She spends a few minutes chatting with the doctor near the doorway, collecting the papers they give her with a mildly tolerant look on her face. I gather the last of my stuff from the dresser drawer beside my bed. My stitches are out, but there’s still some pain when I twist my midsection, although the doctors assure me that I’ll make a full recovery eventually and will probably be able to play football again next season.
I can’t even look that far ahead, because I have no idea what lies before me. Felony charges? My dad? College? Cindy? Maybe nothing.
I zip my bag up and swing it over my shoulder, deciding not to think about my future for now. All I need to focus on is getting out the door and then my attention can go to making it to the car.
My mom and the doctors have disappeared so
