“Fuckin’ hurts.” Braden winces as the doctor presses down on the side of his knee.
“We need to get him inside and get some ice on it,” the doctor says.
The coach appears. “What’s the diagnosis? Can he play?”
“No,” the doctor says. “We need to get the swelling down and then assess his mobility.”
“I’m fine,” Braden says, pushing himself up from the ground. “I’m going back in.”
“Braden, no!” I say, feeling concern for him despite how horrible he is to me.
Everyone looks at me, including the coach.
“I, um . . . I don’t think he should,” I say, my eyes darting to the coach, then Brock, then Braden. Braden’s looking at me like I’m crazy for speaking up, and maybe I am. I don’t know anything about his injury, but I can tell he’s in pain.
“It’s not up to you,” Braden says, holding onto Trystan as he attempts to stand up. He balances on one leg, then slowly lowers the other one until his foot touches the ground. “See? It’s nothing. I can play.”
“Walk there and back,” the coach says, pointing a few feet away.
Braden takes a step and cringes. “Fuck!”
The doctor races up to him. “Okay, that’s enough. We’re getting you inside and getting some ice on that knee.”
“That fucker did it on purpose!” Braden yells at the coach. “Throw his ass out of the game and call a damn penalty!”
“Braden, we can’t prove it was intentional,” the coach says. “And a penalty wouldn’t help us. We’ve already won the game. They can’t make up the points in the time remaining, even without you.”
“I said to throw his fucking ass out of the game!” Braden says through gritted teeth.
“Let’s go,” the doctor says, putting his arm around Braden’s waist. “Mr. Halliway, could you assist on the other side?”
Brock looks unsure, glancing down at his phone like whatever’s on there is more important than helping his son.
“I’ll do it,” Trystan says, sounding annoyed as he hurries over to Braden.
The coach leaves, and as they’re taking Braden away, I hear the announcer say, “The Twisted Pine quarterback is out with an injury. Theodore Dukin will be his replacement.”
Theo Dukin is a junior. He sits at a different table at lunch — the one for football players who aren’t seniors — so I haven’t really talked to him. He’s smaller than Braden, but people say he’s really good at throwing the ball. Braden disagrees. He says Theo lacks strength and throws too short, but Braden finds fault with all his teammates. In his mind, none of them are as good as him.
As Braden leaves, Brock and I remain behind, standing on the sidelines as the game resumes.
“You think he’ll be okay?” I ask Brock.
“He’ll be fine,” he says as he texts someone.
“You don’t even know what’s wrong with him.”
“He’s young. In good shape. He’ll bounce back.”
“What if he can’t play?”
Brock looks up from his phone. “Then he can’t play. It’s just a stupid game. It’s not the end of the world.” He puts his phone in his pocket. “Let’s go home.”
“We’re leaving?”
“There’s no point in staying. Braden’s done.”
“Yeah, but the game isn’t.”
