Len thought she might be sick. She must have looked it, too, because Ms. Saffron added quickly, “Or I’m here, if there’s anything I can do to help.” She held out the pass. “I want to help you, Len. All you need to do is ask.”
Len snatched the pass, forcing a tiny nod before darting out of the classroom. She squeezed the prompt list as she slipped through the empty halls, reading the words over and over without comprehending them. The thought of Ms. Saffron wanting to help spurred a bitter smile. Teachers always thought they could solve everything. Well, some things couldn’t be solved. Some things just were.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SAGE
AS SOON AS THE LUNCH BELL RANG, SAGE SIGNED HERSELF out of school and drove the two miles to Dr. Surrage’s office. Except for the receptionist sneaking bites of a sandwich behind her computer, the waiting room sat empty.
Sage hitched her backpack higher. The receptionist looked up.
“Sage Zendasky?”
“That’s me.”
“It’ll be just a minute, okay?” Somewhere in the back, a little kid coughed. Then cried. The receptionist smiled weakly. “Flu season came early,” she said. “We’re running a little behind schedule.”
Sage took a seat opposite a large fish tank and opened her physics notebook. If she got sick here, Dad would never hear the end of it. A black-and-white striped fish swam toward her, then darted away, and suddenly the incident with Len was in her head. She didn’t quite know what to do with the discarded pens discovery. It was odd on the highest level, and Kayla would love the gossip. As a general rule, Sage told her best friend everything. But something—perhaps the same thing that compelled her to enter the bathroom in the first place—persuaded her to keep that particular bit of information to herself.
The door to the examination room opened. “Sage?” A nurse looked up from a clipboard. “You can come on back.”
Sage dropped her bag and notebook on the room’s single chair as the nurse opened a small laptop. “Let’s see. You’re here for your foot?”
“My dad insisted.” Sage situated herself onto the exam table, crinkling the fresh sheet of butcher paper.
“You can go ahead and remove your shoe,” the nurse said, then took Sage’s vitals. “Dr. Surrage will be in shortly.”
Sage glanced at the clock above the door. Even with a doctor’s excuse, her physics teacher had a strict missed-test policy. Sage would have to stay after school, which meant being late for practice. Why had she let Dad talk her into this?
A knock rattled her thoughts. “Come in,” she said.
Dr. Surrage’s face appeared at the door, followed quickly by the rest of her. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Sage.” She replaced the stethoscope around her neck. “Been one of those days.”
“Thanks for squeezing me in. I told my dad it wasn’t necessary, but, uh, he worries.”
“Alek Zendasky worry?” Dr. Surrage set her laptop by the sink and washed her hands. “Surely not.”
Sage smiled. Of all her parents’ friends, Dr. Surrage was one of her favorites. She liked that she wore cute shoes but never heels. She liked that she’d tell hilarious stories about Dad in college, and how the memories themselves seemed to make her father grow younger and more carefree. Sometimes he even put down his smartphone.
Dr. Surrage sat on a stool, balancing her laptop on her knees. “Your dad said you ran into the wall?”
“Going after a ball, yeah. Everyone thought I hit my head, but it was actually my ankle.”
Dr. Surrage typed something, then slid her stool closer. “Let’s take a look.”
“It’s a lot better today,” Sage said. “I’m sure it just needs ice.”
“It’s always better to check,” Dr. Surrage said. “Tell me when it hurts, okay?” She rotated Sage’s foot slowly, pressing her thumb in various spots along the ankle bone.
“There,” said Sage. “That’s sore.”
Dr. Surrage nodded. “How about now?”
“That’s okay.”
She tested a few other spots on Sage’s foot before nodding, satisfied. “You’re lucky. It looks like a mild roll. If you ice and elevate regularly, I think you’ll be full speed in a few days. Do you have a game tonight?”
“Not till Monday.”
“Good. But take it easy at practice or you’ll injure it worse and have to miss some games. No jumping. No running. Not for a couple days.”
Sage nodded at the expected diagnosis. What a waste. The clock read 12:41 p.m.
Dr. Surrage pulled out a roll of medical tape and bound Sage’s ankle with the quick, sure movements of someone who’d done it a thousand times. Sage admired the precision, the confidence. Maybe she should be a doctor. She liked the idea of helping people. Only, she wasn’t a big fan of blood, and okayness-with-bodily-fluids seemed like a major part of the job requirement. Also, medical school wouldn’t allow time for volleyball, and she was going pro anyway. She felt it as clear as her heartbeat. It wasn’t lucrative by any means, but Sage didn’t need much money. She only needed to play.
Dr. Surrage broke off the tape near Sage’s heel. “I’m wondering about what you mentioned earlier.” She wound a new piece of tape around the first one. “About not hitting your head. You said you didn’t hit it against the wall?”
“Right. Well, my cheek kind of grazed it, I guess, but definitely not my head.”
Dr. Surrage frowned, her face an unasked question.
“Dad told you I fainted,” Sage said.
“Yes. He said it’s never happened before.”
“Never!”
“And it happened when you were in motion? You were jumping?”
Sage nodded. “I jumped up to bump shoulders with Hannah, and then…” She shrugged. “I was on the ground. It was so stupid. And I had plenty to eat. I mean, cereal’s not a lot. But I’d had two cheese sticks and a sandwich after school. I usually eat a ton, but I keep telling Mom I can’t stuff myself before a big game. It makes me sick.”
Dr. Surrage nodded. “Do you have a history of low blood pressure?”
“Uh, I don’t think so.”
She finished the wrap. “A fluke, then. It happens sometimes.” She pushed back her stool. “All set.”
“Thanks again,” Sage said, “for seeing me on your lunch break.” She slid off the table, careful to avoid too much pressure on her taped foot, and grabbed her bag from the floor.
Dr. Surrage made no motion to leave. “Sage,” she said, “I think I want to give you an EKG—an electrocardiogram.”
Sage froze. “Why?”
“Precautionary.” Dr. Surrage typed something into her laptop. “Just a quick check of your heart activity. It’s not an uncommon test when someone loses consciousness.” Her tone was nonchalant, but Sage recognized the subtle tells, the same ones weaker opponents gave, trying to project a confidence too stiff to be real. “The body does strange things from time to time,” she continued. “But I’m a doctor, and doctors like to know for certain.”
“But…” Didn’t people used to faint a lot, like, hundreds of years ago? And Mom said her grandmother had fainting spells and she lived to be a hundred!
“My grandmother fainted sometimes,” Sage said. Then, “I have a quiz at one.”
Dr. Surrage’s face softened, her manner relaxed again. “It’s a five-minute test. Easy.” Sage looked for the crack in confidence she’d seen before. Had she imagined it?
“I suspect,” Dr. Surrage added, like a secret, “this is the only way we’ll truly get your dad to stop worrying.”
And then the pieces dropped neatly into place. This was about her dad; of course it was. Alek Zendasky was one of North Carolina’s most successful federal public defense attorneys because he relentlessly pursued a line of inquiry. He’d never been concerned about her foot. He was worried about her head. That’s what Dr. Surrage was hiding. And if she could give him 100 percent certainty, there wouldn’t be more squeezed-in lunch visits.
Sage’s fingers rele
ased her backpack. “Okay.”
Dr. Surrage stood. “Great. And we’ll have you out in time for that quiz.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SAGE
DR. SURRAGE KEPT HER WORD. TECHNICALLY, SAGE HAD TO run an almost-red light and cut off a pickup, but she made it back just as her teacher was passing out the quiz. Sage ticked off the formulas easily, feeling immensely productive. Easing Dad’s fears and acing a quiz all in a few hours.
The rest of the day was, as usual, just time to pass until Sage could hit the gym. When the last bell rang, she rode the wave of exiting students to her locker and grabbed her duffle bag. Like clockwork, Ella and Kayla came down the hall as she shut her locker door. She fell in step with them on the way to the gym.
“Hey,” Ella said to her, then tipped half a box of Tic Tacs into her mouth.
“You eat more of those than anyone I’ve ever seen,” Kayla said. “You want some real food?” She held out a bag of Doritos.
“I just like clean breath.”
“Because you plan on kissing someone in the next twenty minutes?”
Ella cracked one of the candies between her teeth and shrugged. “You never know.” Sage opened her mouth to laugh when a dark, baggy sweatshirt caught her eye. At the far end of the hallway, just past the gym entrance, Len Madder was walking with erratic, stop-and-go movements.
“What the—” said Ella.
“Watch it!” a boy yelled at Len, swinging his trombone case wide as she hopped in front of him.
Kayla grabbed Sage’s arm. “What’d I tell you?”
Sage tried not to stare, but it was no good. Len seemed headed for the door, but kept stepping sideways, then forward again, then pausing, irritating everyone trying to get by.
Just walk, Sage willed her. Walk normally out the door.
“Are you seeing this?” Ella said. She and Kayla exchanged baffled smiles. And yeah, Len did look ridiculous. But Sage couldn’t help thinking that she also looked like she didn’t want to be walking that way. Like her body was somehow out of her control.
“Total weirdo,” Kayla muttered. She reached for the gym door just as Lyz Greer burst through.
“Greer!” Kayla said, jumping. “You trying to give us a heart attack?”
“You guys!” Lyz shook like she’d downed three Pepsis. “A scout’s here!”
“What?” Ella raced into the gym, pulling Kayla after her. She was only a sophomore, but her ambition was immense. Sage admired her for it. She threw a last glance toward the exit, but Len—and the chaos she’d caused—was gone.
“Sage!” Kayla popped back through the gym entrance. “What’s wrong?”
“I…” She frowned. Len was fine. She’d probably been practicing some kind of weird dance or something.
“The scout, Sage! We’ve been dreaming about this since we were twelve years old!” Kayla held out her fist. “Offers from the same school!”
Sage’s heartbeat surged. She pushed away everything but volleyball and met Kayla’s fist with her own. “Let’s show ’em how we do.”
* * *
A woman sat at the top of the bleachers talking to their assistant coach. Her khakis and white polo gave no hint of school affiliation.
A few girls already dressed for practice kept glancing toward the bleachers, whispering. Sage tried not to limp as she crossed the court to the locker room, the reality of her injury pulling her back from the high of learning about the scout. If only the scout had come next week.
Coach’s eyes snagged on her wrapped foot when she reentered the gym. “What happened?” he asked.
“From last night. A light sprain. The doctor said I’ll be fine in a couple days.”
“A couple days till you can practice or a couple days till you can play full on?”
“I can practice now, just no jumping.”
Coach rubbed his chin. “We can work with that. Schools want to know how players handle themselves in situations that are less than ideal.” He glanced to the bleachers. “I’ll tell her it’s not a big injury. She might want to come back, but today we’ll have you showcase back row attacks and peppering, stuff that you don’t have to jump for.” He clasped Sage’s shoulder, his voice low. “And I don’t want to put too much pressure on, but she’s from a D1, PAC 12 school. And she’s really excited about you.”
Sage allowed one glance at the bleachers and the passive-faced woman scribbling at a clipboard. Her dream was so close. All she had to do was grab it.
Coach raised his eyes as Kayla joined them. “Same for you,” he added, though Kayla hadn’t heard the earlier conversation. “She’s interested in both of you.”
Sage’s pulse surged to her throat as she and Kayla exchanged glances.
“D1,” Sage told her. Kayla’s eyes widened hungrily.
“Showtime, ladies,” Coach said, and the girls slid on their game faces as easily as they pulled up their kneepads.
Sage and Kayla grabbed balls from the rack the freshmen had just loaded. Dad had been right. If she hadn’t gone to Dr. Surrage, the scout might think she was injured worse than she was. Word might get out, her stock could drop, and in the few days it took for her injury to heal, scouts might have set their sights on someone else. Days were precious things in the business of sports.
Sage brought her own ball behind her head before rocketing it—and all thoughts of ankles or scouts—off the wall.
“Three o’clock!” Coach called. “Outside!”
Kayla cracked her neck, then led the rest of the team out the gym doors, as the captains always did. On a normal day, Sage would be beside her.
Coach handed her a stopwatch. “I think some of the JVers are slacking,” he said. “Can you clock times while I set up?”
Sage nodded. Coach clapped her on the back.
As she moved to the outside door, Sage realized she was walking right where Len had looked like she was playing a demented form of hopscotch. Sage looked around for whatever could have made Len act like such a freak in the middle of a crowded hallway. But there was nothing. Just the tile floor, streaked and speckled with skid marks from the nonstop tread of shoes.
Outside, the late September sun blazed, burning off some of her nervous energy about the scout. Sage shaded her eyes, her brain tugging back to Len. It was a welcome distraction from the scout. She couldn’t help feeling bad for her. High school could be rough enough when people acted normally. Len seemed to go out of her way to make it worse.
Before long, her teammates rounded the school. She clocked their times absently, reminding herself not to overthink the drills she’d soon perform for the scout. Your greatest opponent, Coach liked to tell them, is your own head.
“Ugh!” Kayla shouted, coming to a stop beside Sage and breaking her reverie. “That felt worse than usual.”
“Maybe if you ate more tree bark?” Sage teased, and Kayla punched her arm.
“Serves!” Coach yelled after Sage and Kayla led the team through stretches and conditioning. “You know the drill,” he said. “Ten in a row. You miss—”
“You start over,” the girls finished.
The gym echoed with pounding volleyballs, a beat that synchronized with Sage’s heart. She caught Hannah’s floater and stepped back to the service line, nerves about the scout evaporating as muscle memory took over. When colleges first started reaching out to her, Mom had hounded her about meditation, about how good it was for the brain and for managing stress. What Mom didn’t realize—and what Sage didn’t quite know how to articulate—was that volleyball was her meditation. Scouts and homework, gossip and grades—it all smudged into a fuzzy backdrop once she got on the court.
Sage flexed her right fingers, then served a fierce topspin. It sailed to the back line, just in bounds.
“Nice!” Kayla said. From the corner of her eye, Sage saw the scout scribble something on her clipboard.
“Seniors,” Coach called, “go around the clock.” Sage and Kayla served to positions one to six, in order. Kayla had t
wo errors to Sage’s one.
“Time to pepper!” Coach called. Next to Sage and Kayla, Coach tutored a JV pair. “Try to keep the flow,” he told them. “Pass, set, attack. Pass, set, attack. Like your captains.”
Sage allowed a small smile. There’s nothing like it, she thought. To make something they’d worked so hard on look effortless.
“Let’s do two hundred,” Kayla told her.
“Two fifty.”
“Done.”
Except for Kayla’s occasional counting, they didn’t speak. There was no need. It quenched both of them—their easy silence, the concentration on the ball—almost as much as water. Sage drank it in.
Pass. Set. Attack. Pass. Set. Attack.
Her meditation.
“Sixty-two,” Kayla said, as she set the ball. “Hey, what’s your mom doing here?”
Sage’s spike veered left as she looked to the door. Mom strode purposefully to Coach, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor.
Mom talked. Coach rubbed the back of his head. Neither of them smiled.
Sage caught the ball.
“That was only seventy-one!” said Kayla.
“Something’s wrong.” Sage marched across the floor.
“Hey, honey,” Mom said. Her smile was too wide.
Sage turned to Coach. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Mom answered. “Well, I’ll tell you in the car.”
Someone had died. Sage knew it. Her heartbeat fumbled and tripped over itself. “Is it Grandpa?”
“What? Oh. No, sweetie. Nothing like that.”
“Then, what?” Sage hugged the volleyball to her chest. “There’s a scout here, Mom.” Her eyes flicked involuntarily to the bleachers. “From a big-time school. I can’t just leave.”
Coach touched her shoulder. “It’s fine. I’ll explain and make sure she comes back. Really, Sage, it won’t impact anything. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Grab your stuff,” Mom said in a way that told Sage to hurry. “We can’t be late.”
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