Booked Read Free Page B

to Pernell.
    Â 
    He shoots it
    back to you.
    Â 
    You get ready to drive
    the ball home.
    Â 
    Everything slo-mos
    like you’re in
The Matrix . . .
    Â 
    And Coby is Neo.
    And Neo is a bull.
    Â 
    And the bull’s-eye is on you.
    Two crazed eyes glued to the ball.
    Â 
    You wind for the kick. WHACK!
    POW!—Coby’s cleat, aiming for
    Â 
    the ball, finds your—THWACK!—
    ankle instead. The two of you fall—WHISTLE!—
    Â 
    sideways, to the ground. EEE-YOW!
    Â 
    Your stomach EXPLODES!
    Â 
    KNOCK. OUT.

Hospital
    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
.

Ankle sprains
    are very common
    in soccer,
    she says, talking fast
    Â 
    like she’s in a hurry
    to show you
    the x-rays
    Â 
    on her iPad.
    It’ll heal pretty quickly,
    a few days.
    Â 
    Cool! you think, still
    in a boatload
    of pain.
    Â 
    But I’m afraid
    that’s the good news.
    The bad news is,
    Â 
    you don’t have
    food poisoning.
    That sounds like good news to you.
    Â 
    You have a perforated appendix
    and we need to get you
    into surgery.
    Â 
    What does that mean? you ask.
    It means that your appendix, which
    is about the size of your tongue, and
    Â 
    located right here,
she says, pointing
    to the bottom of her stomach
    on the right side,
has ruptured.
    Â 
    There’s a tear in it, and
    we need to surgically
    remove it
    Â 
    before infection sets in.
    Surgery?
    When?
    Â 
    NOW!

Surgery
    I don’t want to die, you say.
    Everything’s gonna be fine, Nick,
Dad says, on the way
    to the operating room.
    Â 
    Mom’s on a flight,
he adds,
    so she’ll be here
    when you get out of surgery.
    Â 
    It’s a quick operation, and
    I’ve done a million of these,
adds the doctor
    as the orderlies roll you into the room.
    Â 
    You clench your fist, as if
    that’s gonna stop the ocean
    of fear that’s galloping toward you.
    Â 
    Count backwards from ten,
another doctor says,
    And before you completely drown,
    everything goes black.

Fact
    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.

How are you feeling, Nicky?
    Like I just ran
    a marathon,
    swam a few laps,
    and played back-to-back
    soccer matches,
    is how you answer
    Mom’s question.
    Â 
    And your stomach?
Dad adds.
    Like butter.
    Huh?
    Smooth and easy.
    Smooth.
    And easy, you say, giggling,
    then dozing
    back off
    to sleep.

Bad
    Your white blood cell count is elevated,
the doctor says.
    What does that even mean? you ask, grimacing.
    Â 
    Your count should be no higher than five thousand.
    What is it? Dad asks, holding Mom.
    Â 
    It’s twenty thousand. So he’ll need antibiotics to fight off any infections.
    How long do I have to be here?
    Â 
    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.
    Â 
    The doctor, Mom, Dad, even the nurse who’s changing your bandage, get all silent and stare at each other. Then at you.
    Â 
    Crickets.

Worse
    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.
    Â 
    The Dallas Cup
    is next week, you tell her. How long
    is no time?
    Â 
    Only three