“Maybe she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I could go back to play too soon and rip my stomach apart,” I say, annoyed at my own high-pitched, whiny voice.

Mom grabs her phone and keys out of one of the cupholders in the center console and says, “Okay.” But it’s not a you’re-right okay. It’s more like a you’re-being-ridiculous okay. Doesn’t she know I can hear the difference?

“I’m serious, Mom! I bet you won’t be so nonchalant when my stomach rips open.” Then I remember Mom and me getting down to old-school Ciara this morning in the kitchen before she took me to the doctor. I had the nerve to drop down into the splits. Yes, the splits! With ease, like I never even had surgery. I’m telling you, technology has gotten too advanced for its own damn good.

“Not sure how that’s gonna happen. The puncture wounds were so tiny you didn’t even need stitches.”

Oooo, I hate when Mom calmly throws out facts when all I’m trying to do is pitch a fit.

“And honestly, Carli,” Mom says, reaching into the backseat for her neon-yellow Cambridge satchel, “I don’t see any reason you shouldn’t finish the season if you’re physically able.” She throws her phone and keys into the bag.

“But you know I hate basketball!”

“Yes, but the championship game is only . . . what? Two weeks away. And that’s if your team keeps winning. Either way, it will all be over soon. After that, you can choose a different direction. You have a lot to think about, you know.” She lifts her portable tea infuser from the cupholder closest to her and takes a sip.

“Yeah, how can I forget?”

“Come on,” she says, and opens the car door, cold air blasting my face. Late February, and winter finally decides to show up in Houston. It’s freaking thirty-one degrees. I swear everything wants to be on my nerves today.

We walk through the back door and down a hall lined with tiny, glass-front offices. It’s been forever since I’ve been in here. I don’t recognize any of the girls behind their white, modern desks, staring at their large Mac screens. But their white, pushpin walls, covered by all things interior design, are just as cool as I remember.