Leah Archer was just 12 years old when she hit her head on a rock and fell into a coma, one that doctors weren't sure she'd ever come back from. But when she wakes up four years later, she faces the struggle of recovery and fights to regain any hint...
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"DAVIS, I NEED clearance from your physical therapist before I'll even think about letting you on the field, let alone actually practice."
"But coach," I whine, knowing I sound childish. I don't care. "I'm perfectly fine and we need to get ready for the season. Bear Creek is gonna stomp all over our asses if we don't start getting ready."
Coach glares at me, obviously not impressed with my language. "The team is already preparing, but if we want you to be able to survive even half the season, we need that knee as good as it can get. Besides, it's still the beginning of the summer. You still have a few months before school even starts, and then another until preseason begins."
I run a hand through my hair nervously. Honestly, I know he's right. I know that my knee isn't exactly 100% yet, but I'm not lying about the Bear Creek stuff. They're gonna whoop us if we aren't in the best shape we've ever been in. "Okay, Coach. I'll ask her for a time estimate when I go in today."
Coach nods, and then his expression softens. "Look, I know it's hard sitting on the sidelines for a few more weeks, but that knee is more important than this season. Besides, you don't have to completely stop; just don't touch the knee. Arms and chest are still fair game, kid."
"Thanks, coach," I answer. Our practice has been over for a good 20 minutes, and I know I need to leave soon. Grabbing my bag, I say a final goodbye to coach before heading out of the locker room.
"So? What's the verdict?" Caleb asks me as soon as I'm out the doors.
I shake my head. "Still insisting that I need clearance. Damn, I wish he was wrong."
Caleb snorts. "Of course he's right, he's been coaching since before we were even born. And if I were you, I'd listen. Better safe than sorry."
"You're not the one that hasn't been on the field in months," I mutter, and he doesn't respond.
The two of us walk to my Ford truck, tossing our backpacks and Caleb's football bag into the back. Sliding into the driver's seat, I turn the keys in the ignition and beg for the air conditioning to come on; these California summers are not good for my car, and the thing always feels like a freaking oven when I get in it.
"You still coming over?" Caleb asks, plugging his phone into the aux cable and putting on some Pandora playlist. I nod absent-mindedly, my eyes focused on the road ahead. There aren't many other people on the road at this time, but with my leg still not completely healed I have to take it easy. Our town is a decent size; I mean, it's nothing compared to the cities across the bay, but there are still a good 200,00 people living here. North High School is the largest in the city, which generally means we have the better sports teams. Our football team went to states last year, but a lot of the starters had graduated, so we have to work hard to prove that we can be just as good without them. Which is hard for me when I can't even play.
