Booked (9 page)

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!

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).

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.

Nick, you okay?
Yep, better.

I need to sub you?
No I'm good, Coach.
Good! Then get in there.

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!

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.

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.

H
ello,
says a woman with big ears, holding an

O
toscope in her hand.
How are you feeling?

S
he asks, while looking in your eyes. Uh, I'M IN

P
AIN! you scream. Dad shoots you a look.

I
t's okay, Mr. Hall. We're going

T
o find out what's going on in there.

A
RRRGGGHH! IT REALLY HURTS!

L
et's get the OR ready, stat, she says
.

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 surgery.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 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.

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.

Mercy General has six

ESPN channels, but

this does not impress your dad.

T
ottenham is playing Arsenal but you switch to

H
awaii Five-O,
'cause watching
fútbol
will only

I
rritate you, remind you of what you're missing. Room

S
ervice brings you cold soup, and just before

S
teve's mother's murderer is revealed, Dad turns it off.

U
ncool, Dad, you say.
You're not going to binge on

C
op shows or ESPN all day,
he says. Dad, the boredom is

K
illing me.
Maybe you should read,
he adds, and

S
lides his dictionary closer to you.

You get five TV minutes

for each page read.
Does it have

to be
your
book?
It does not.

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
W
s.

The nurse asks if she can get

you anything. Bacon, eggs,

and french fries, please, you reply.

Thirty minutes later, she

returns with buttered wheat toast,

cherry yogurt, and 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.