, here comes another Hail Mary pass from the one and only Alex Carlisle.”
19
Alex was having pizza with Sophie, Gabe, and Jabril at Sam’s that Saturday afternoon.
Dr. Calabrese had swung by Gabe’s house in the morning to drop off a brace for his knee. He was still limping slightly but seemed relieved to no longer need crutches. Alex had even suggested a light game of catch later, but Gabe said he was nowhere near being ready for that.
