KISS: Casablanca High School

Ch 7: Friday Night Frights (Gene)

He wasn't moving, not really. Two trainers practically carried him off the field, and he looked completely out of it, even more than I've seen Peter and Ace get before. 

I pushed through the students and parents, desperate to reach the edge of the field where he was being propped up against the bench, trainers still swarming over him. Ignoring the shouts from the coaches that told me not to, I vaulted over the fence, rushing to his side. 

"How is he doing?" I asked, heart pounding against my chest. Mr. Starley looked at me, face grim. 

"I've seen worse, but I've seen a lot better. He's done for the night and for awhile. Help me take him back to the locker room, will you?" 

I slipped Paul's arm over my shoulders, grunting as his weight came crashing down on me. "Alright, come on, Paul," I muttered. He looked at me out of unfocused eyes, blinking slowly. "Ssseptember," he whispered. 

I let out a sigh. Yeah, he wasn't doing well. Starley took his other arm and we moved toward the locker room, with Paul taking slow, dragging steps between us. We made it about halfway there when he stopped, straightening up and swaying slightly. 

"Paul?" I asked, worry creeping into my voice. He looked at me without actually seeing me before pitching forward. "Paul!" 

We caught him before he hit the ground but his head lolled back and he stared up at the sky, eyes rolled back in his head. Starley let out a curse. "Damn, not a good sign. Help me carry him to the locker room. Are his parents here, do you know? We'll need to take him to get evaluted, probably at a hospital." 

"I'm not sure. I called his mom when I saw him go down but I doubt she's here yet. Paul, can you hear me?"

He slowly lifted his head, struggling to push away from us and walk away on his own. "Hey, Paul, relax. Don't push yourself." 

"I'm...fine," he mumbled. "I gotta get back...game starts soon. They...they need me." 

Despite my concern, I bit back a smile. He was kind of adorable when he had been hit hard enough to lose his mind. 

We finally made it to the room and sat him down on a bench. "Stay next to him and make sure that he doesn't fall over. I'm going to find his parents and call the hospital to see if they want us to bring him in," Starley said, before walking out of the locker room. 

Great. I'm definitely qualified to look after a concussed football player. 

"Geneee...I don't feel so good..." Paul slurred, leaning against my shoulder. "Just hold on until someone who knows what they're doing gets back here," I said, trying to sit him upright. 

He shook his head, hair bouncing wildly, before wincing and leaning forward, gagging. 

"You good, man?" 

In response, he was violently sick all over the cold concrete floor. I let out a sigh, handing him a bottle of water and trying to keep him from toppling over again. Finally, the door burst open and Starley strode in, followed by a pale-faced Aunt Eva. 

"Oh, Paul!" she cried, rushing over to him and wiping sweat off his face. With a look of mild annoyance, he raised a hand to swat her away. "Ma, stop...I got a game..." 

"Mrs. Stanley, I think that it would be best for him to be taken to the hospital and evaluated for a concussion at the least," Starley said, discretely stepping around the pile of vomit at Paul's feet. Paul's mom nodded, rising to her feet. "Gene, help me get him to the car," she said, voice growing terse. 

Once again, I slung Paul's arm over my shoulders, helping him to lurch from the locker room. As soon as I got him buckled into the car, he rested his head against my shoulder, giving me a sappy smile. "Thanks for coming...we're going to win tonight," he said.