Bright Purple: Color Me Confused with Bonus Content (13 page)

“Knock it off!” Lauren yells at Jess after I take a hit that knocks me to the floor.

“Yeah,” says BJ, who is actually on Jess’s scrimmage team. “Take it easy, Jess. This isn’t WWF you know.”

Then Coach finally gets a clue, blows his whistle, and takes Jess out for a while. During this time, both teams play hard and fast, but the tension factor seems to lighten a little. Then, as we’re closing in, and it looks like my team will have a sure win, Coach sends Jess back in. I try not to think about it, reminding myself that this could happen in a real game, that someone on the opposing team could take a strong dislike to me and try to make me suffer.

“Okay, now let’s see some good defense!” Coach yells as Lauren is dribbling down court and I’m making a sprint for the key. Then, just as I get into position, Lauren makes a great pass. I go up for what looks like a sure shot and
bam!
I am hit from behind by what feels like a linebacker or maybe a Toyota pickup. The ball goes flying from my hands and I go straight down. I use my left hand to block my fall, but it seems to give out on me and I continue to plunge, smacking my forehead right into the floor. I think I see stars.

“Are you okay?” asks Lauren, who is standing over me now.

I sit up, holding my left arm in front of me. It looks a little crooked, or maybe it’s just that my vision is impaired from the whack on the head. “What happened?” I ask.

“Jess ran into you,” says BJ, who is also standing over me. She turns and glares at Jess, who is standing a few feet away and looking on with what seems like genuine concern.

“On purpose!” snaps Lauren.

“It was not,” says Jess.

“Yes, it was,” says BJ in a slightly calmer voice. “I saw it too, Jess. you could’ve stopped if you wanted to. you just barreled right into her. Intentionally.”

“You don’t know that for a fact,” says Jess.

“We’re not blind, Jess!” yells Lauren. She’s standing in front of her now, just inches from Jess’s face. “We know what you’re doing!”

“You’ve had it out for Ramie all day,” says Kara Landrum, a senior who usually plays center.

“Yeah, everyone can see it,” says another player.

“What’s the problem?” asks Coach as he finally steps onto the court and walks toward us.

“The problem is that Jess is way outta control,” says Lauren. “She’s trying to
kill
Ramie.”

“You okay, Grant?” Coach comes closer and peers down at me now.

I rub my right hand along my throbbing left arm. “I think I did something to my wrist.”

“Help her up,” he tells my teammates. Lauren and Kara carefully help me to my feet as I protect my left arm. “Let’s see that.” He examines my wrist, which is starting swell, and then nods. “Yep, looks like you may have busted something, Grant.” He turns to Kara. “Get an icepack, will ya?”

“Oh no,” moans Lauren. Then she points her forefinger at Jess. “This is your fault! If Ramie’s arm is broken and she ends up missing the season, we’ll all have you to thank, Jess!”

“Way to go, Jess,” says someone else.

“There goes our chance for state,” says Amy.

Without saying anything, Jess just walks off.

“Help Ramie over to the bleachers,” Coach tells my friends.

“I can walk,” I tell them as they hover like flies, guiding me to the bleachers, where they sit me down.

“Do you want me to call your parents?” asks Coach. “Or do you think you need paramedics?”

I kind of laugh. “No way am I going outta here in an ambulance. “Just call my mom, okay?” And then I tell him the number.

The coach tells the girls to continue the game while he makes the call. I watch from the sidelines, trying to focus on the players instead of the growing pain in my wrist. After about thirty minutes my mom shows up, looking worried and upset. She hurries over to me and I assure her that I’m okay, but that I probably need some medical attention.

“Jess was trying to take her out,” Lauren tells my mom.

“Yeah,” says Amy. “She looked like she wanted to kill her.”

“Really?” My mom’s brows raise with interest. “Why would Jess do that?”

Some of the girls kind of laugh now, and some even make some crude comments about Jess’s messed-up mind, and all I want is to get out of here. “Let’s go, Mom,” I tell her as I stand.

“Well, Jess has always been a good friend to Ramie,” Mom says as we’re leaving. “I’m sure that whatever happened was purely accidental.”

“Yeah, right,” says Amy with a snort.

Coach offers to bring my bike home for me in his pickup, and I tell BJ where the key to my bike lock is.

“And I’ll get your stuff for you,” says BJ.

“Thanks.”

When Mom and I are outside, I actually start feeling a little unsteady on my feet, like the ground isn’t quite even or maybe it’s moving. “Can I hold on to you?” I ask.

“Of course. Are you sure you’re okay?” She looks at me with concern.

“I hit my head when I fell,” I admit. “I guess I’m kinda dizzy.

So Mom helps me into the car and even gives me a blanket to wrap up in, since I’m still just wearing my jersey and shorts, which are pretty sweaty and cold. It’s comforting to see her taking care of me like this, but at the same time I’m worried. What if my wrist really is broken? What if I really am out for the season? I felt like I was going bonkers after missing just one day of practice last week. How will I handle a whole season of sitting on the sidelines?

Was this really Jess’s fault? Did she really hit me like that on purpose? Thinking back, it did seem like it was a full-impact collision, with no holding back. But then Jess, although shorter than me, probably outweighs me by fifty pounds. She could easily knock me over without trying too hard. Still, I have to admit that the hit felt like more than just an accident. It felt like she really did want to take me out. Why does she hate me so much?

A
FTER WHAT SEEMS TO TAKE FOREVER TO BE EXAMINED AND X-RAYED AND
examined again, my wrist turns out to be moderately sprained, which means that although some ligaments have been torn, none have completely detached from the bone. This is good news.

The doctor prescribes the RICE treatment, which means (1) Rest for forty-eight hours, (2) Ice packs every twenty minutes, (3) Compression via an elastic wrap, and (4) Elevation above my heart.

“Does this mean I can’t go out tonight?” I ask the doctor.

She laughs. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Between your wrist injury and the blow to your head, you need to remain quiet and just rest tonight and tomorrow too.”

“What about basketball?” I ask her. “Do you think I’ll be able to play this season?”

“I doubt that you’ll be playing for at least a week or two,” she says as she wraps my wrist. “But, like I told your mom, you need to schedule an appointment with your own family doctor or a sports physician next week. He or she can give you a more accurate prognosis.”

As we wait for someone to return with my prescription for pain meds and some release papers, Mom helps me to dial Mitch’s number on my cell phone. I’m guessing he’s at work, since he doesn’t answer,
but I leave a message anyway, explaining the situation, and then Mom hangs up for me.

I know it’s silly, but I can tell I’m close to tears. Why is this happening to me?

“Sorry, honey,” she tells me. “But I’m sure Mitch will understand.”

Finally, we’re back at home. I am so tired I’m not sure I can make it up the steps to my room, but maybe it’s the pain medication.

“Why don’t you stay down here on the couch,” Mom suggests. “That way I can hear you better if you need something.”

So she brings me a pillow and a fluffy comforter, and soon I am settled in the family room. I’m surprised at how kind and caring my mom can be as she brings me things to eat and keeps changing my ice pack. It’s not that my mom isn’t normally a good mom, but I’ve never considered her a very nurturing person. Of course, that might be because Mom has always worked and I’ve always had a strong independent streak. Maybe I just never gave her the chance before.

Mom makes me turn my cell phone over to her, and then she fields a few calls for me. I can hear her explaining my condition and that I need to rest, but I can’t tell who she’s talking to. Finally, I decide that I don’t really care and I just let myself drift off to sleep. I can’t believe how tired I am.

I sleep off and on into Sunday, then I start to get antsy. So Mom helps me wrap my wrist in a plastic garbage bag and I manage to take a shower and put on some clean clothes.

“Did Mitch call today?” I ask Mom. I know that he called last night, and that she told him about my little accident. But he told her he’d call me today.

“No,” she tells me.

“Oh.”

“But Jess did.”

I make a face.

“She told me she was sorry and that it was an accident, Ramie.”

“What did you expect her to say? That she did it on purpose?”

“She wanted you to call her back.”

“Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.”

Mom looks surprised. “You’re not going to call her back?”

I scowl at her. “No, I’m not. Why should I?”

“Jess used to be your best friend, Ramie. you can’t just wipe her out of your life because she’s gay. She’s still a person with feelings.”

“Yeah, some pretty hateful feelings. you don’t know what that felt like yesterday, Mom. She had it out for me during the whole practice. Everyone saw it. And when she hit me, it’s like she really did want to kill me.”

Mom shrugs. “Well, I suppose it’s natural for her to feel some animosity toward you, Ramie.”

“Why? I haven’t done anything to her.”

“Yes, that’s the point. you
haven’t
done anything. you avoid her, you don’t return her calls, you’re probably ignoring her at school, and I’m sure it’s hurting her a lot.”

“Hey, I’m the one in pain here,” I remind her as I hold up my bandaged wrist.

“Your pain is only temporary.”

“But Jess chose her pain, Mom. She brought it on herself. It wasn’t my fault.”

Mom just gives me that look now, the one that suggests I don’t really understand this whole thing. And so I give the look right back to her, plus a little more.

“You may be a family counselor, Mom,” I say, “But you don’t know
squat about some things.” Then I march up to my room and slam my door. Okay, immature, I know. But how can my mom be so dense?

It’s about five when Mitch calls me on my cell phone and asks if it’s okay to come see me.

“It’s way better than okay,” I tell him. “I was just wondering if it’s possible to die from boredom.”

“I just got off work and thought I’d pick up something to eat. Can I bring you something too?”

“Sure.”

“Pizza sound okay?”

“Pizza is perfect.”

Then I hang up and call down to Mom, telling her not to fix me any dinner, since Mitch is bringing pizza.

“Then maybe you won’t mind if I go to the gym with Brenda,” she says.

“Fine with me,” I tell her. Actually, it’s fantastic with me. I mean I do appreciate her help this weekend, but I think we’ve both maxed out our limit on mother-daughter bonding time.

I spend a little time primping before I go downstairs to make sure the house is presentable, which it is, and before long Mitch shows up.

“That smells yummy,” I say as I lead him into the kitchen. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

He sets the box on the island, then leans over and gives me a gentle kiss on the cheek. “That looks like it hurt.” He points to the lump in the middle of my forehead.

“Yeah.” I open the lid and peak into the box. “But not as much as my wrist.”

“How did it happen anyway?” He removes his jacket, then hangs it on the back of the bar stool.

“My mom didn’t tell you?”

“No. She just said it was a basketball injury.”

I kind of laugh as I use my good hand to reach for plates.

“Here, let me help,” he offers, reaching over my shoulder to get them for me.

Soon we’re both sitting at the island and, as we eat, I tell him the story of how Jess tackled me during the scrimmage.

“You’re kidding?”

“I wish.”

“She really did it on purpose?”

“That’s what everyone said. She’d been playing pretty rough before that. I mean if it had been a real game, I’m sure she would’ve been out of there.” I take another piece of pizza. “I never even saw her coming, but when she hit me, I went flying.”

“Man, if she was a guy, I’d let her have it.” Then he chuckles. “On second thought, maybe she sort of is a guy.”

I make a face. “That’s not funny.”

“What did the coach say?”

I roll my eyes. “Not much. He has a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy and says we girls have to sort these things out among ourselves, thank you very much.”

“So, it’s okay if Jess kills you then?”

“I guess.”

“That’s messed up, Ramie.”

“I know.”

“Are you out for the season?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you care?”

I set down my drink. “Actually, I do care. I decided to go back and I really do want to play. But this whole thing with Jess kinda puts a damper on things. I just told myself to ignore her and to do
my best, and then this happens.” I hold up my wrist and just shake my head.