tightened the ponytail of her shoulder-length blonde hair. Felt her pulse quicken. Felt herself focusing. Already anticipating where the ball would go first. The thrill of the game about to start.
The teacher blew the whistle.
The game began.
The striker passed the ball back to the centre midfielder, who passed it over to Abby. Abby dribbled it up, returned the pass to the centre midfielder, and moved forward into open space. Her eyes darted around as she looked for any possible opening, thinking two, three and four moves ahead, as if the soccer pitch were a massive chessboard.
She noticed the defender cheating forward to intercept a possible pass to the striker and saw her opportunity. With her wingers out on the side, Abby bolted right down the middle. Her centre midfield teammate read it perfectly. She chipped the ball high in an effort to lob it over the defender so it would drop down out of reach in front of the goalie.
Abby looked over her right shoulder for the ball, but a bright flash of sunlight blinded her again. She turned the other way, glancing over her left shoulder, and saw it arriving in a perfect arc. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of the goalie rushing out to cut down the angle. Abby checked her run, getting ready to strike the ball. She timed her approach perfectly.
Without warning, a defender suddenly came in, attempting to head the ball away. But the defender missed completely. In an instant, Abby went from thinking she had a clear shot on net to feeling the horrific impact of the defender’s forehead cracking against her nose. Her body shot out an immediate painful burst of adrenalin. She felt herself crash to the ground. It was as if someone had momentarily turned the lights off.
When they came on again she found herself stunned, lying on her back. The shock of the injury pulsed through her. How bad is it? How bad is it? Am I going to be okay? These first few seconds were critical. Her brain assessed if she was in danger of falling unconscious. Her head began to pound. She became deaf to any sound around her. It was as if she had been enveloped in her own private cocoon of unimaginable pain. It was the worst she had ever felt.
Up until then.
Instinctively, she covered her face, being careful not to touch her nose. She felt blood dripping down off her chin, staining her white jersey in bright red blotches.
“Abby? Abby, are you all right?” Her teacher spoke in a calm tone, like she had seen this before, giving Abby the reassurance she needed that she would be all right.
She tried to regulate her breathing, but her staggered breaths seemed to take an eternity to get under control. Someone brought her tissues. She held them under her nose, forcing her head up to keep from choking.
“Abby?” the teacher said again as she sat up.
“I—” She interrupted herself to listen to her body. She’d fallen once while trying to learn skateboarding. Another time she felt dizzy after a ride her mom took her on at Canada’s Wonderland. But nothing like this. She’d never given any thought to how fortunate she was to have been free of injuries this long. But now that it was here, it was hard to remember what it was like not to be hurting.
“I never saw it coming,” Abby said.
“It’s all right, Abby. Just take your time.”
“One second I’m fine, and the next she’s like right in my face.”
“Abby, you okay?” the defender asked. Abby nodded. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Abby replied in a muffled voice, her nose stuffed full. She breathed in and out through her mouth in slow, measured breaths. When her head began to clear she saw the extent of the red staining on her shirt. All that blood caused her to feel woozy and nauseous. The teacher helped her to her feet. Abby heard the faint sound of applause and a cheer from her teammates behind her.
Sitting down on the bench, Abby watched as the game restarted. It felt surreal. As if she were looking through a pane of glass at a world she could no longer access. Strange to be so close and yet so impossibly far away.
She stuffed increasing amounts of tissue under her nose until the teacher blew the final whistle. She stood up, the ground felt firm beneath her, and she nodded to her teacher when asked how she felt. The class walked back to the school building. Abby was last.
She walked alone.
Using a wetted paper towel, Abby cleaned up her face in the girls’ washroom. She looked at a reflection of herself in the mirror.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” her friend Kedisha said.
“Yeah, not until it turns colours,” Abby replied.
They both laughed. Abby tilted her head slightly from side to side. Looked at the soft light blues of her eyes, then the whites around them to see if there was any damage. She tried to take a short breath in through her nose, felt the sting of what would surely become a bruise, exhaled, then threw the paper towel in the garbage.
“You should try hockey next,” Kedisha said. “It might be easier on your body.” She gave Abby a playful jab in the shoulder. “See ya. Gotta head off to chem lab.”
“Have fun.”
Abby looked back in the mirror as Kedisha walked out the door.
Abby spun her combination and opened her locker. She reached in for her brown paper bag lunch. The moment her fingers made contact she was reminded of the argument she and her mother had that morning as Abby took her lunch bag from the kitchen counter. It was a silly argument—as arguments sometimes seem after you’ve had time to reflect on them and you realize there was nothing to get upset about.
The cafeteria proved to be every bit as loud and full as always. And, as always, Abby felt a sting of nervousness inside her, wondering who she’d be able to sit with. Towards the back she saw a group of classmates sitting together. She tried to convince herself that they were friends. Wanted to believe they were friends. But when you don’t have the solid confidence that people have your back, when you feel you need a bit of a performance to get them to take interest, you begin to wonder if you have what it takes to be accepted by them.
She forced herself to walk towards them, hoping this would not get awkward, and passed a younger girl with fire-red hair walking the other way. She sat down and said hello.
“How’s your nose?” the girl who accidentally smashed into her asked.
“I’m still alive.”
That drew a chuckle from the group. Success.
“I’m really sorry,” the girl repeated.
Abby shrugged it off. “It’s not your fault. Besides, there could be a lot worse things in life, right?”
The discussion shifted to an upcoming concert. Abby indicated she liked the punk band, though if the group could have seen into her heart they would have realized she hated that group. She smiled, nodded and said the kinds of things people say when they essentially repeat back what they’ve heard and mimic the behaviours, unique words and mannerism of others in an attempt at being accepted by them.
“Hey, you guys want to drive over to the mall?” the girl beside Abby asked. Designer jeans,
