A Little Stomachache Never Hurt Anyone

"Are you alright, Anthony? You're not eating."

Ant blinked out of his daze and looked at Anne, who's looking back at him over steaming plates with concern in her eyes. He smiles minutely and tries to straighten up from his hunched position. His Nan had accident and ended up in the hospital with a broken leg and a concussion so his mom is staying with her to help her out around the house. Ant insisted he was too old for a babysitter so Christine dropped him off at the Donnelly's house for a while. Him, Dec, Anne, and Alph were now having breakfast.

"Yes, I'm fine. My stomach hurts a little, that's all."

That was a lie. His stomach hurts a lot, and truthfully he hasn't felt very well since last night, but it probably isn't anything serious. It's nothing worth troubling Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly over, he's certain of that.

Anne frowns. "Do you think it's something you ate?"

"Possibly." Ant admits, then plasters on as bright a smile as he can handle. "I'm sure it'll go away soon." Anne still looks concerned, but she nods and turns back to her food.

"If you're sure. You'll tell me if it gets worse, right?" Warmth flooded through Ant at the genuine worry his friend's mom was displaying for his wellbeing.

"Right."

********

Ant came to a halt in front of the stands in the field, letting himself sit down to rest. He and Dec had gone through warm ups, stretches, and practice kicks before he'd been forced to acknowledge that his stomachache was indeed getting worse. It had been easy enough to ignore at the beginning, but now...

Now he just wanted to throw up.

"Anthony?" Coach Mathers jogged over to him, urgency in every step he took, brown hair bouncing up and down, and every now and then, landing in his face. Then he's in front of Ant, bending over to be at eye level, a gloved hand resting on Ant's wrist.

"Are you okay? What's wrong? Is it your stomach?" When Anne dropped the boys off at practice, she warned the coach about Ant's stomachache. Coach promised to keep an eye on him and that he would stop if Ant ever complained, but he never did.

"Ant? What's wrong?" Dec appears alongside coach, looking at Ant with worried eyes.

Ant breathes in and out harshly, the cool air sharp against his burning throat. His fingers have the edge of the seat in a white-knuckled grip, but he forces them to ease up.

"I'm...I'm okay." He's certainly not okay, so he isn't really sure why the words roll out of his mouth, but he doesn't want to worry Coach Mathers when he doesn't even know if this is anything serious. If it turns out to be gas, he's likely to die of embarrassment. Maybe he'll feel better if he can throw up. "I'm just going to go to the restroom."

Coach Mathers' brown eyes glimmer with worry under a raised brow. "Do you want Dec to go with you?"

"No." He answers far too quickly, and then feels his face grow red. "I mean...no, I'll just be a second." His coach says nothing more as he runs to the school's entrance and leaves for the bathroom.

********

He's dying. He has to be.

As soon as he got to the toilet, the contents of his stomach had evacuated themselves violently. He gagged until he was dry-heaving, and then his strength had left him.

Now he's curled up on the tile floor, hugging his stomach and shaking uncontrollably while tears fall from his eyes. He's never felt this kind of pain before. He has to be dying--he's freezing and sweating and it feels like someone is stabbing him repeatedly. At least he's positive it isn't gas.