WHERE'S A THROW-UP bucket when you need one?
I swallow and then try breathing through my mouth to ease the nausea. It shouldn't be this bad and I somehow need to control it. I barely slept last night, had trouble eating all day because of the balloon in my stomach, and now my head is pounding. It doesn't matter that this is what I signed up for, I'm terrified.
"Buck up, kiddo, we're on in a few minutes," Lane says as the team fills the tunnel and we wait to run out onto the field. Lane is too damned calm and I hate him for it.
How does the team do this each week? "What if I trip?" I whisper harshly in Lane's ear.
He only grins. "You pick your ass up and take the ribbing on the nightly news. But worse, you take it from all the guys until the end of time."
"Thanks. That helped."
He laughs. "Anytime."
"Go, go, go," says a coach at the head of the tunnel.
