Normally Cameron would have cared for days.
That afternoon he did not ask once.
At the urgent-care clinic, imaging showed no obvious fracture.
The physician suspected an overuse-related knee injury aggravated during the game and referred Cameron for a pediatric sports-medicine evaluation before any return to play.
Eli’s wrist was sprained.
Nothing broken.
Nia sat beside Cameron in the exam room while he stared at his phone.
No lecture.
Not yet.
Her anger kept trying to become speech.
She did not trust it.
Devin waited in the hallway.
Marcus drove Eli and his mother, Tameka Brooks, to another clinic because Tameka’s car was at work with her sister.
Nia had not seen Tameka at the gym.
She had been working.
That fact would matter later.
Cameron finally looked up.
“Am I grounded?”
Nia stared.
“For being injured?”
“For lying.”
She took time.
“No.”
He seemed surprised.
“That does not mean lying is okay.”
“Then?”
“I haven't decided.”
Cameron looked back at his phone.
Nia asked:
“Why Eli?”
“What?”
“Why did you tell him?”
The boy shrugged.
“He could tell.”
“How?”
“He had knee stuff last year.”
Nia remembered vaguely.
Eli missed six weeks.
“He saw me rubbing it.”
“And?”
“He told me to sit.”
Nia stared.
“What?”
Cameron frowned.
“He kept telling me.”
“Before today?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Like two practices.”
The shame came harder now.
The child she had treated as danger had been telling her son the thing every adult should have told him.
Rest.
Speak up.
Get checked.
“What did you say?”
Cameron looked embarrassed.
“I told him mind his business.”
Nia almost laughed.
“Reasonable twelve-year-old response.”
He smiled slightly.
Then became serious.
“Dad said scouts don't care if you're sore.”
Nia’s stomach tightened.
“What scouts?”
Cameron shrugged.
“The high school coaches.”
“You are in seventh grade.”
“I know.”
“Are high school coaches scouting your middle-school tournament?”
Cameron hesitated.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Dad says people remember names.”
Nia closed her eyes.
Devin.
Cameron continued.
“He says if I miss too much, Coach might replace me.”
“Did Coach Marcus say that?”
“No.”
“Did anybody?”
“No.”
Nia looked at him.
“Then whose fear is that?”
Cameron stared at the floor.
“Dad’s.”
There.
A twelve-year-old could see it.
Adults had spent years pretending not to.
Nia leaned back.
For a moment she remembered meeting Devin at twenty-five.
He coached at a community center then.
She worked night shifts.
He was funny.
Warm.