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I couldn’t hear what Keith was yel ing or anything. I focused on my next goal, the next place I was to touch down, pivot, and start over again.
I knew I had Tim beat heading toward the opposite baseline. All I needed to do was pivot and run back. I bent down to touch the
baseline, but when I pivoted, my lower leg stuck and my upper leg turned. I felt a pop, and before I could process what was going on, I buckled under my own weight and col apsed on the court. An excruciating pain from my knee jolted through my entire body. I grabbed my knee and screamed.
I rocked back and forth, holding my leg.
“Stay stil , Levi!” Keith was on his knees next to me. “Just try to relax. Tim went to get Coach.”
I couldn’t stay stil . It hurt too much to lie there. My entire body started to shake.
Something was wrong.
Something was very, very wrong.
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What is it about guys and having to out-bench-press or outrun
one another? Why does everything have to be a competition?
I don’t know — testosterone?
That’s your excuse for everything.
It is? Wel , does it at least work?
No.
Okay, what about you girls?
What about us, the clearly superior gender?
Yeah, you’re not biased.
Of course I’m not. We women are a rational, nonjudgmental
breed.
Are you even being serious right now?
What do you think?
You know I sometimes don’t know if you’re being serious or not.
It’s one of the flaws of your kind.
Yes, because girls never give out mixed signals.
You are one hundred percent correct. That’s got to be a first.
I sometimes don’t even know why I bother.
See, guys give up on stuff so quickly.
We do not.
Oh, really, do I need to remind you of why we’re even talking
right now? Who was the bigger person?
Ugh. You’re right.
I know.
Girls.
Yes, we are made of awesome.
C H A P T E R F I F T E E N
I had finally come face-to-face with my nemesis. And this
time I was determined to be the victor.
I gently took the ramekin out of the oven. The soufflé was
properly puffed up and looked to be the right consistency. I
cradled it in my hand as I cautiously stepped to where my
dad was sitting.
“It looks perfect,” he remarked once I set it down.
“Taste it,” I ordered. This was the fourth soufflé I’d
attempted to make. My first two tries hadn’t risen since I
hadn’t beaten the egg whites enough. The third time, I’d
taken it out of the oven too soon and it had collapsed before I
could even place it on the counter.
Dad smiled as he dived in. I leaned in as he took his
first bite.
My phone began to ring. I let it go to voice mail.
“So good,” Dad said with a full mouth. He took another
gigantic bite.
His phone rang and we both stared at it.
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“Who is it?” I asked, afraid something was wrong with
Uncle Adam. I snapped up my phone and saw it was Levi’s
mom right as Dad said it was her.
“Hello?” Dad answered. His face immediately went into a
frown. “Oh no — what happened?”
My stomach fell. I tried to decipher what was going on by
Dad’s expression and his “oh no” and “of course” interjections.
Finally he said, “We’ll be right over.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Levi tore his ACL during his workout.” Dad shook his
head. “They just got back from the hospital and he’s pretty
upset. Poor guy. We need to go over there now.”
“Oh.” Levi was always so careful about warming up and
not overworking himself. I couldn’t believe he’d hurt himself.
And that was the kind of injury that takes a really long time
to heal. “Doesn’t he need rest?”
“Yes, but he was asking for you.” Dad got up and grabbed
his keys.
“He was?”
Dad turned around to look at me. “Of course, Macallan.
You’re his best friend.” He shook his head like I was being
silly. He was already in the garage before I got my senses
about me. I quickly pulled out a bag of brownies from the
freezer to bring. Mom always said it was polite to bring something over to someone’s house. I hadn’t been at Levi’s house
for so long, I almost felt like I was a guest.
So much for being the best friend.
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Levi’s dad looked so tired when he answered the door.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” He gave me a tight embrace.
“You’re the first person he asked for.”
I almost said “thanks” but realized that maybe it wasn’t
the right response. So I decided to ask how Levi was doing.
Dr. Rodgers sighed, the worry openly displayed on his
face. “He’s obviously upset. We’re going to reevaluate it in a
week, but he’ll most likely need surgery. The tear in his
anterior cruciate —” He stopped himself. “Sorry, it’s hard to
not be a doctor in these instances. Basically, he’ll be laid
up for a while. The physical therapy alone takes months.
He won’t be back to normal for at least six months after