She opened her eyes and saw Carla Hastings kneeling over her, concern written across her face.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I got you on my follow-through. I didn’t mean it.”
Andi just nodded. She heard more people coming. She had one thought: I can’t come out of this game.
* * *
By rule, she had to come out. Since the referee had stopped play for an injured player, there was no choice.
Jeff had run in Andi’s direction as soon as she went down, and he could hear Coach J demanding the referee give Hastings a red card—which meant ejection—for the play.
“Coach, I was right on the play,” the ref said. “Your kid made a great play but ended up right in the path of a foot that was already in motion.”
Jeff turned his attention to Andi. Coach C was on one knee talking to her.
“There’s no rush,” he said. “The ref has stopped the clock because you were knocked out.”
“I wasn’t knocked out, Coach,” Andi insisted. “I’m okay. My head hurts, but I’m okay.”
Hastings, who had been telling anyone who would listen that the kick was an accident, was standing next to Jeff and behind Coach C.
“She’s right, Coach. She wasn’t out. She opened her eyes right away.”
“She could still have a concussion,” Coach C said. He turned back to Andi.
“Who are we playing, Andi? What’s the score?”
“We’re playing Cynwyd, it’s one–one, there are about four minutes left, and I’m fine!” She shouted the last two words.
Jeff almost laughed when she said that.
Someone else was now on the field, kneeling next to Coach C.
“I’m a doctor,” the woman said. “Carla’s my daughter.” She looked down at Andi.
“Do you think you can sit up?” she asked her.
Andi responded by pushing herself up on her elbows and then sitting up.
“Dizzy?” the doctor asked. “Nauseous?”
“No and no,” Andi answered.
“Okay then, we’re going to help you up.” She looked at Coach C and added, “Slowly.”
Gently, they each took an arm and helped Andi to her feet. Those watching from the sidelines applauded. Hastings apologized again. Andi’s teammates moved in to gently console her, but the doctor held up a hand. “She needs some space. Let’s get her to the bench.”
As Dr. Hastings and Coach C walked Andi to the bench, the referee turned to Coach J. “I’m going to need a sub,” he said.
Coach J turned to Adkins. “Go for Andi,” he said.
Slowly, everyone returned to the field. Jeff saw 3:59 on the clock. The referee tossed the ball to Woodward, blew his whistle, and said, “Let’s play.”
And so they did.
* * *
Andi desperately wanted to get back in the game. She sat on the bench, with Carla Hastings’s mother on one side of her, Coach C on the other.
The doctor was asking her questions about what day of the week it was; how many fingers she was holding up; what had happened leading up to her getting kicked in the head.
She answered them all. “I’m okay,” she said, feeling the bump on her head. “I’ve got a little bump, but I remember everything clearly. I don’t have a concussion.”
“Are your parents here?” Coach C asked.
“No,” she said. “Both working.”
“Can you name all your teammates for me?” Dr. Hastings asked.
Andi sighed. The scoreboard clock said there were less than three minutes to play. She went through the team, closing her eyes to visualize where the starters were at the beginning of a game. Then she listed the five subs.
“What do you think, Doc?”
It was Coach J, who had walked over to the bench.
“I think she’s okay,” the doctor said. “She hasn’t missed an answer yet. If this were football, I’d say keep her out, but it isn’t. The one thing I’d require, though, if you decided to let her back in the game, is she agree not to try a header.”
“I promise,” Andi said, feeling hope and relief.
“How certain are you she’s not at risk?” Coach J asked.
“Ninety percent,” the doctor said.
The two coaches looked at each other.
“What do you think, Jason?” Coach J said.
“I’m still nervous,” Coach C said.
“So am I,” Coach J said.
He leaned down and put his arm gently around Andi’s shoulder. “Andi, I’m really sorry,” he said. “My second most important job is to try to help you kids have fun and win. My most important job is to keep you safe.”
Andi looked imploringly at Dr. Hastings.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I don’t disagree with your coaches.”
Andi looked at the clock again. Under two minutes. There was nothing to be done.
32
Jeff was also feeling pretty helpless at that moment. He had glanced over to the bench and seen Andi with the doctor and the two Merion coaches and was pretty certain she wasn’t going to talk her way back into the game.
Cynwyd had just had a corner kick that one of their strikers had headed wide of the goal, meaning Merion had another goal kick.
As Bobby Woodward was recovering the ball from behind the net, Jeff heard Arlow calling his name: not Michaels, but Jeff. Surprised, he ran in the direction of midfield as Arlow ran back to meet him. Arlow was waving his arms at Woodward to hang on to the ball for a moment.
Jeff was baffled. There were less than ninety seconds left; the last thing Merion needed to do was waste time.
“Quick,” Arlow said. “Run back and tell Woodward to get the ball to Isidro. Allan will know what to do with it.”
“But…”
“Just do it!”
There was no time to argue. Jeff ran as fast as he could at the baffled Woodward.
“To Allan,” he said. “To Allan.”
Instead of kicking the ball, Woodward flung a sidearm pass to Isidro. Because Cynwyd considered Jeff and Zack Roth the primary midfield threats for Merion, Isidro had some space.
He controlled the ball and then, without trying to take advantage of the open space in front of him to make any kind of run, he boomed a high, looping kick that seemed to stay in the air forever.
Jeff was running after the ball, but it came down just outside the penalty area and was instantly surrounded by players in both red and white, Cynwyd; and blue and gold, Merion. He saw Zack Roth kick it in the direction of the left corner. Normally, Andi might have been there. Now, though, it was Mike Craig, and he had two defenders trailing him.
In the middle of the penalty area Arlow was making a run straight at the goal, arm in the air, screaming, “Now, Mike, now!”
Craig seemed to understand—and then he didn’t. Instead of trying to cross the ball into the crowded penalty box, he flipped a short pass to Roth, who was charging up from behind the two-team scrum near the goal. Jeff was running to Roth’s left as defenders came to meet him.
Roth waited until the last possible second, and then slid the ball to Jeff, who was running full speed—and gasping from all the running he’d done in the last sixty seconds.
“Shoot!” he heard Arlow scream, and he saw what looked like the entire Cynwyd team turning toward him. It occurred to him that Arlow had been bluffing when he’d called for the ball from Roth and, more important, he was bluffing now.
Jeff drew his leg back and saw Cynwyd players diving to try to block his shot. He didn’t shoot. Instead, he controlled the ball with his left foot and then, with his right, he looped the ball with far more finesse than he thought possible to where Arlow was standing, to the right of the goalie. No one from Cynwyd was paying attention because they were all expecting Jeff to shoot.
Arlow quickly stopped the pass with his right leg, brought it down to his feet, and fired a shot aimed for the far corner of the goal. The goalie got a hand on it and it looked
like it was going over the goal. At the last possible second, it ducked just below the crossbar and into the net.
Jeff heard himself screaming and looking at the clock all at once. It said fifteen seconds and was still ticking. There wouldn’t be time even for a kickoff. He and Arlow ran straight into each other’s arms like long-lost brothers.
“What a pass!” Arlow screamed in his ear. “I didn’t think you had it in you!”
“Me neither!” Jeff yelled back. “Great thinking!”
Before Arlow could respond, the entire Merion team buried them in a dog pile. Jeff was kicked and pummeled and pounded on the back.
He couldn’t remember ever feeling happier.
* * *
Andi didn’t have a very good view of the play from the bench, but the reaction of her teammates told her what had happened.
She started to stand up, but Dr. Hastings, who was now alone with her, put a hand on her shoulder.
“Easy,” she said. “I know you want to celebrate—I get it. But I need you to take it easy. They’ll come to you—I guarantee it.”
She was right. As soon as her teammates unpiled, they began sprinting in her direction. Dr. Hastings stood in front of her, hands up. “Whoa,” she said. “Gentle, please.”
“How about high fives?” Danny Diskin asked.
The doctor smiled. “How about fist bumps?” she said, but not too enthusiastically.
They all lined up to fist-bump her. Jeff cheated, sneaking in a quick one-armed hug.
Andi then joined the handshake line. Every Cynwyd player shook her hand and most said something about hoping she was all right. Carla Hastings gave her a quick hug, saying over and over again: “I’m so sorry.”
“I know it was an accident,” Andi said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Carla smiled. “I’ll tell you what wasn’t an accident—the play you made. I had that thing lined up. No way your goalie would have stopped me.”
Now Andi smiled. “I know,” she said. “That’s why I had to try to stop you.”
They hugged again. “Hope you can play next week,” Hastings said. “Good thing is, there’s no game on Tuesday.”
Andi hadn’t thought about that. The next week was the midway point of the middle schools’ fall semesters and most kids had midterm tests and papers due, so there were no games scheduled until Friday.
When the team gathered after the handshakes, Coach J had a smile on his face.
“That was the best game we’ve played so far,” he said. “Note my emphasis on so far. We’ve got three to go and because we pulled this one out, we can still win the conference. We’re going to need some help the next couple of weeks because I checked and King of Prussia–North won again today, so they’re undefeated. We need someone to tie them or beat them, and we need to win the next two so we can play them for the conference championship.
“The important thing today, though, is you guys figured out a way to come from behind and win. Michaels, Arlow—those were great goals.” He turned to Andi and pointed to her. “But the real hero, fellas, was Carillo. If she hadn’t come all the way back to take the ball away from that tall girl, we would’ve been done. Way to go, Andi!”
They all cheered for her—even Arlow.
Andi’s head was still throbbing a little. But she felt great—absolutely great.
33
Coach C had called Andi’s mother to tell her what had happened, and by the time Andi had showered and changed, she found her mom standing outside the locker room with him.
“Is it okay to hug you?” her mom asked.
“Of course, Mom,” Andi said, embracing her mother. For some reason, she noticed while they were hugging that she was a little taller than her mom. She hadn’t noticed that in the past.
“I just gave your mom a list of symptoms to look out for tonight—just in case,” her coach said. “The doctor doesn’t think there’s much chance any of them will occur, but better to be prepared.”
“Like what?” Andi asked.
“Nausea, dizziness, feeling drowsier than normal, lack of appetite. That sort of thing.”
“Well,” Andi said, “you don’t have to worry about lack of appetite. I’m starving.”
The two adults laughed.
“Good sign,” Coach C said.
Andi’s mom held up a card. “Dr. Hastings also gave us a number, to call a doctor at Penn who specializes in head injuries to athletes,” she said. “She’s already checked and Dr.”—she paused to look at the card—“Hall can see you first thing in the morning.”
Andi groaned. “In the morning? It’s Saturday, I want to sleep in.”
“You can sleep in on Sunday,” her mother said. “No negotiating on this one.”
Andi understood. She was enough of a sports fan to know how seriously people took head injuries nowadays. She really did feel fine but knew her parents would want to be certain she was okay.
Her mom thanked Coach C.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asked as they walked to the car.
“I’m fine—really. Can we stop at McDonald’s on the way home?”
Her mom grinned. “Sure. Let me call your dad and see if he can meet us there.”
That sounded like fun.
* * *
Dr. Hall was very friendly and outgoing when he greeted Andi and her dad—who insisted on taking her downtown to Dr. Hall’s office—the next morning.
But he was all business while running her through all sorts of tests and asking questions—both to her and her father.
Finally, after flashing various lights in her eyes, he said he had one more test he wanted to run.
“You pass this and I won’t insist on an MRI,” he said. “You flunk, we do an MRI.”
Andi knew enough about an MRI—where people get shoved into a tube in order to take pictures of some part of their bodies, in Andi’s case the brain—to know she didn’t want one.
“What’s the test?” she asked.
“This is phase two of what is now the concussion protocol given to football players,” he said. “I’m going to tell you a few things. Then you’re going to sit in here alone for ten minutes. Then I’m going to come back and ask you what you can remember about what I told you.”
He looked at Andi and her dad. “You guys okay with that?”
“Why does she have to be alone?” her dad asked.
“Because I don’t want you in here reminding her what we talked about,” the doctor said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you but…”
“You don’t trust me.”
“Sort of,” the doctor said. “If it were my daughter I wouldn’t want her to need an MRI either … Ready?”
Andi nodded.
“Okay, here goes.”
He began slowly telling her things, most of them simple: The Phillies were in second place and would be playing the Giants that night. Pause. The Eagles were 4–2 and playing the Packers the next day. In Green Bay.
“Now for some things you may not already know,” the doctor said. “I graduated from West Point in 1981. I got my medical degree from Duke. My wife’s name is Anne.”
He paused again. “Last group,” he said. “The high temperature today is supposed to be sixty. My favorite sport is hockey. The first thing I noticed about you when you walked in were your blue eyes.”
He stopped. “Okay, we’ll be back in ten minutes. You can lie down here and close your eyes or sit in a chair and read one of our year-old magazines.”
He left along with Andi’s dad. She opted to lie down and close her eyes. She ran through what the doctor had said in her mind. She was about to start a second run-through when the door opened. The ten minutes had gone fast.
She sat up. “Okay,” the doctor said. “What can you tell me?”
She ran through what he’d said—keeping them in order because it was easier that way. “Why?” she asked finally, “is your favorite sport hockey?”
He laughed. “Because I played it in coll
ege,” he said.
He turned to her dad. “I think she’s absolutely fine, but, obviously, keep an eye on her for any symptoms the next few days. And no soccer until Wednesday. If she’s got no symptoms between now and then, let her go.”
“But we have practice on Tuesday,” Andi objected. The team had Monday off, since there was no game Tuesday.
“You can miss one practice, Andi,” her dad said.
“And be glad that’s all it is,” Dr. Hall said. “It looks like you got lucky.”
Andi sighed. She knew arguing was pointless. And the doctor was right—she’d gotten lucky.
* * *
Jeff was relieved to hear that the doctor thought Andi was all right when she called him on Saturday afternoon.
“Missing one practice is no big deal,” he said. “It’s not like we don’t all know our roles at this point.”
“I’m just glad we don’t have a game Tuesday,” she said. “That would have been a big deal.”
They talked for a while about Friday’s win. “It’s too bad your dad wasn’t out there with a crew,” Andi said. “He could have done another story just on that game.”
No response.
“Jeff, you there?” she asked.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “Just thinking it’s a good thing we’ll have you back when we play Blue Bell.”
“Yeah,” she said. “They must be pretty good. Their only losses are to King of Prussia–North and Cynwyd.”
“At least we’re playing them at home.”
“Yeah, helps not to have to ride the bus, doesn’t it?”
They talked for another fifteen minutes, and Jeff was still smiling when he hung up the phone.
34
When Andi walked onto the practice field on Wednesday, several of the boys who were already out there stopped to clap for her and came over to welcome her back.
Benchwarmers Page 13