Page 41 of On Merit Alone
Merit.
Six
It’s nothing. I think I was more freaked out than anything. Once I got up, I was fine.
Yeah. Causethatsounded convincing. I was just about to give her crap about that terrible answer when I noticed something on the screen.
Merit.
Usually, this late at night, when I was teetering between sleep and consciousness, I tended to watch things on mute or very low volume. But my interest peaked when I noticed a familiar chestnut brown skinned girl—her long hair up in a tight bun on the top of her head and in street clothes as she sat in a familiar press room.
She sat across from Chelsea Cherry, the powerhouse anchor contracted to work exclusively with the Mountaineer Sports Complex. But she wasn’t the one interviewing Merit. It was somebody else, Tom something or other with the mic while the screen below read:Merit Jones and Double C Making Amends. A segment on women in sports and the importance of solidarity within their community.
“The fuck?” I mumbled for no one to hear.
Because what the hell was this? The Dynamite had just won a huge game to tie them up for their season andthisis what they were running? What the hell?
On a whim, I snapped a picture and sent it over to Merit.
Me
What’s up with this?
Time passed slowly. More time than it had taken her to answerpreviously. Unless I truly believed Merit’s overactive brain let her fall asleep before ten, I think it was time to face the facts.
She was ignoring me.
Something my subconscious did not take kindly according to the way it freely directed my fingers to keep typing. With Merit, apparently there were no games. Nicknames and double texts were not even a second thought.
Me
Don’t make me come find you, stalker.
Okay, now triple.
Me
Okay…
And damn if her continued silence didn’t nag at me, because I knew Merit didn’t play games either. Either she genuinely was sleeping, or she was avoiding the question, which only served to spike my curiosity more.
Dammit, this girl was driving me nuts. The proof was in the fourth text I was typing in a row.
Me
I’m not actually a gambler, but if I were, I’d bet on you every time. Night, Six.
Chapter Thirteen
Merit
Anterior Cruciate Ligament tear.
The injury that was determined to change my life. Before I hurt myself, I had been injured before. An ankle strain here, a pulled muscle there, but nothing compared to the heart-aching uncertainty of a major knee injury, and especially not one as serious as an ACL.
ACL injuries ended careers, and not just in basketball. ACL tears were the boogeyman of athletes everywhere, and somehow I had let the boogeyman catch me. For a moment there, in the beginning of the season, I thought it would end up taking me out for good. Which would have been way too soon.
The stress of it started to seep into my game.
