“The paramedics are almost here. Let’s wait and see what they say.”
“I’m not waiting for anything.” No, I’m getting up, finishing my run, and meeting Kaitlyn for a fast trip to the mall for new laces. If I wait, they might tell me what I refuse to admit. If I refuse to admit it, then I won’t be off the team, my scholarship won’t be stripped from me, and I won’t have to move back home, having made nothing of myself. I have big dreams, for God’s sake. I want to be a lawyer, I want to right all the wrongs and help people.
His fingers splay on my back, teasing all my nerve endings until pleasure mingles with pain. I’m familiar with the sensations from running, and I have to admit, my body craves that rush. The next thing I know, I’m being checked out by two men, and nearly blinded by a flashlight. Everyone is moving, fussing about, and my head starts to pound so hard, nausea grips my stomach. If they would all just leave me alone, I’ll be fine. The two paramedics move me, and shift me to a gurney. I briefly close my eyes, wishing I was an ostrich and could shove my head in the sand. I might be an athlete, but I don’t love being the center of attention, and right now, every member of Kingston’s football team is staring at me—so are their girlfriends, and all the cheerleaders.
It takes great effort to go up onto my elbows, to check out my body, and a sound that seems to scare everyone around me crawls out of my throat when I glance at my foot, which is twisted in an unnatural way.
“No…” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
“Maize,” Christian says, and I turn to him as tears burn behind my eyes. “It’s going to be okay.” He puts his hand on my shoulder.
I swallow against the pain in my throat. Christian is a rich kid, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He has no idea that his wayward football just put an end to my scholarship. How the hell am I going to pay for next term’s tuition?
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I shoot back, and he withdraws his big hand from my shoulder, worry and guilt all over his face. “You ruined high school for me, and…” a humorless laugh crawls out of my throat. “And now, not only have you ruined my senior year of college, but you might have ruined my future too.” He rears back like I just slapped him. His mouth opens and closes, like my words have shocked him, but he knows what he did that day in the closet, what he’s done now. I hold my skinned palm up to stop him. “Just go.” He inches back, and I square my shoulders to pull myself together. No way, no how am I going down like this. I’m a fighter. A survivor. A girl who can stand on her own two feet—well, at the moment, on one good foot. As long as I can stand, I’ll do whatever it takes—anything—to stay in college.
Well, just about anything…
2
Christian
I pick my helmet up from the ground, and the coach comes over to me. He dips his head, and assesses me like he does after I’ve taken a hard hit on the field.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Not really,” I respond as Maize’s words beat against my gut. She blames me for ruining high school for her? Honestly, that’s news to me. After our seven minutes in heaven, when she pulled my pants down to my ankles, and opened the doors so all the girls could get pictures, I never spoke to her again. Yeah, I get it, the mean girls were hazing the skinny new guy. I never paid Maize much attention after that, and even though she left me standing in my boxer shorts, the rumors about her being an easy lay never seemed to ring true. Then again, she did take my pants to my ankles. But how was that me, ruining school for her?
But the past is the past and what’s happening now is far more serious than a stupid hazing prank. I might not like her as a person after that stunt—that doesn’t mean I don’t admire a beautiful girl when I see one—but I’d never forgive myself if she lost her spot on the track team because of my football.
Coach’s voice pulls me back. “Why don’t you go to the hospital, check on her.”
I nod, tap my helmet against my leg and glance around. My best friend Linc, and his girlfriend Steph, slowly walk toward me.
“Okay, guys back on the field,” Coach Meyers orders. He waves his hand and the guys all start back, and I nod as they check in with me.
“Fuck,” I say to Linc. “Her ankle is shit.”
He tears off his helmet and runs his fingers through his mess of dark hair. “That was Maize, right? From high school?”
“Yeah. That was Maize.” I shake my head and stare at Linc, like he can somehow make this all better, even though I know he can’t. He’s a good guy, and back in high school took me under his wing, on and off the football field. We’ve been best friends ever since. I was sixteen when we moved to So Cal, and a skinny kid at that. It wasn’t until eleventh grade that I filled out, and tried out for the football team. During my sophomore year, the girls might have teased me, splashed a picture of me with my pants at my ankles all over social media, but my status quickly changed when I excelled on the football field. Then I
