Love & Other Great Expectations by Becky Dean
Dreams are like knees—you don’t realize how fragile they are until something rips them to shreds. I sank onto the first row of bleachers overlooking Fairview High’s athletic field. One hand rubbed the massive brace gripping my leg, which was tight after my cross-campus trek. The other clutched the strange envelope I’d found in my locker but hadn’t opened in my rush to arrive. Arrive, so I could leave before the game started. Girls in royal blue jerseys and blue-and-white striped socks sat on the grass, stretching. I’d made it in time. Warm-ups, I could handle. Games, however, were more torture than physical therapy, a tactic that could’ve cracked terror suspects. If I’d happened to schedule PT during the three playoff games the past two weeks…well, it was purely coincidental. Several teammates waved from the field. One shouted, “We miss you, Britt. Can’t wait to have you back.” My heart stutter-stepped as I returned the wave. They’d be waiting a long, long time. But they only knew about the knee, not the rest of it.