The Game Changer

Part 2

I sit on the edge of my bed and tug my favorite black dress up my sore body. I can hardly walk and climbing up the stairs to our dorm was one of the worst experiences I've ever had.

Finally, I have the dress all the way on. Now it's time for shoes. I've decided to wear a pair of silver sandals, though, they have very minimum support. After I put my left one on, I attempt to fasten the right, but to my dismay, completely fail.

"Megan?" I call out to my second roommate.

"Yes?" she says walking into my room.

"Would you mind, um, helping me tie up my shoe?" I say unconfidently.

"Yeah sure," she says rushing over to the side of the bed and kneeling down to quickly and successfully fastens my shoe.

"Thank you. What're your plans for tonight?" She doesn't play soccer, so she won't be going to the dinner.

"Genieve and Claire and their boyfriends are coming over to play Cards Against Humanity. Will is coming over, too."

I step off of my bed and hobble over to the door.

"Well, you guys have fun. But, please if you and Will go at it again, at least take it to your bedroom this time. My eyes are still recovering," I plead.

"Deal," she laughs and follows me out into the living room.

"Ready to go?" Taylin asks me as we enter the living room.

"Yeah, let's go," I respond.

"See ya," we tell Megan as we step out the door.

---

"Eleanor!" my teammates greet me excitedly.

"How's your ankle?" Meredith asks.

"Good. Just sprained," I reply.

I sit down in the tall chair and scooch myself towards the table.

"How long will it take to heal?" Abby asks me.

"It'll take awhile to completely heal, but I'm playing tomorrow," I lie, not even making a big deal out of it.

The girls all smile and say things like good, thank god, and I'm so glad, at once.

All but Taylin, luckily, she doesn't say anything about what the doctor's true orders were.

I space out the rest of dinner, ordering the spaghetti, a carbohydrate like all the girls do the night before a game.

When Taylin and I are in the car driving home she finally addresses my lie. I had seen it coming from the minute it left my lips at dinner. "You're not playing tomorrow."

"Yes, I am," I argue.

"You'll only injure yourself further and I'll tell coach if you even decide to put on your shinguards."

"Tell him what? How will saying anything benefit anyone? You saw me playing right after I sprained it, I was fine. It didn't even hurt to kick the ball."

"It might not have hurt then, but it will tomorrow. How will you even get your swollen ankle into your cleat, huh? Have you thought about that?"

"If there's a will, there's a way," I whisper mostly to myself.

"No, if there's an idiot there're idiotic ways," she spits back a sloppy reply. "You won't be helping the team if you can barely walk straight."

"It has nothing to do with you," I say through gritted teeth. I think she gets my message from my tone, because she stays silent the rest of the way home, dropping the subject.