Free Blow Out by M. G. Higgins

W
    ith a minute to go in the regional final, Lacy Sheridan was running
full out. Ahead, to Lacy’s right, Nita Ortiz dribbled past an opposing defender. Another defender was closing in. Lacy was in the open. If she could just get closer to the net, she’d be in position to score. That would put the Copperheads ahead 2–1. Lacy’s lungs and thighs burned, but she didn’t care. She felt alive, completely charged.
    â€œNita!” she shouted, getting her teammate’s attention.
    Nita gave Lacy a quick glance and then a knowing grin. She faked a shot, throwing the second defender off-balance. At the last moment, she turned her foot, making an instep pass. It was a great play—except Lacy wasn’t in position yet. With the ball scooting past her toward the sideline, Lacy sprinted after it. She got there just in time, twisting on her right leg as she kicked the ball inbounds.
    She heard her knee pop. Then she felt a hot, agonizing pain shoot through skin and muscle and bone, and crumpled to the grass.
    Â . . .

    â€œLacy!”
    Lacy woke up with a start, her scream still ringing in her ears.
    Carrie stood next to her bed. “Hey.”
    Lacy propped herself upright with an elbow. “I had a nightmare.”
    â€œYeah, I heard you all the way in my room. The same one?”
    Lacy nodded.
    â€œI can’t believe you’re still having that dream.” Understanding crossed Carrie’s face. “Spring semester starts tomorrow, doesn’t it?”
    â€œYes.”
    Lacy fell back onto her pillow. It would be the first time since her accident that she hadn’t worn the brace to school, and soccer practice would be starting in a few weeks. She took a deep breath.
    â€œWant to talk about it?” Carrie asked.
    Lacy glanced at the worried crease between her big sister’s eyes. She did want to talk about it—about the weeks of bed rest, the months of physical therapy, the wondering about whether she would play soccer again. But she wasn’t sure how she felt. Terrified? Excited? Anyway, Carrie had enough on her plate with returning to Connecticut the following week for her second term of college.
    â€œThanks for waking me,” Lacy said. “You’re going to make a good psychologist someday.”
    Carrie snickered. “First, I have to get through freshman year.” She crossed the room to the door.
    â€œCarrie,” Lacy called. Her sister turned back around. Lacy wanted to ask Carrie if she’d maybe thought about transferring close by to Wake Forest or the University of North Carolina next year instead of returning to Yale. But that was impossible, not to mention unfair. So she said, “Nothing. I just … miss you.”
    â€œYeah … I miss you too, Lacy Lou.”
    The phone on Lacy’s desk rang. Lacy rolled her eyes. Her parents still had a landline.
    She looked at her clock. It was 4:30 A.M.
    â€œMom and Dad?” Lacy guessed.
    â€œProbably. I wish they’d pay more attention to the time difference.” Carrie picked up the phone and handed it to Lacy.
    â€œNo.” Lacy pulled her comforter up to her chin. “You talk to them.”
    Carrie shook Lacy’s shoulder. “Stop being such a baby. I’m not around to run interference anymore. You’ve got to learn how to talk with them.”
    Lacy sat up. “I am not a baby. But she’s probably calling for you anyway.” She grabbed the phone and pressed the Talk button. “Hello?”
    Her mother answered with “
Bonjour!
”
    â€œHello, Mother. How was New Year’s in Paris?”
    â€œCold, but lovely. Are you behaving yourself? Silly question. Of course, you are. Where’s your sister? Can I talk to her, please?”
    Lacy handed the phone to Carrie and whispered, “See?”
    Carrie pretended to gag. “Hi…” she said into the receiver. “Fine … Yeah … Okay…