Amid the chaos, everyone gathered around her, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
I could smell her from here.
Lottie got hurt.
Shit, not now. This can't be happening.
My insides twisted with anxiety. Why was this happening now.
Frustration overwhelmed me, and I blurted out, "I was gone for 2 minutes, and Lottie's got a fucking slice in her stomach?"
I can't be here right now.
Coach Ben kept yelling, urging us to get back to playing, as if it was just a minor inconvenience. "Let her sit out," he said, but Van passionately protested, arguing that she was the best on our team, and we shouldn't dismiss her.
When she finally opened her eyes, I reached out to her, asking if she was okay. She held my hand firmly, and in that moment, I felt a jolt through my body, like a spark igniting something inside me.
I could feel the blood rushing through her veins.
After moving away from the crowd, we talked for a while, and she asked me why I had helped her. I couldn't pinpoint a specific reason, so I chose not to answer.
Curious, I inquired about why she didn't want to get up. She hesitated before replying, "It was comfy."
I could tell she was lying from the subtle cues in her body language—the slanted eyebrows and lip-biting. Trying to distract myself, I reached for my lighter and flicked it, watching the flame pop up repeatedly.
She tapped me gently and exhaled, probably trying to ease the tension.
"Jackie's having a party tonight," she said, "she asked if you wanted to come."
A party invitation was unexpected, and I hesitated before declining. Parties weren't really my scene.