The ping was the first sound, a sharp, metallic tink that cut through the humid gym air. Kaleb, mid-free-throw, flinched. The second sound was a wet, sickening crunch, followed by a scream that was more shock than pain.
He turned. His teammate, Mark, was on the ground, clutching his knee, his face a mask of agony. The play had been routine—a drive, a contest, an awkward landing. But the result was a nightmare. A dislocated kneecap, the coach said later. Season over.
The locker room after the game was a tomb. They'd won, but it felt like a loss. Mark was their energy, their glue. Kaleb sat in front of his locker, the image of his friend's twisted leg seared into his mind. The invincibility of youth had been a lie, shattered in an instant.
