Page 37 of The Puckable Playbook

I blink awake.My room is still dark. Outside, it’s pitch black out, and I shake my head a little, remembering the weird dream I was having. It was treasure related, but notThe Curse of Oak Island.A girl with curly hair pops into my head, the mountains in Arizona surrounding her.

Oh, right. A couple weeks ago, my sister told me about this book she was reading. This chick gets with her stepbrother and his two best friends, but the plot was about the Superstition Mountains and the treasure that’s hidden there. A real treasure, apparently—The Lost Dutchman’s Gold Mine. I’ve seen a documentary on The History Channel about it.

I shake my head.Weird fucking dream.

I shift to lie on my side, but then my body abruptly reminds me that I played a game recently. Before I can return to a comfortable position, however, a sneeze settles in my sinuses.Bracing would make it worse, so I just let it come. Pain shoots through me, and I grab my midsection. “Ah, fuck.”

I groan until I move back, the pillows resting behind me again. The stupid pain reliever wore off. If only I could get up and grab some more…

A knock sounds on the door. “Zaiah? You okay?”

For a moment, I think the voice is my sister, then my mom, then it comes back around to the fact that I’m in my dorm room and it must be Len on the other side. “I’m okay.” My voice cracks. At this point, I’m not hiding anything. “Actually,” I bite out, “could you come here?”

The door creaks open after a few seconds. Blonde strands stick out of a topknot haloed by the light in the living room. Her eyes round when she sees me. “Jeez, are you okay?”

“Sore from the game,” I force out. “I was hoping you would get me some pain reliever. It’s in my bathroom. I think I left the bottle on the sink.”

“Of course.” She heads that way. “How many?”

She shakes the pill bottle and relief floods me. “Three.”

“You sure?”

“I’m a big dude, Len.”And the fucker defenseman that hit me was even bigger.

“Fine, fine.”

She comes out with the three pills cupped in her hand and lays them out on the nightstand next to the water.

“Do you need help sitting up? What hurts?”

“Everything, but mostly my ribs.”

“Ohh, yeah. That hit in the third? Your mom flinched.”

“I swear she has a direct connection to my brain.”

“Would a heating pad help? Or some ice?”

“You have a heating pad?”

“If my cramps get too much.”

“Cramps?” I sit up far enough so I can swallow the pills and groan. “Muscle cramps?”

“Period cramps,” she deadpans.

I peer at her sheepishly. “If I could laugh without it hurting, I’d chuckle right now.” I scoot back, wincing again.

Her lips thin. “Should I call someone?”

“No, this is normal. After a big hit, at least. It’s my ribs.”

“Do you need to go to the ER?”

I shake my head. “It’s a bruise. It’ll be gone in a couple days. Promise.”

Her brow furrows, her gaze tracing over me. “Okay, well, I’m going to get you both the ice pack and the heating pad.”

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