Taylor is waiting for me after practice. She’s perched on the hood of her car, and I walk up the hill to meet her slowly and full of dread. The closer I get to her, I start to notice that the way she’s sitting looks less playful than it does from afar. She looks like she needs to be seated for the support. This feels like more than exhaustion after a fun day out, but I shake it off and ignore the thought.
When I finally reach the top of the hill, Taylor pats the hood of her car, indicating for me to sit beside her. I drop my bag on the ground, and lift myself up on to the car, scooting back until I’m sitting beside her. Up close, I can see that Taylor has dark circles under her eyes. Her hands shake with frailty when she moves.
When most people have passed us and left, she speaks. “That
