Free The Off Season by Catherine Gilbert Murdock Page B

white paper. Lake Schwenk. I guess that's one downside to refrigerator ice: you end up in a puddle.
    "The trainer said I could play in a week or two," I added, because that sounded about right to me, that time frame.
    "Mmm. Keep it in a sling, ice it every four hours ... ibuprofen, some PT ... you could." Again, he was talking like he was all alone in the room, like Mom and I weren't even there.
    "Great," I said. Only it sounded more like "Great?" because I couldn't figure out why he didn't sound happier.
    Dr. Miller sat down so that he was facing me and Mom, so that all three of us were in this conversation. "You have any plans for basketball this year?"
    I snorted. Dr. Miller knew all about my basketball—he came to every game. "Yeah."
    "It's her junior year," Mom said. "This is recruiting year. For college." Although I don't know why she needed to explain this, because Dr. Miller knew as well as anyone how important scholarships have been to our family.
    Dr. Miller uncapped and capped his pen, then put it in his little front pocket. "Football players get AC injuries all the time. Give it a week, add some support..." He studied me. "How often do you throw over your head in football?"
    "As a linebacker?"
    He nodded.
    "None. Never..."
    "How often do you in basketball?"
    I started to laugh, but I stopped when I saw that he wasn't laughing. Because that's what basketball is, your arms are over your head the whole game, shooting or blocking or reaching for a pass.
    "So what are you saying?" Mom asked.
    Dr. Miller reached for his pen but put it right away again, like it was a bad habit he was trying to stop. "You've damaged one of the ligaments holding your shoulder together. It's not going to heal, not very well, playing football."
    "What if I rest it
two
weeks?" I asked. I could miss New Norway if I had to.
    He looked at me really seriously. Like I was a grownup. "Maybe. But if you go back in and your AC doesn't heal, or it gets injured again, you won't be able to play basketball."

    The whole ride home, Mom didn't say a single word. Finally I couldn't stand it anymore. "What do you think?"
    She said right away, like she'd been waiting, "You need basketball for college." Which was just wonderful for her to bring up, especially now that I knew our situation money-wise.
    "Could I go without a scholarship?" I asked. "If I had grades and everything?"
    "Not without us borrowing. There are loans, maybe we could re-mortgage—"
    "Never mind," I said, wishing I hadn't opened my mouth.
    That night at dinner Mom had me explain to Dad, and Curtis too—who actually seemed kind of interested—about my injury, and what Dr. Miller had said.
    "Are you going to get that ice machine?" Curtis asked, one of his left-field questions.
    "Yeah," I snorted, "if we sell the pickup for it."
    "The pickup's not worth that much," Mom said. (Which was not very nice because it turns out the shoulder-cooling kit only cost about eighty dollars and insurance paid for half.)
    Dad frowned down at his fried chicken. We had spinach too, that he'd cooked with bacon so it tasted like I never thought spinach could. And biscuits that were fluffier and more delicious every time he made them. "Did he say playing would definitely make it worse?"
    "It won't make it better," Mom said.
    "There's a big difference between those two," said Dad. "A big difference."
    "You could tape it," Curtis added. "Not raise your arm at all."
    "I could," I said, trying my best to butter those biscuits with my left hand because my right arm was in a sling. Mom took the biscuit away from me and did it herself.
    "I've seen guys play with cracked ribs," Dad said. "And not with fancy painkillers, either. Just go out and play because their team needed them. I never thought I'd say this, but D.J. plays football as good as anyone I know. She's got a team that needs her."
    "Basketball needs her," Mom reminded him, handing me the biscuit all buttered up like I was five years old or