“I know I’m getting way ahead of myself. Waaaaay. It’s a whole year out. But wouldn’t it be cool if we lived in the same city after we graduated? At least the same state. Trust, you’d have front-row seats to every game you could make. And you’d better have some seats with my name on them, too. I could even visit you at your dorm. Kick your roommate to the curb for a little bit,” he says, and laughs.

“Yeah,” I say, feeling his words flying around inside me with no place to land. Most of the schools recruiting me will be off the table if I don’t play basketball. Who knows where I’ll end up?

College applications are due next January. I need to start working on them this fall, but which ones? If I want to study astronomy, Vassar and Vanderbilt have cool observatories. If I want to be some type of artist or designer, RISD or Parsons would be good choices. If I want to be a writer, Northwestern and Brown have good creative writing programs. If I want to be some type of historian, UCLA would be a good option. It’s not like I haven’t done the research. The signs just haven’t spoken yet. But what exactly am I supposed to do about that? I’ve done everything I can! I want to yell from the top of my lungs. I want to tell him everything.

But I don’t. And it feels miserable. It’s like all of Rex’s pain got to go outside and play in the rain—with everything we feel, with his dreams—until the sun came out. But all of my pain is still stuck inside, staring through rain-streaked windows at everyone playing.

Bubbles of Hope

CARLI

Mom pulls into the lot behind her design studio. We just got back from my two-week checkup, where I got the worst news. Dr. Williams advised easing back into playing over the next day or so but said that I should be able to go full force for the first round of the playoffs next Saturday.

“So that’s it? You just want me to show up for practice on Monday and start playing again?” I say, rubbing my hands together in front of the vents of her old Land Rover Discovery. I swear it took the whole drive over here for the heat to kick in. I’ve been telling Mom she needs a new car. She’s had this thing since before I was born but refuses to give it up. Says she likes the old body style. I’d take good heat and not having to stop at a gas station every three seconds, but that’s me.

“Well, you know, Dr. Williams did clear you to play,” she says, and starts wrapping an oversized mustard-yellow scarf around her neck.