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When I finally stirred awake, it was almost noon. The gray light filtering through my curtains mirrored the dull ache in my arm. It felt like my whole body had been run over—by a truck or maybe just by yesterday. Every muscle screamed in protest as I pushed myself up from bed. Memories of the game and the fight rushed back like an unwelcome movie replay. I remembered Ethan walking me home, at least to Ridge Street... Mom and Keith were out that evening, and I slipped into bed, hoping to sleep reality away.
The house was eerily quiet, save for the occasional creak of footsteps in the hallway. Then there was a soft knock, and Mom peeked her head in, holding a tray. "You're awake," she said, her voice softening with relief. "Good. I brought you some tea and toast. You need to eat something."
"Mom, I'm fine," I replied, even though the sight of that warm mug reminded me I hadn't eaten since yesterday.
