Game Three: University Preparatory H.S. (6)

"No, just let me see!" Noah reached for me.

I held on tightly, keeping my jersey close to my body so he couldn't pull it away. Not because I was afraid of the bruise that ball had definitely left, but because of the scars I had all over. Just last year I had a few broken ribs that needed a correction surgery so they wouldn't cut my lungs, plus all the times my mom had beat me hard enough to break the skin. She never took me to a hospital growing up so I never had stitches. Everything had to heal on its own.

"Is it that bad? Should I get the trainer?" Noah worriedly examined my extreme reaction to make sure he couldn't see.

"He's definitely going to go see the athletic trainer." Zeke appeared, with Coach right beside him. "You heard Dad yesterday. Trainer or doctor."

"I've already asked an official to bring the trainer here." Coach continued right after Zeke. "You took a hard hit."

"I'm okay." I mumbled. "It's just a bruise."