Paper Airplane

7

                Louis, Niall, and Liam are ahead by a field goal, and my brother has somewhere to be in less than an hour, so if we don’t score within the next few downs, the game is over.  Part of me is praying that my brother’s pass will be successful and Zayn will catch it and we’ll win so that I’m not blamed for causing my team to lose.  I’m sure it’s not entirely my fault because Liam is amazingly athletic and coordinated with a football, and like I said, Niall can run strangely fast for having such tiny legs, and with Louis, their trio is nearly unstoppable.  But my brother was a sore loser, and I really didn’t want to deal with him the rest of the day if we lose.

                Niall eyed me up through narrowed eyelids, seeing that he was my responsibility.  A bad feeling began to stir in the pit of my stomach.

                Brady called out the play.  “Blue, 42!  Blue, 42!”

                Zayn jogged over to the other end of our line.  Louis followed him.

                “Blue, 42!” Brady shouted again.

                Niall smirked at me.

                “Set, hut!”

                And then Niall was charging at me, aiming for Brady, and Liam was already shoving against Harry while somewhere, out of my line of sight, Louis was chasing Zayn who was running down the field.  I quickly brought my arms up to shield my face and block the blonde at the same time, but it was all happening way too fast and I just wanted us to win this game so Brady wouldn’t whine like a little girl the whole way home.  I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed against Niall as hard as I could until I heard Brady make a grunting noise, which signaled that he’d thrown the ball.  I opened my eyes, shocked to see that I had actually managed to guard my brother.

                But Zayn was nowhere near where the ball was going to land, I realized.  But Louis was.  And he intercepted it. 

                My brother shouted a curse word behind me that I’ve never said in my life, and before I knew it he was flying past me to tackle the football-clad band member.  Harry was right on his heels.

                It took me several moments before I noticed that I was the only one not running in Louis’ direction.  In an effort to not make myself seem useless, I took off in his direction as well.  He’d juked Harry, and Zayn was too far behind him to catch up.  Niall and Liam were fending off Brady, but no one paid me any attention. 

                Until it was too late, that is.  Not even Louis had seen me coming straight for him until, instead of diving for his legs, I smacked right into him, sent the ball flying, tangled our legs, and ran us both into the fence at the edge of the field that he had been running along. 

                “Oh, God,” Louis groaned, and I felt his legs detangle from mine as he must have rolled over.

                I lifted my face out of the grass just enough to see that Zayn had recovered the ball I’d made Louis fumble, and he made it into the end zone unscathed.  My brother, grinning widely, raced up to him for a chest bump.

                And then I felt the searing pain in my knee.

                “Lexie?” Louis asked, and I heard more shuffling from wherever he must be.  I pictured him sitting up, seeing me.  “Are you alright?  I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching – “

                “Lexie?” I heard Brady call from the other end of the field.

                I used my arms to push myself up.  “I’m okay.”              

                It burned, whatever I’d done.  I winced, nearly yelping as I quickly reached for my knee. 

                “Ah, that doesn’t look very okay to me,” Louis mumbled, lifting my hands off of the wound I had covered.  “Shit.”

                “Lex?” Brady called again, this time closer.  All the other boys were right behind him, every face full of concern for me.  I felt my face flush, and it wasn’t from the pain.

                I put my hands over it again.

                “Maybe you shouldn’t touch it,” Louis advised, reaching for my hands again.

                “No, it doesn’t hurt that bad,” I told him.  “Seriously, I just don’t like blood.”

                “Lex, hey, are you okay?  What happened?” Brady asked, finally here.  He crouched down beside me and lifted my hands off my knee.  “Holy shit, what’d you do?”

                The worst part was that he almost sounded amused.  If it didn’t hurt so bad, I’d have rolled my eyes at him. 

                My tackling Louis had somehow caused the three inch long gash down my knee, and I was trying to figure out what could have done it.  My bets were on the fence.  Louis and Brady helped me stand, and when it hurt crazy bad to put pressure on that leg, my brother heaved me onto his back, careful so that no blood from my knee soiled his clothes.

                “Is there a gas station around here?  I don’t think it’s bad enough that it needs stitches,” Brady said, though I begged to differ.  It felt like someone had tried peeling my skin off.

                “Right across the street, I think,” Liam told him.  “Right?”

                “Yeah,” Zayn nodded.  “I got snacks there earlier this week.”

                “Okay.  Well, I guess we’ll be going, then.  Thanks for the game, guys.  And you three,” my brother started, turning and pointing to Liam, Niall, and Louis.  “In your faces.”

                As we began to walk away, back towards the open gate that we’d come through, Brady held a fist up towards me.  “Way to take one for the team, Lex.”

                I chewed on my lip, fighting tears as the pain from my knee increased with each step my brother took.  But I fist bumped him anyway because although I was irritated with him, I knew I wouldn’t have to deal with him being unreasonably immature the whole way home since we’d won. 

                “How’s your knee?” he asked as we crossed the street.

                “It really sucks, could you walk any slower?” I hissed.

                “Jeez, calm down.  We’ll be there in a second.”

                I vaguely wondered how we hadn’t been spotted yet.  Brady McAllister was walking the streets out in the open, no body guards, no means of any kind to disguise himself, with his pink-haired sister on his back.  How is this not drawing attention?  Not that I’m complaining, but seriously, how is it not?

                And when we finally ducked into the gas station, I found myself extremely grateful and less confused that we hadn’t been spotted.  A picture of the mess I probably am right now floating around the internet is not something I’d like to wake up to tomorrow morning.