Free The Off Season by Catherine Gilbert Murdock

farming when you're losing money year after year ... that's not life even, that's like death. That's eternal damnation.

9. Separations Are Very Stressful
    S CHOOL ON MONDAY was pretty tough. It's hard to think about stuff like algebra when every number reminds you that your farm is about to fail and you'll lose your home and everything you've worked for your whole life. So I was a little tiny bit distracted. But I finished that Spanish paper at least, knowing the grade wouldn't be anything to brag to Mom about, and we started the nervous system in A&P, which meant we'd be getting to muscles next, hurrah, and Amber was back. Though in last period she got called into Mr. Slutsky's office about her attendance with Lori as well, which must have been sheer joy, Amber I'm sure not breathing a word about why school happened to suck for her so much. She came by my locker afterward, and she did a great imitation of Mr. Slutsky combing over his bald spot when he talked.
    "Yeah, baby, I'm looking good now," she said in her Bob voice.
    "You mean Mr. Slutsky runs around after lady ducks?" I asked, trying so hard not to crack up.
    "Duh. He's like the mallard king of Red Bend."
    "You'd think he'd get one of those hairpiece things made of feathers," I said.
    Amber nodded like this was brilliant. "Made of down. Plus it'd keep his brain warm."
    Oh, I loved that image of Mr. Slutsky walking around with a head full of white duck down. We couldn't stop joking about it, whether he'd have it different colors and all. I suggested eagle feathers as well, like an Indian, and that made us laugh even more. It's a good thing Paul wasn't there because he probably would have died, hearing us make fun of the principal like that.
    So I started practice in a pretty good mood, all things considered. Not that it should matter one way or the other what my mood was. I mean, right when it happened I was tackling Justin Hunsberger, which normally puts me in a bad mood, even being near him, because he's such a jerk. He'd bum anyone out, even his mother probably, no matter how good he is at football. But it was just a practice tackle so his jerkness shouldn't matter that much. And I'd been in a bad mood all day up until I got to hang out with Amber, so maybe that bad mood cloud was still sticking to me in ways I didn't even realize, and that changed things. Who knows—it might not have been Justin at all, it might just have been the way I landed. I'll never know for sure, though, because life doesn't come with instant replay.
    What I do know is that I hit him, pretty hard for practice but so what, and in that millisecond I landed, I was shot through with pain. Like someone had heated a knife and jammed it in my shoulder. I gave this little wheeze because it was all I could do to breathe, and I put every bit of energy I had into not moving a single molecule because I sure didn't want that pain getting any worse.
    Everyone else stood up, getting off the ground in that way you do when you've hit the grass a million times in your life and you know you'll hit it a million more. I wanted to stand up too, stand like you always do. Because if you don't, it means that you're either really wimpy or really hurt, and who would want to be either one of those? But I couldn't.
    Beaner came over. "You okay?"
    "Yeah," I managed to whisper. "Just give me a minute."
    By the time Jeff made it over, I could sit up at least, doing my best not to move my arm. "I'm fine," I said, taking deeper breaths now that the pain wasn't so bad. I hated having all the guys standing around staring at me like I was a dead animal or something.
    "Aw, jeez," said Jeff, gnawing away at his mustache. "Shoulder, huh?"
    "Yeah." I didn't nod because that might set it off again. "I'll be fine in a sec."
    "Mmm ... You better go see the trainer, have him take a look."
    The trainer got my jersey off, and pads, trying his best not to move my arm, and it was pretty amazing how swollen my shoulder was already. He