And then I don’t think anything more.
Emma
I’ve been underestimating this rugby stuff. I realize that for sure when I see the entire school lining the pitch and in the stands, even though it’s been drizzling slightly all afternoon. It’s anything but comfortable. Tori, Sinclair, and the others don’t seem to mind, though. They’re sitting next to me; Omar and Gideon are on the pitch with Henry. The team are warming up on the grass, and I can hear the voice of Louis, a boy in the upper sixth, coming through the loudspeakers. This is a real event, and I grasp that as I notice the spectators wearing blue-and-white school rugby jumpers and scarves, Dunbridge hoodies, and school caps. I see the school flag, hear people’s laughter, and sense the cheerful atmosphere.
The teachers are sitting in the front row too. Even Mrs.Sinclair is here. She’s wearing some kind of Dunbridge beanie over her blond hair and shaking hands with an older man who seems to be the head of the other school.
If things weren’t an endless pile of crap, I might even be properly enjoying this. I love any kind of sporting event, and suddenly,I’m really missing our athletics competitions from home. But as it is, I just sip the lemonade that Sinclair brought down for us and try to plead with Henry with my eyes. I haven’t wished him luck—there was no way he heard me after maths just now—and this is his first major game. He and Gideon are running up and down the edge of the pitch, warming up, sprinting, throwing and catching, stretching again.
Yet again, I realize how little I know about rugby as the teams come onto the pitch. Valentine shakes hands with the other captain and the referee, and then they take up their positions.
My eyes wander over the watching crowd. By some coincidence, I just happen to spot Tori’s brother, William, who is standing a little to one side with Kit, whose hair is trailing into his face. The two of them have grown closer than ever over the last few weeks.Young love, Tori said once, with a knowing smile. Will strokes Kit’s hair out of his face—he’s talking insistently to him. They’re way too far away for me to hear what he’s saying, but he seems kind of upset. When Kit turns his head away, I see the dark-purple bruise around his left eye. I’m about to turn to Tori and point it out to her when the whistle goes for the start of the match. When I look back again, there’s no sign of William or Kit anywhere.
I forget about them as the cheering and shouts of encouragement grow louder around me. There are fifteen players on each team, and Henry isn’t one of them. I’m almost glad: It looks brutal. I knew that—I’ve watched them train a couple of times—but it’s different with the whole school there, freaking out and screaming at the players. Louis is commentating, butdespite the loudspeaker, I can hardly hear him. All I can make out are numbers and words that mean nothing to me.
I follow the tussles. I cheer when Tori and Sinclair cheer and keep quiet if they boo or groan with frustration.
At the end of the first half, Dunbridge are slightly behind. I’ve figured that much out. Every player is coated with mud. It looks utterly exhausting, and when I see Henry warming up again just before the end of the break, I’m scared that he’s going to be subbed in.
“Go get ’em, Bennington!” Sinclair yells as they line up again. Henry looks toward us, and I cross my arms over my chest. They start, and I can’t breathe. It’s kind of different with Henry running around down there with them. Ithinkhe’s good, but my heart skips a beat every time he’s got the ball and the players on the opposing team are throwing themselves on top of him. He nearly scores a couple of times but never quite manages to dodge their defense. He seems kind of distracted. I don’t know what he’s thinking about when he looks over to the stand. Maybe Theo, who used to play here; maybe Maeve, who used to stand there, as she and Henry cheered on their big brother.
Whatever it is, he shouldn’t be on the pitch today. I’m sure of that when Dunbridge get the ball.
“Bennington!” roars Valentine, hurling it in his direction. Tori’s hopping anxiously up and down beside me. “Catch!”
The crowd roars. Henry flinches. He catches the ball, but he doesn’t move.
I jump up with everyone else.
Why isn’t he running? Why the hell isn’t he running?
Sinclair and Tori are screaming; the Alkmounton defense are running toward Henry. I hear yells and whistles, roaring, then a murmur that runs through the crowd. The guy launching himself at Henry must be about twice his size. He knocks him off his feet, and they hit the ground only seconds before another Alkmounton player throws himself at them.
I can’t breathe. Henry no longer has the ball. But he’s not getting up.
He’s not getting up.
Why isn’t he getting up?
The blood rushes in my ears as the other two pick themselves up. Tori claps her hands to her mouth. Sinclair mumbles, “Fuck.” Henry’s still not getting up. More to the point, he’s not moving.
I don’t know what I’m doing as I step to the side while the referee blows his whistle. I run down the stand, can’t think clearly anymore. The first of the boys are bending over Henry. Mr.Cormack and Dr.Henderson, the school doctor, are hurrying onto the pitch.
“Sorry, excuse me...” I mutter as I push my way through. Past my fellow pupils, boys and girls who were cheering a moment ago and are now staring at the pitch in shock.
My heart is hammering as I fight my way through as fast as possible.
Shit, Henry... Why did he hesitate? Why didn’t he just run when he caught the ball?
I know why. Because his sister’s dead, and we had a fight, and everything’s just shit. Because I saw his face go rigid as he looked into the crowd. Because he’s exhausted, for God’s sake, and shouldn’t have been on the pitch. Not in that state.
I reach the pitch. The grass is slippery, my chest is tight, and the teams make way as I come closer to him.
“Henry?” asks Dr.Henderson, who’s kneeling on the grass beside him, alongside Mr.Cormack. Henry doesn’t respond, and I feel sick.
“Shit,” somebody mumbles. The roar of the crowd has given way to shocked silence. Louis’s voice comes through the loudspeaker, saying something about an accident and a short delay for injury, as if we couldn’t all see that for ourselves.
“Henry? Can you hear me?” I hold my breath as Dr.Henderson reaches out to him. “Look at me.”
