Nothing Else Matters (2 page)

  "Look, Scottie, it's just a game. It's not worth doing permanent damage to your shoulder. And I know it's your shoulder. I saw you wince when you picked up your backpack yesterday after chemistry." She had finished the unnecessary taping of my wrist and had entwined her fingers with mine. "And don't think I don't know about that shot of ‘God-knows-what’ you took before the game. If I tell Coach or Doc they'll yank you out so fast —"

  "Reyna, please don't do this to me. There's a scout from USC in the crowd," I said in a forced whisper although no one would have been able to hear me anyway over the screams from the crowd.

  I looked down and jumped at the sight of our fingers entwined. We hadn't held hands like that in years.

  "Is there a problem?" The ref asked as he approached us. My eyes pleaded with her.

  "No, no problem," she said still looking at me.

  "Then let's go." The ref headed back to the field.

  I turned to follow him, but Reyna grabbed my good arm and said, "I know Coach wants you to throw it in the end zone, but you'll never make it out of the pocket. You've been off balance and sluggish all night and 63 is gonna blitz. I know it. Hand off to Harry and let him lateral to Lawrence. Lawrence can run it in. You get down and protect that shoulder."

  As I jogged toward the huddle, I was thankful I had a friend like Reyna. I had been feeling woozy and clumsy all night, but still somehow I managed to get the job done and throw three touchdown passes. Only Reyna noticed something was wrong.

  After I handed the ball off to Harry, everything went black momentarily. I hoped someone had tackled me and that I didn't just collapse of my own accord, but I couldn't be sure. I heard an explosion of applause and cheering. Lawrence must have run it into the end zone clenching our victory. I hoped everyone's attention would stay there so no one would notice me lying motionless on the field. Just a few more seconds and I'd be able to concentrate my energy enough to get up and no one would even know anything was wrong.

  That didn't happen. Seconds later, Reyna was at my side. A hush fell over the crowd as slowly people noticed the star quarterback was down.

  "Scottie, can you hear me?" Reyna slipped her flashlight out of her waistband utility belt and flashed it into my eyes. 

  "What happened? Was he hit? I missed it?" Doc said as he joined her.

  "Sixty-three blitzed," Reyna said as she began her examination of me. She carefully maneuvered my helmet off and brushed my hair away from my forehead. I thought I saw something in her eyes. Something I hadn't noticed before. Something like love.

 "I swear to God, Scottie, if you don't answer me this second I'll ... I'll ... "

My cheek started to twitch.  Anyone looking at me would think I was trying to smile. Actually, I had no control over what the muscles in my face were doing.

  I blinked several times and shook my head, trying to snap out of the trance the pain had put me in. Then I forced myself to smile and said, "Did we win?"

  Reyna breathed a sigh of relief. "You're such a pill. I can't believe you're joking around at a time like this," she said as she checked my pulse. "What day is it?" she asked.

  "Friday."

  "Too easy. All our games are on Friday. What's my middle name?" she asked.

  Feeling a bit better and enjoying throwing off her meticulously planned world, I grinned and said, "Bossy."

  Reyna rolled her eyes and let off a string of her favorite Puerto Rican swears. I always thought it was hilarious that she never considered it cursing if she said it in Spanish.  "If I was sure you didn't have a concussion I'd smack you upside the head." She stood, grabbed her kit and stormed off the field, leaving Doc to finish the examination.

  I lifted my head and tried to prop myself up on my elbows. "Not so fast," Doc said, easing me back down to the ground. "I have a stretcher coming, just to be on the safe side."

  "Doc, I think it might be best for everybody," I looked around the stadium filled with still hushed fans, "if I walk out of here on my own two feet."

  "I don't know, Scott. If you –"

  "I'm fine, really. I was just playing a trick on Reyna." Doc eyed me skeptically. "Watch, I'm fine." Hiding the true effort of my actions, I jumped up and gave a wave to the spectators. The crowd erupted in cheers once again.

  Amber ran onto the field and jumped into my arms. "You big jerk, you had everyone scared to death," she said as she kissed me and playfully slapped me on the chest.

  I kissed her back hoping she didn't notice the terror on my face at the realization that I couldn't move my left arm.

"What the hell was that?" Coach Reed asked me as I sat in the whirlpool tub trying to melt away my pain. "You directly disobeyed me."

"Oh, yeah, right. Sorry about that." I sat up and blinked away the sleepiness. I had to concentrate to remember what happened less than an hour ago on the field.

"Sorry? Is that all you got?" Coach Reed sat on a bench in the rehab room and started coughing. He always coughed this chest-rattling phlegm filled cough that probably came from forty years of smoking. Even though recently he had cut back from three packs of cigarettes a day to three packs of
Nicorette
a day, the cough still lingered. "Look, we won, so I don't really care how. I would just like a reason why you chucked my play. I need to trust my quarterback."

"Yeah, um, I knew I would get sacked.  I just thought a running play would work better."

Coach Reed shrugged. "That's good enough for me.  It was Sam's idea to have you pass all night to show off your arm. You're a smart kid. I trust your judgment. I'm not the one that's gonna bite your head off. You get enough of that from Sam." He coughed again, then took a piece of
Nicorette
out and popped it into his mouth. "Like I said, as long as we win, I don't really care. Just let me know next time, all right?" Coach Reed stood and patted me on the shoulder. I must have winced because he said, “What’s wrong, kid?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, why?” Oh God. Could he tell I was sick? Was I that bad tonight?

“
Cause
you don’t look the same. You weren’t having fun out there. You made it look like work.”

“Sometimes it is,” I said under my breath, hoping he wouldn’t hear me.

Coach sighed and said, “If you don’t love it, you don’t have to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Play sports. No one says you have to be an athlete.”

I rolled my eyes. “Have you met Sam Kincaid?”

“It’s your life, not Sam’s. You
gotta
do what makes you happy.”

“You know what’ll make me happy? Getting out of Sam’s house. And a scholarship to a top school is gonna help me do that. I have to play.” I adjusted myself in the tub and felt a shooting pain in my knees. Then I had a sickening thought. “Wait a minute. Do you not want me to play? Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course not, Scott. You’re the best damn player I’ve ever coached. I’ve been watching you play since middle school. You’re like a son to me. I just don’t want to see you lose your love for the game and have a life as miserable as –”

“Sam’s?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Coach stretched his arms above his head. I could tell he was tired. I didn’t know exactly how old he was but he had to be pushing seventy at least. “Just think about what I said okay, kid. But don’t decide to give up football till after the championship. We need you for that,” he said only half joking.  After popping two more pieces of
Nicorette
into his mouth, Coach Reed left the room mumbling about needing one more trophy before he retired.

Relieved to have a nearly senile coach who was more concerned about getting his next nicotine fix than the actual details of the game, I closed my eyes and tried to relax again. I basically ran the team anyway. I was the one that had gotten us to the playoffs for the past four years. Now all I had to worry about was Sam.

The next interruption came from Derek Strong, a defensive tackle and the unofficial "pharmacist" of the team.

  "Told you it would work, man. That was good stuff wasn't it?"

  "Yeah, yeah," I said groggily, looking to make sure no one was listening.

  "Are you gonna need some next week for the championship?"

  "Um, I don't know. I'll let you know."

  Derek ran a hand over his freshly shaven head while checking himself out in the mirror. Why did black men always look so cool with shaved heads? When I shaved my head in tenth grade after losing a bet with Reyna, I looked like a cancer patient.

  "Hey, is Reyna out there?" I said suddenly needing to see her.

  "No, but Sam's out there raving like a lunatic because you didn't make that last throw. Like you’re gonna have any trouble getting into USC. That SI article alone will get you into any college you want."

  I groaned. I didn't know what I feared more, scouts finding out about my shoulder or the wrath of Sam Kincaid.

  "Don't look so worried, Scott. I'm sure you just have a strained tendon or something. You'll be alright." Derek reassured me. I nodded. "I'll see you at the party. Don't forget to dress up. I'm going as a light bulb."

I stared at him blankly. I knew there was some corny joke hidden in his words, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

“So I can get screwed,” he said with a sly grin.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes as Derek left the room chuckling to himself. It was cornier than I thought.

 I lifted myself out of the tub putting all of my weight on the right side of my body. The sharp pain in my shoulder had subsided a little, but I noticed that my left wrist and knee were completely numb.

  I stood in front of the mirror studying my once perfect now failing body, the body that so many girls had compared to that of a Greek god. Did only Greeks have good-looking gods? I'd have to ask Reyna later. She had probably done research on that. She did research on everything.

In the middle of my rambling nonsensical thoughts, the door to the rehab room flew open.

  "What is it we've been working toward all these years?" Sam Kincaid yelled.

 "God, Mom, I'm naked!" I screamed reaching for a towel. I wrapped it around my waist as she entered the room further.

"Like you have anything I haven't seen." My mother, Sam or Samantha Kincaid, rolled her eyes.  "What was the point of little league, weight training, private camps, huh? I'll tell you the point. To get you into a good college, to get you into professional sports, to make you the best. Go for the gold. Do you hear me? The gold! No one cares about number 2!

She sat down on a bench and took out a notebook. "You were sloppy out there Scott. You were off balance, unsure, and just plain sloppy. In the second quarter, you ran up the middle instead of throwing to a wide open number 17. You could have gained an extra four yards and a first down. Instead, you were almost sacked on the next play and ended up throwing an incomplete."

  "Mom, we won! Lay off."

  "Lay off? You want me to ‘
lay
off?’ Do you know what happened in the 1988 Olympics when I ‘laid off'?" she asked mockingly, complete with air quotes.

  I leaned on the mirror and crossed my arms. "So you got silver, big deal. Millions of people would love to have a silver medal in track and field."

  "Second place is losing. How many Olympic silver medalists do you see advertising sports drinks or selling athletic shoes, huh? None! Because no one cares about number 2." Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She always got emotional when talking about the 1988 Olympics. After a few meditation techniques taught to her by her guru, Sam opened her eyes. She tightened the pull strings of the jogging suit that covered her slender muscular body and continued, "You may think I’m being hard on you, but it’s for your own good. We are so close to everything we’ve dreamed. Now, we're gonna sit here and fix your mistakes so you don't repeat them next week and blow the championship. Coach Reed gave me the play book and we're going to make some changes to make sure you shine for the Notre Dame scout."