Another ball caught, then kicked back onto the field; he was good. I looked up at the coach, his brows were furrowed as his eyes followed the ball like a hawk.
"Dad, what's the goalie's name again?"
He didn't answer.
"Dad."
He glanced at me then turned back to the game, "Yeah, honey."
"What's the goalie's name?"
"Davis, best one I've ever had."
"Yeah, I know. You told me. But didn't he get a concussion last year? I didn't think he'd come back."
"Oh yeah, he loves this game. Loves being a goalie. He's a bit timid around those poles now, though. He's still great."
As if to prove my dad's point, Davis dove for another ball, gripping it firmly in his hands and sliding across the grass.
It was the start of the new school year, and the new soccer season. Dad loved his job as coach, and wanted me to be on the team, but after five years of forced torture, he let me quit. Soccer was a good game, but me? I wasn't made for sports. I was more for the academics, thinking things through and working it out with my head, not my feet.
This year, Davis was in one of my school classes. Despite the fact that he'd been on my dad's team for about three years now, I hardly knew him at all. Because of all my AP classes, I was usually doing homework instead of going to games and practices with my dad. Ever since high school started, it's been pretty crazy. But now it was my senior year, I'd taken all the AP classes offered at my school (?), so I was taking it easy. I had nice, simple classes, and some of them were even fun. So, as a result of my not-so-hard classes, I was "able" to go to more games with my Dad.
Not that I minded watching soccer, but I was hoping I might actually have a social life this year. Dad thinks I should hook-up with one of the guys on the team. He's worried since I haven't had a boyfriend all through high school. He's so weird; shouldn't that make him happy?
I sighed and turned back to the game. The score was tied and there was only about 10 minutes left, that's why my dad was so tense.
The other team was coming down the field again with the ball, the guy was seriously sprinting down and slowly pulling ahead of everyone. I was Davis preparing. The guy kicked the ball a bit too far in front of him, so Davis went for it, and just as he had it in his hands, the boy kicked it and it flew the two feet to his face and knocked him to the ground.
The ref blew the whistle, and my dad rushed onto the field. Davis sad up slowly, holding his head, blood was rushing down his face. I followed behind my dad slowly.
"I think my nose is broken." Davis mumbled.
I stayed back, trying to watch my dad instead of the blood still running down Davis' face.
"Alright," My dad said, "Come on, I'm going to take you to the hospital."
"What about the game?" Davis asked
"I'll put McCormick in, it'll be okay."
"Dad." I piped up.
"They'll be okay for ten minutes..."
"Dad!" He looked over at me. "You stay here for the game, I can take him."
He blinked, "Oh, yes. You do that." He turned back to Davis who was staring at me. "Davis, go with Amy. Amy, grab one of those towels from the back for him, please." He helped him up then Davis followed me down the hill to the parking lot. I rummaged through the trunk, skipping over my favorite towel, then brought an old one to him that he promptly wiped his face with, then held to his nose.
I climbed into the drivers seat and glanced at him. Despite the blood smeared on his face and the sweat still on his forehead, I could tell he was handsome. Our drive to the hospital was quiet. I stayed in the waiting room when the nurse took him in. I'm sure he wouldn't want me there, and personally I didn't like the thought of seeing all that dried blood or his broken nose.
My dad showed up a few minutes later. "Hey, how's he doing?"
"I don't know. Where's the team?" I asked.
"It's not that serious, they didn't want to embarrass him. What do you mean you don't know?"
"I haven't been in there."
"Well, come on."
I talked to the lady at the desk and she let us in. When we walked into the room, he was laying down on the bed. His face was all cleaned up now, but his nose was a bit swollen.
"Please let him rest."
I jumped a little and turned to see a nurse in the doorway.
"He has a minor concussion and needs some sleep."
"Is his nose broken?" My dad asked.
"Yes, but it's only a fracture. He shouldn't need surgery. I've got the x-rays right here."
Dad went over to see them, so I went down and sat by the bed. I looked over his still figure, peacefully sleeping. Or so I thought.
"Could you call my parents."
I sat up, his eyes were still closed. I stared at him for a moment, he peeked at me, "Please."
"Uh, sure." I took out my cell phone, then waited for him to tell me their number. "Um...Davis?"
He didn't move.
"Davis?"
Still nothing. I couldn't figure out if he really fell asleep or if he was just ignoring me. I stared at him for a moment longer then turned to my dad. "Hey Dad, what's Davis' parent's number?" I asked.
"Hm?" He looked at me, "Oh!" he quickly rummaged through his pockets and brought out a crumpled piece of paper, "Here hun, it's the home number."
I stood up and took the paper, then searched down the list, obviously typed by my dad, till I found Davis. There were two numbers, I found the home one, like he said, and dialed it. It rang, and rang, and rang. No one answered.
"You've reached the Davis residence, leave a message at the tone." A man said, he sounded like he could be the machine recording.
It beeped. "Hello, this is Amy Evans, the daughter of Coach Evans. I just wanted to let you know your son, Davis, is in the hospital . It's nothing serious, he has a fracture in his nose and a minor concussion, but he's fine. He told me to call you, he's down at _______ hospital. We'll be driving him home. Thanks. Bye."
I handed the list back to my dad, he was still talking to the nurse. She wanted him to wait till Davis woke up to take him home. Dad was trying to debate with her, but I knew it was only 'cause there was a game on tonight that he wanted to see.
I let them argue it out, then looked at Davis again, pretty sure he was asleep this time. He was still in half of his uniform, you could see his cleats sticking out of the bottom of the blanket. The blanket that was probably only there because his blood shirt was hung over the chair next to him instead of on his body.
I was interrupted in my observing again, but it turns out I would have plenty more time later. My dad decided that I should stay behind to take Davis home, since we had two cars and all, and he would go home and make dinner. Or so that's what he told the nurse. Only I knew that my dad was irresponsible in everything but his job. And only I knew that my dad hadn't cooked dinner since my mom left back when I was five.
So, I was left alone with sleeping Davis. My only entertainment being the room around me and the 'snake' game on my phone.
After I died again on my game, I peeked at Davis. Man, this guy can sleep. I sighed and went back to my playing.
That got boring fast, so I put my phone away and looked around. The room was getting darker as the sun lowered into the clouds lining the horizon. I was really tempted to just poke him or something so he would wake up. He could sleep at home for goodness sake, I'm hungry! And a warm dinner won't be waiting for me at home, I pouted, I have to make it first. Ugh, and I never got any homework done!
"Who are you?"
My eyes popped open and I looked around for a nurse, but found only Davis sitting there with his eyes open.
"Oh, um. You don't remember me? I'm Amy Evans, Coach Evans daughter."
His face hardened, "What are you doing here?"
I looked at him, surprised and a bit confused, "M-my dad told me to take you home when you woke up."
He sighed and sat up, only then did I realize how muscular he was. Out on the feild, and in the corner of the classroom, he could look almost gangly because he was so thin. But up close I could see the definition in each of his muscles, the way they stretched and flexed across his back as he stood up.
He looked back at me, "Lets go." I blushed a little, realizing I was gawking, then followed him out the door.
The car ride was tense, he had been so cold to me in the hospital I wasn't sure what was wrong. I assumed he was just grumpy, I'm sure his nose hurt, and probably his head too.
"My dad really likes you on the team." I said, trying to break the silence.
"Turn left here." He said stiffly.
"He says you're the best goalie he's ever had."
"Right there." He pointed at a house.
"Are you going to play next year?" I asked as one last attempt to get a kind response from him.
He looked me square in the eye, "I don't care about your father or his stupid team. So, quit trying to be all friendly with me and just bug off." He climbed out and slammed the door, leaving me speachless.
