CHAPTER 1: Basketball, Worms & Pink Dust
Isabelle’s forehead pounded in time to the flickering lamp overhead. Every nerve in her brain vibrated with the racket of a shrilling whistle and sneakers squeaking on the polished wood floor. Pain shot across her left temple, and she hissed, rubbing it.
She checked the watch on her left wrist. 1:50 p.m. “Ten more minutes,” she said, unsure whether she’d last that long. Not when she had a stitch to boot.
Spit flew from Coach Rayfield’s whistle when he piped it again. “Play,” he barked, launching the basketball into the air.
Justin, the lanky center on Isabelle’s team, leapt up and swiped the ball from the opposing team. He passed it to a bouncing Benny, outside the three point line.
Isabelle’s tensed muscles relaxed. Phew. She preferred the ball to be at the other end of the court. Any running or lunging hurt her head. Plus, she didn’t want to embarrass herself with how terrible she was at sports.
Benny dribbled the ball down into the three point goal area, drawing the opposition’s defender, Jemima Peterson, forward. The tall and sporty girl held her arms out wide and splayed her knees.
Isabelle yawned. She’d rather be drawing or reading books on fun scientific discoveries than be trapped in a stifling gymnasium with ten sweaty kids, playing a crummy game of basketball.
Benny turned his back on Jemima, bounced the ball and took short, choppy steps to push her back into the two point goal area.
Her right foot slid sideways, and she shuffled around him trying to swipe the ball.
His body spun, and he sprung up, trying a shot at goal.
The ball flew into Jemima’s raised arms, and she passed it to Mandy Ferguson. Mandy ducked and weaved through Isabelle’s teammates, breaking through the centerline and rushing toward Isabelle’s position in the three point goal area.
Isabelle’s gut clenched, and she lowered herself into a defensive stance.
“Block her,” shouted her teammate Ted Batross.
They formed a little trap, but Mandy kept charging at them.
Pain rippled down Isabelle’s forehead. Dizziness rocked her. “Whoa.”
Mandy thumped into Isabelle’s shoulder, and she tumbled to the floor.
The whistle trilled. “Foul!” roared the coach. His wrinkled hands grabbed Isabelle’s forearm and yanked her up. “Watch where you’re going, Tresdon.” The coach gave an irritated wave of his hand, and Mandy tossed the ball to him.
Isabelle nearly choked on his coffee breath. “Can I sit this one out, Coach?” She swept aside soaked clumps of auburn hair to rub her forehead. “I’ve got a monster headache.” One particular spot near her right temple felt like a needle poking through her skin.
Coach Rayfield’s droopy eyes narrowed. “Got any pain besides your headache?”
“Just my shoulder and where I landed on my…”
“You’re fine to play then, Tresdon,” he growled over the silver whistle in his mouth. “We’ll have a two minute rest. The pain should subside by then.”
Isabelle gritted her teeth, wrestling the temptation to snatch the ball from his grip and catapult it at his head. See how he’d enjoy a monster headache.
If she didn’t ignore her crummy headache, she might end up crushed by a pack of sweaty classmates. An image of a tombstone with the words, “Trampled to death during gym,” flashed in her mind.
