your co-captain,
jogs up.
Coby daps you,
then goes to shake
Pernell’s hand,
but Pernell leaves
Coby hangin’.
(Told you it was a rivalry.)
Call it, the ref says,
then tosses the quarter.
Coby calls tails.
He loses.
You choose the ball.
Before Coby turns
to leave,
Pernell chides,
Sorry about that, chopstick,
then laughs,
but Coby laughs back,
then winks at him,
and Pernell is flummoxed
or pissed
or both.
Both teams take their positions.
You know Coby’s smile
is misleading.
He’s ready to pounce.
Score
You pass to the forward, whose
shot stings like wasabi, then
disappears into net. BOO-YAH!
Right before halftime
with the score 2–1,
Coby dribbles the ball
past two of our defenders,
speeds down the sidelines
like a cheetah,
then slants
toward the middle.
Pernell is the only
player from our team
left between him
and our goalie.
It’s the matchup
you know
Coby has been itching for
since the start whistle.
As soon as Pernell charges
Coby cuts back
and you know
what’s coming next.
Pernell dives in
for the take . . .
Oh, WOW!
Coby nutmegs* him.
He demoralizes Pernell.
Drops him
to his butt.
Treats him
like a dog.
Sit. Stay.
The crowd goes wild.
Both sides.
And when he ties
the game,
even you grin
at your best friend’s
genius.
Payback is a beast, isn’t it!
Guess Who’s Back?
The Mac
in electric blue Chuck Taylors
runs over to your bench
during the break.
Hey, Nick, you didn’t tell me Coby was a bus driver.
Huh?
He took that fool to school!
You want to agree loudly, but that fool is your teammate, so you just kinda nod.
You don’t look so swell, partner.
Uh, it’s just hot out here (which is the worst thing you could have said, ’cause then The Mac starts rapping “IT’S GETTING HOT IN HERE” in front of the entire team).
Halftime
Right after
you glance
at April waving
from the bleachers,
your stomach detonates:
KABOOM!
and you lose it
right there
behind the bench
in Pernell’s gym bag.
Coach asks
Nick, you okay? Yep, better.
I need to sub you? No I’m good, Coach. Good! Then get in there.
Second Half
The game’s tied
when Dad finally shows up.
You throw in
to Pernell, who screens it.
Your belly’s in a boxing match.
And losing. Bad.
Here comes Coby.
Pernell taunts him,
feints a pass.
Coby doesn’t fall for it.
Instead he leaps like a lion,
they collide.
Pernell eats dirt,
curses.
Man against boy, Coby says.
Standing over Pernell.
The ref holds a yellow card
to a grinning Coby.
Thirty-two minutes left.
ARGGH!
Nine Minutes Left. Can’t This Be Over Already?
The jabs to your belly
are almost unbearable.
Dad was right, food poisoning.
You’ll never eat fish again. EVER!
Pernell’s direct free kick
is wide left.
The pain is right
beneath your rib.
You dribble fast, somehow
you get in front
of Coby, and he holds you.
From behind. You slip.
The referee blows the whistle.
Play stops.
Coby gives you a hand up.
If he gets another yellow,
he’s done. Game over for him.
Just a warning. Whew!
Pernell comes over, gets in Coby’s face:
You think you’re Messi, player, but
you’re just dirty! If you wanna play
dirty, we can do that, and after
I take you down, I’m gonna make you
wash my clothes, cut
my grass, lace my cleats.
You’re about to get shook, crook.
The pain only allows you to laugh
a little. Pernell is crazy, but he better
watch out, ’cause Coby, who bumps
Pernell’s shoulder as he walks away,
looks pretty
freakin’ pissed.
Booked
You get the ball
again and
take off
for the corner.
You almost forget
the pain. Almost.
It’s sharp, like an uppercut.
There’s the goal.
And there’s Coby again.
Running
toward you
like a gazelle.
Your stomach can’t take any more
punches.
No one in front of you
but the goalkeeper
and Coby.
You pass it to Pernell.
He shoots it
back to you.
You get ready to drive
the ball home.
Everything slo-mos
like you’re in The Matrix . . .
And Coby is Neo.
And Neo is a bull.
And the bull’s-eye is on you.
Two crazed eyes glued to the ball.
You wind for the kick. WHACK!
POW!—Coby’s cleat, aiming for
the ball, finds your—THWACK!—
ankle instead. The two of you fall—WHISTLE!—
sideways, to the ground. EEE-YOW!
Your stomach EXPLODES!
KNOCK. OUT.
Hospital
Hello, says a woman with big ears, holding an
Otoscope in her hand. How are you feeling?
She asks, while looking in your eyes. Uh, I’M IN
PAIN! you scream. Dad shoots you a look.
It’s okay, Mr. Hall. We’re going
To find out what’s going on in there.
ARRRGGGHH! IT REALLY HURTS!
Let’s get the OR ready, stat, she says.
Ankle sprains
are very common
in soccer,
she says, talking fast
like she’s in a hurry
to show you
the x-rays
on her iPad.
It’ll heal pretty quickly,
a few days.
Cool! you think, still
in a boatload
of pain.
But I’m afraid
that’s the good news.
The bad news is,
you don’t have
food poisoning.
That sounds like good news to you.
You have a perforated appendix
and we need to get you
into sur
gery.
What does that mean? you ask.
It means that your appendix, which
is about the size of your tongue, and
located right here, she says, pointing
to the bottom of her stomach
on the right side, has ruptured.
There’s a tear in it, and
we need to surgically
remove it
before infection sets in.
Surgery?
When?
NOW!
Surgery
I don’t want to die, you say.
Everything’s gonna be fine, Nick, Dad says, on the way
to the operating room.
Mom’s on a flight, he adds,
so she’ll be here
when you get out of surgery.
It’s a quick operation, and
I’ve done a million of these, adds the doctor
as the orderlies roll you into the room.
You clench your fist, as if
that’s gonna stop the ocean
of fear that’s galloping toward you.
Count backwards from ten, another doctor says,
And before you completely drown,
everything goes black.
Fact
There are seventy-eight organs
in the human body
But after the appendectomy,
you have seventy-seven, which
is just about the number of
text messages
from friends
and family
awaiting you
when you wake up
in your room
a few hours
later.
How are you feeling, Nicky?
Like I just ran
a marathon,
swam a few laps,
and played back-to-back
soccer matches,
is how you answer
Mom’s question.
And your stomach? Dad adds.
Like butter.
Huh?
Smooth and easy.
Smooth.
And easy, you say, giggling,
then dozing
back off
to sleep.
Bad
Your white blood cell count is elevated, the doctor says.
What does that even mean? you ask, grimacing.
Your count should be no higher than five thousand.
What is it? Dad asks, holding Mom.
It’s twenty thousand. So he’ll need antibiotics to fight off any infections.
How long do I have to be here?
We will just need to keep you for a few extra days, but by then the wound should be all healed and we’ll send you on your way. Sound good?
As long as it’s only a few days, you say. I’m playing in a big soccer tournament next week.
The doctor, Mom, Dad, even the nurse who’s changing your bandage, get all silent and stare at each other. Then at you.
Crickets.
Worse
He’ll be out of school
for a week,
or two,
depending on how he feels, the doctor says to Mom,
who rests her hand
on your heart,
which breaks into
a thousand little pieces
when the doctor adds,
You’ll be back
playing soccer
in no time, Nicholas.
The Dallas Cup
is next week, you tell her. How long
is no time?
Only three weeks.
Only
ONLY. Three. Weeks.
but Dallas is in one.
ONLY your stomach is shattered
and your dream’s undone.
ONLY not playing soccer
makes the pain seem severe.
ONLY your eyes can’t conceal
tear after tear.
ONLY your ship is sinking
and you’ll miss all the fun.
ONLY. Three. Weeks.
but Dallas is in one.
The End
when a horse breaks
its leg,
the bone shatters
the nerves, the living tissue
can’t heal
’cause there’s not
enough blood supply.
There is no recovery
from that type of
damage.
It’s over.
they may as well
put you down.
TV Therapy
Mercy General has six
ESPN channels, but
this does not impress your dad.
This Sucks
Tottenham is playing Arsenal but you switch to
Hawaii Five-O, ’cause watching fútbol will only
Irritate you, remind you of what you’re missing. Room
Service brings you cold soup, and just before
Steve’s mother’s murderer is revealed, Dad turns it off.
Uncool, Dad, you say. You’re not going to binge on
Cop shows or ESPN all day, he says. Dad, the boredom is
Killing me. Maybe you should read, he adds, and
Slides his dictionary closer to you.
New Rules
You get five TV minutes
for each page read. Does it have
to be your book? It does not.
Mom kisses you goodbye
Sleep tight, Nicky, she says, and
they both walk out.
He stops
at the door, turns around,
like he forgot something,
and just stares
at you.
Books are fun, Nicholas, he says,
they’re like
amusement parks
for readers.
Yeah, well, maybe
they would be fun
if I got to pick
the rides
sometimes, you answer, your eyes
glued to
the Ws.
The Next Morning
The nurse asks if she can get
you anything. Bacon, eggs,
and french fries, please, you reply.
Breakfast
Thirty minutes later, she
returns with buttered wheat toast,
cherry yogurt, and Coby.
Conversation with Coby
Hey, Nick. What’s up?
The sky.
I saw your mom and dad in the lobby.
Yeah, they never leave. It’s annoying.
I think they were arguing.
Why you say that?
’Cause your mom wasn’t talking, and your dad didn’t look happy.
He never looks happy.
True. I was gonna come earlier, but my mom said you needed your rest.
What I need is some real food.
True.
Pernell’s an idiot. I shoulda done something.
. . .
. . .
Sorry about that tackle. I was going for the ball.
Yeah, I know. I woulda scored. We woulda won.
I don’t think so.
You got booked?
Yeah, ref threw me out.
Sorry about that.
How’s the stomach?
It’s feeling better. The food’s disgusting.
That sucks.
Yeah . . . How’d you get here?
My dad.
Really?
Yeah, he’s coming to the Dallas Cup.
. . .
Sorry you can’t come, Nick.
Good luck.
I’ll bring you something back.
Bring me a jersey or a ball.
I’ll get my dad to buy us some swag. Definitely.
Coby, you miss him a lot?
Not really. We talk all the time, and I see him every summer.
Oh.
I know it’s kinda hard right now, but you’ll get used to it.
. . .
>
Hey, Man U is playing Arsenal. Let’s watch.
Can’t.
Huh?
Can’t watch TV, uh, right now.
Dear Skip
Mac
You can find me here—
I’m
imprisoned,
trapped
by a verbomaniac
and locked
far
from fun,
from freedom.
Will you
PLEASE bust me out?
Save me from
this madhouse of
Boredom and
Weird Words.
Bring a decent book
Booked Page 7
