All In (Changing Hearts Book 2)

by Yesenia Vargas

  Ariana looks at me and smiles. She comes in for a hug, squeezing me tight. I squeeze her back. Then she goes to my mom and dad, hugging them both.

  It looks like she’s the old her too.

  This is gonna be the best Christmas ever. Nothing can go wrong.

  “Everything is going wrong, Ariana,” I say. I slam my hand on the table in frustration.

  “What’s up?” she asks as she pulls up a chair beside me.

  “This thing won’t let me go to the next screen,” I say. I’m talking about the college application in front of me. It’s for my first choice, the University of Georgia. I’m finally filling it out, along with a few others to some other schools, including Kentucky. Coach Blair had finally gotten back to me and said I needed to start applying. I am a student athlete, and schools are gonna be looking at my grades too, especially if I want to qualify for a scholarship.

  If these applications are a taste of what the actual school is going to be like…well. Let’s just say I’m not my sister.

  Ariana pulls the computer towards her.

  “You forgot to type in your name, silly,” she says, typing it in for me.

  Jimmy Aguilar.

  “Oh,” I say sheepishly. Haaa.

  She gives the computer back, and I keep filling stuff out. I get to an essay.

  “What?” I shout at no one in particular. “I have to write an essay?”

  “Uh, yeah,” she says. She reads it. “Describe your biggest academic challenge and how you overcame it. Two paragraphs. Not bad at all. The papers for my classes now are like ten times that long.”

  “What’s your hourly rate?” I ask, looking up at her.

  “Yeah, right,” she says. “Good luck. Maybe you can write about their application being too academically challenging for you.” She laughs at her own joke.

  “Ha. Ha,” I say sarcastically, but I’m just glad she’s actually smiling. I smile to myself and start writing some stuff down. Maybe I’ll write about that one time in third grade when I made that science project with the remote control cars.

  Nah.

  I start tapping my foot, trying to think of something good.

  “Maybe I’ll come back to this later,” I say, a minute later. I click save and exit.

  “You need to look for scholarships,” she says, coming back over to the dining table.

  I shrug. “Won’t need one when I get my basketball scholarship, right?”

  “True. But what if you don’t get the basketball scholarship?”

  “Can’t I get HOPE?” I ask. HOPE is the scholarship the state gives you if you have a B average or higher. The counselor had given us a huge speech to us about it the other day, but that was all I remembered.

  “Yeah, but you need to apply for it, and it won’t cover everything. It’ll cover most of your tuition, but then there’s books and fees too. Not to mention you need money for gas and stuff.”

  “There are scholarships for that?” I ask.

  “Jimmy, have you learned nothing from me in the past two years?” she asks, typing something into Google. “I’ve been telling you everything you need to do.”

  “I have the B average I need,” I say.

  “Yeah, but we need to apply for HOPE and look for some other scholarships to cover your other stuff.”

  I sigh. This seems like it’s going to be a lot of work. And who’s gonna want to pick me, a B-average student, for academic scholarships? School’s going to start back up again in two weeks. I already don’t have time to see Mayra. Now I’m supposed to do all of this stuff too?

  “So where’s Ryan at?” Mayra asks. We’re sitting on her couch. I look at my phone. No messages.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I asked him if he wanted to come over, but he never answered.”

  It’s Christmas day, but we already celebrated at midnight. Family tradition. Now we’re being lazy and watching movies at Mayra’s.

  “What’s going on with him?” Ariana asks. Something is off about her, but I ignore it for now.

  “He’s been having a lot of family stuff going on lately,” I say.

  “Is it getting better?” Mayra says. She’s on the couch next to me.

  “Not really,” I say. Ariana’s in the recliner. The one I used to sit in all the time. Just this room has a lot of memories. I remember when her first ex came, Carlos, over that one time. It was me on the recliner and them on the couch. Man, she dodged a bullet with that guy. But at least he didn’t bother her anymore. Lucky for him.

  Then two years ago, it had been Lucas with her on the couch. He had actually been a pretty nice guy. Until he broke up with her. I sigh. I wonder when she’ll find that one guy, the one who’ll stick beside her no matter what.

  My stomach growls.

  “I’m hungry,” I say.

  “Again?” Mayra asks. “Are you serious? I still feel like I’m about to bust out of these jeans.”

  “I’m a growing man. I need constant fuel.”

  Mayra rolls my eyes, but what I notice is Ariana. She’s way too quiet, just staring at the TV but not really watching it.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask her. Mayra turns towards her, and the smile falls off her face. Ariana’s deep in thought. Then she seems to pop out of it and turn towards me, caught off guard.

  “Oh, nothing. Just tired.”

  It doesn’t make sense to me, though. She’s lying. I wonder what she really is thinking about. Maybe all of this is reminding her of Lucas.

  Four weeks later, winter break is well over. I’m on the court again. It’s the first game of the new year. I’m really nervous today, and I have no idea why. I’m doing high knees to stay warm. The stands are full, but I don’t see the people. Except for our second game, we’re undefeated. And today, we’re going against the toughest team in the county. The Westview Eagles. On their turf.

  We cannot lose.

  Even the coach looks a little nervous. He’s pacing back and forth but seems to realize what he’s doing and stops to look at his clipboard instead.

  I finally stop and go shoot some free throws with everyone else. I look at the clock. No blank slate yet. It’s showing two minutes until game time. Sometimes that countdown is more nerve-wracking than the actual game.

  I glance at the bleachers. Both my parents came today, and they’re in their usual spot, in the middle, near the top. Mayra waves at me. And so does my mom. My dad’s on his phone, probably taking one last call from work. Ariana’s not there. She’s back at UGA. She’d left a few days early, wanting to have a day or two to relax back in her dorm with her roommate before her classes started.

  I try not to think about the fact that not having her here too feels wrong. Or the fact that over the last few days, she started acting real weird again. I asked Mayra about it, and she said being home just brought back a lot of memories of Lucas. And how a small part of her still loves him. I sigh. I feel bad for her, but I can’t think about that right now. I need to focus on the game. Winning this game no matter what.

  I grab a ball and practice my free throws, pushing everything else out of my mind.

  A couple minutes later, the referee is throwing the ball into the air to start the game. Damien’s hand slaps it, and it flies towards me. I jump up and grab it.

  Yes.

  I pass to Ryan, who gets it and passes it to Philip. He dribbles down the court and does a lay up. Two points.

  That’s what I’m talking about.

  The other team grabs the ball and takes it out, dribbling down the court. I’m guarding this insanely huge guy. He’s taller than me and almost twice as wide. He could almost be a center. But he’s faster than a center and aggressive too.

  I have my hands up, my eyes darting between this guy and number one on the other team. They’re not getting the ball tonight.

  Fourth quarter. 63-64. We’re up one point.

  Then we’re down two. Then up one after a three-point play.

  We’re leaving everything on
the floor tonight, but the problem is the other team is too, and they’re not letting us get ahead at all.

  I’m so tired. We all are. We’re dripping with sweat and out of breath. The coach hasn’t subbed me at all, or most of the team. My ribs on the right side are tender from being elbowed.

  I look the clock. Four minutes left. But it’s been like twice that with all the fouls and free throws. In four minutes at the least, we’ll have lost or won. I’m still guarding big guy. Number twenty-seven. We’re on defense right now. We just made a three, and we’re up a point again. The point guard drives in, and Damien jumps with him as he goes to put the ball in. It goes in as they collide.

  The referee’s whistle sounds through the gym.

  You have got to be kidding me.

  We line up so the guy can take his free throw. I’m closest to the hoop, knees bent and ready to jump as soon as I sense the right moment to grab that ball and get it back to our side. The gym is mostly quiet. Three and a half minutes. This can still go either way.

  The referee throws the ball to the guy at the free throw line. He dribbles a few times. He’s taking forever. I see him taking a few deep breaths, but I all I care about is when that ball is gonna leave his hands. And where it’s going to go, so I can grab it. Hopefully not in the net.

  He releases the ball. It’s going to miss. Right after it arches, reaching its highest point and falling fast towards the basket, I jump. Everything depends on this one moment.

  Everything happens so fast. I sense number twenty-seven jumping with me. We’re leaping at each other, both going for the ball, but only one of us is going to succeed. My hand touches the ball, and at the same time, our bodies collide, and one of his hands is pushing me back. Hard.

  But in that instant I’m closer to the ball. I flick it back, hoping one of our guys is there.

  Then I’m sprawled on the floor, and all I know is that sharp, intense pain is shooting up my right ankle.

  Something is very wrong with it.

  I immediately clutch it. I’m using everything in me to not cry out. My eyes are clenched shut as well as my jaw.

  I hear the whistle go off again in the background, and I hear voices around me, but I can’t focus on what they’re saying. Just the pain.

  I roll to the side, still holding my leg. I let out a groan, but the pain is still there.

  Ryan’s face is there.

  “Are you okay, man? Can you get up?”

  My breathing is quick. I look at him. “I don’t know.”

  “Give him some room,” the ref calls out. But Ryan doesn’t go anywhere. I glance around. The rest of the players take a knee as the coach jogs out onto the court. The crowd is quiet again, some people standing. But what worries me is that the pain in my ankle is not really going away.

  The coach kneels down next to me. “I don’t think it’s broken. Probably a real bad sprain. Can you get up for me, son?”

  He looks at me for an answer. I’m still trying not to cry out in pain. “I think so.”

  He grabs one of my shoulders and Ryan the other. Philip quickly walks over and takes over for the coach. The crowd claps, but honestly, I’m holding back tears. And not because of the pain.

  I limp towards the bench with the help of Ryan and Philip. The coach is behind me. I glance towards the stands, to the spot where my parents and Mayra are sitting. They’re not there anymore. They’re coming down the stands as fast as they can towards me. Mayra has this look on her face, one I’ve never seen before. She knows what I know.

  This is bad.

  My last basketball season at Eastview High School is over.

  Six

  All I do on the way to the emergency room is check my phone for a text from Ryan. The game’s gonna be over any minute now. I need to know if we won or not.

  I feel like throwing up. I hate not being there. I’m supposed to be there, helping the team.

  I let out a huge sigh. The pain in my ankle is a little better, but it’s still throbbing, the pain circulating throughout the rest of my body.

  “Is it getting worse, mijo?” my mom asks. She’s sitting with me in the back. Mayra had almost left her car behind at the school, but I’d finally convinced her to just follow us.

  “No, ma,” I say.

  I’m lying in the back as best as I can, but I don’t really fit, especially with my mom back here with me. I’m kinda glad to have her, though.

  She kisses me on the forehead. I look at my phone again. Nothing.

  As we pull up to a red light, my phone finally goes off. It’s a text from Ryan.

  We won!! By one point!! Buzzer beater from Henry.

  I sigh in relief, resting my head back for a second. I finally smile, and the pain relents just a little.

  I look back at my phone. Another text.

  The referee called a foul after you left on #27. I made both free throws ;) Then I got a technical 30 seconds later for fouling #27 haha. He had it coming. He totally knocked you down on purpose.

  I laugh out loud. “Ganamos,” I tell my mom and dad.

  “What worries me is that leg of yours,” my mom says. My dad agrees.

  I text Ryan back.

  Thanks for having my back! Score??

  I wait for his response. We’re just a few minutes away from the ER now. I cringe as my leg shifts from my dad’s fast driving.

  73-72. We wanted to pour Gatorade on the coach, but it didn’t feel right without you lol how’s your ankle by the way??

  I smile and text back. That would have been the perfect ending to to the win, seeing the look on the coach’s face as he got drenched. Seeing the look on number twenty-seven’s face. I need to remember to do that for the last game—drenching the coach, that is.

  Still hurting like a b. Almost at the ER :/ I’ll text you later.

  We’re finally pulling into the parking lot. My dad parks at the doors and jogs in. He comes back out with a wheelchair. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach just seeing him wheel it closer to me.

  As I shift position to get out of the car, I can see from the ER lights outside that at least my ankle isn’t that swollen.

  But I cry out as I get out of the car and into the wheelchair. I cannot move it at all. No bending or twisting. I can’t put any weight on it. Just barely moving it to get out of the car and into the wheelchair hurts like hell. I really hope it’s not broken.

  Now that I’m not thinking about the fact that we won, I’m starting to realize this may be it for me. And senior year of basketball.

  This doesn’t look good at all. Even if it’s not broken, it’s a really bad sprain or a fracture or something. And I doubt I’m going to play for a while.

  Please, I think. This can’t be the end. Not when I’ve gotten so close to my dream.

  My dad pushes me into the waiting room, and my mom rushes off to the nurse at the front desk. I hear my dad say something about parking the car and being right back.

  All I can think about though, and look at, is my ankle.

  I have no idea what my future holds now.

  “Jimmy.” It’s Mayra. She’s at my side, but her mouth falls open as she takes in the sight of my ankle.

  She slowly turns her gaze towards me, her mouth hanging open. I can’t bring myself to say anything, and neither can she.

  All I can do is look into her eyes before she pulls me into a hug.

  An hour later, I’m still in a hospital bed, just sick of it all. I want to go home. I hate being here.

  I had gotten some x-rays over half an hour ago, and still, the damn doctor hadn’t shown up to tell me what’s wrong with my ankle, if I’ll be able to play or not.

  I need to know.

  At least they gave me something for the pain. I barely feel anything other than a pulse now.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to eat? Your father can go get you something,” my mom asks for the third time in ten minutes. “You need to eat.”

  “No, Mom. Thanks. I’m not hungry,” I repeat
. I can’t even tear my eyes away from the lame TV show playing on the ancient television in front of me. My mom had asked the nurse if I could have something to drink. She’d brought me some orange juice, and Mayra had bought me a pastry from the vending machine, since I hadn’t eaten since noon. But I’m not hungry.

  I still remember the last time I was in a hospital. It was when Ariana’s coward of an ex-boyfriend and his buddies had almost beat me to a pulp.

  At least Ariana had been here then, watching bad TV with me. I glance over at Mayra. Her chest rises and falls slowly. She had fallen asleep five minutes ago.

  “Did you tell Ariana what happened?” I ask my mom, not taking my eyes off of Mayra.

  My mom looks at her phone in her hand. “I sent her a message a few minutes ago, but she hasn’t replied.” She pauses, looking up at me. “She must be asleep. Her classes are early.”

  I nod. I don’t want to think about it, but I can’t help but wonder if she’ll show up. I look back at Mayra.

  She must be exhausted, but she won’t go home. Not until the doctor comes back and tells us if everything is going to be okay. I feel like shit even more just watching her.

  She should be at home, sleeping in her bed so she can go to work tomorrow. And school.

  I sigh. Senior year has kinda sucked. College had to be better than this.

  Just as I think that college is gonna suck worse if I can’t play ball, the door is finally pushed open as someone knocks.

  Please be the doctor and not the nurse again.

  An old guy in a lab coat steps in. He has a clipboard in his hand, and he’s wearing green scrubs.

  It’s about time.

  I sit up as best as I can, trying not to move around my bad leg too much.

  “Hi, Jimmy,” he says, all chipper, like we’re old friends or something, and I decide I don’t like this guy. His greeting just sounds fake. I fight off the need to roll my eyes. Just tell me what’s wrong, and when I can play.

  “Is this Mom?” he asks. “And Dad?” He’s indicating my parents. They nod, and so do I.