TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter 1: Slammed!

  Chapter 2: Shaken Up

  Chapter 3: Fifty Percent

  Chapter 4: Nightmare

  Chapter 5: Sick

  Chapter 6: Feeling Better?

  Chapter 7: I Quit

  Chapter 8: Heads Up

  Chapter 9: The Rivalry

  Chapter 10: Have Heart

  Author Bio

  Illustrator Bio

  Glossary

  Discussion Questions

  Writing Prompts

  More About Head Injuries and Sports

  Explore More

  Copyright

  Back Cover

  CHAPTER 1

  SLAMMED!

  Harris Weathers closed his eyes as he listened to Sy Berner call the play numbers. Harris was the star running back for the Tigers and the fastest sixth-grader at Bader Ginsburg Middle School. Sy was his quarterback. Harris pictured in his mind the steps he’d take and the yards he’d gain. He opened his eyes, shook his head, and smiled.

  Harris drew back before the snap and ran behind Sy. The center snapped the ball. Sy took it and turned to his right. He slipped the ball against Harris’s jersey. Harris slyly pulled the ball into his arms and cut to the left.

  Sy stepped back like he would pass. The defensive line swarmed him as Harris took off down the sideline.

  Harris was fast, and the Washington Wasps’ defense didn’t know he had the ball. Harris crossed the thirty-yard line. The end zone was in sight. A touchdown would give the Tigers a win for their first game of the season.

  A passing defender took off after Harris as he crossed the twenty-five. This Wasp was fast.

  Harris heard his teammates, friends, and family cheering him on. They were loud, calling out, “Go, Harris!” and “Woo-hoo, Weathers!”

  Still, over the cheering, he could hear the fast footsteps of the Wasp behind him. Harris was only fifteen yards from the game-winning touchdown. He put on all the speed he had left.

  Just as Harris stepped into the end zone, the Wasp caught him. The defender hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground. Harris’s head slammed into the turf. All the air was forced from his chest and caught in his throat.

  The whistle blew. Harris rolled onto his back and saw the referee standing nearby with both his hands raised—Touchdown!

  The ref was blurry, though, and Harris struggled to catch his breath. Behind him, Harris could make out his mom and dad, Coach Andersen, and Sy Berner running toward him.

  Harris tried to get to his feet to celebrate with them, but he stumbled and fell. He noticed his friends and family weren’t smiling like they should have been. They looked worried. Mom looked terrified.

  Oh no, Harris thought. I’m hurt.

  CHAPTER 2

  SHAKEN UP

  A bright light shined in Harris’s right eye and then his left.

  “Harris will be fine,” said Dr. Pollie, the school’s doctor. She kneeled beside him in the end zone and turned off her penlight. “Looks like no concussion.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Harris’s mom said.

  “How do you feel, Weathers?” asked Coach Andersen.

  “Just a little shaken up,” Harris said.

  “You got the wind knocked out of you,” Dr. Pollie said. “You took a pretty good bang to the head, even with the helmet.”

  “Can I finish the game?” Harris asked.

  Coach Andersen shook his head. “You just scored the winning touchdown!” he said. “I think you can sit out the last three seconds of play, don’t you?”

  “Oh, right,” Harris said. “I forgot. It’s over.”

  “Oh, my,” Mom said. “Are you sure he’s OK, doctor?”

  Dr. Pollie stood up and put her penlight in the breast pocket of her white jacket. “He should be fine,” she said. “Keep an eye on him. He’s just a little shaken up.”

  “That Washington Middle School player ought to be suspended for the rest of the season,” Harris’s dad said.

  Harris sat up. “I’m fine, Dad,” he said. “It’s football, right?”

  Harris’s dad didn’t reply. Behind him, Harris saw the Wasp defender with his helmet off, looking on with concern.

  “I’m OK, man,” Harris called to him. “Solid hit.”

  “A little late, though,” the Wasp replied. “Nice run.”

  “Thanks,” Harris said.

  Dad helped Harris to the sideline.

  “I’m OK, Dad,” Harris said again. “I don’t need help walking.”

  “I know,” Mr. Weathers said. “Maybe I just want to walk with my winning-touchdownscoring, all-star running back son?”

  Harris laughed. “Sure, Dad.”

  On Monday morning, Harris was startled awake early. He’d been dreaming that he was running away from a giant man in football gear. Just as the giant closed in on him, Harris’s eye opened. His heart was pounding. The rest of his family was still sleeping.

  He grabbed a flashlight and went into the bathroom. He wanted to make sure he was OK. Standing in front of the mirror, he shined the flashlight into his eyes.

  The pupils in his eyes—the smallest black part right in the center—shrank from large to very small almost instantly. When he turned off the flashlight, his pupils slowly grew larger again. He knew enough about concussions to know that was a good sign. Dr. Pollie was right.

  Harris breathed a sigh of relief. Quietly, he left the bathroom, put the flashlight away, and went back to sleep.

  CHAPTER 3

  FIFTY PERCENT

  When the final bell rang, Harris suited up for practice. After laps, Coach Andersen called the boys in.

  “Great job on Friday, Tigers,” he said. “O team, set up for drills. D team, follow me for weight training.”

  That “O” meant offensive players, and the “D” meant defensive players. As the starting running back, Harris was an offensive player. He jogged over to Sy and the rest of the O team.

  Sy lightly patted his helmet. “How’s the head today?” he asked.

  “Fine,” Harris said.

  It was fine. It didn’t hurt at all. But when Sy asked, Harris felt his stomach flip. Just thinking about the hit he took on Friday made him feel like it had just happened. He put his hands on his stomach and turned away from his friend.

  “Let’s just get started,” Harris mumbled.

  Sy clapped his hands. “You heard the man, O team,” the quarterback said. “Running and blocking drills.”

  Half the linemen got into position. The other half pulled on red pinnies over their practice uniforms.

  “Pattern one,” Sy called.

  He crouched behind the center and took the snap. Harris ran behind him, planted his foot, took the handoff, and darted past the center. Sy faded back like he going for a deep pass. Harris ran about ten yards and slowed down.

  “OK, nice,” Sy called out. “Set up for number two.”

  The O team went on like that for nearly an hour—running plays, practicing backfield motion, and going over handoffs, laterals, and forward passes.

  In these O team drills, there was no contact. Harris had a good time juking in the backfield, dodging between the defenders, and taking or faking handoffs from Sy.

  Coach Andersen blew his whistle. “OK, we’re going to scrimmage for the rest of our time today,” he said. “Count off ones and twos, put on your pinnies … you know the drill.”

  That was usually how they spent the last forty-five minutes of practice. The boys knew to call out the numbers one and two, switching off. They knew that if you said “two,” you put on a red pinny.

  Sy and Harris ended up on team one.

  “I’ll coach the red team,” Coach said. “Sy, you call your own plays.”

  Sy and Harris’s team huddled up with team one. “OK, boys,” Sy said. “We’re going to try that outside run we drilled today. I’ll handoff to Weathers and fade back like I’m gonna pass, got it?”

  The players nodded.

  “On two,” Sy said. “Let’s go!”

  Team one lined up. Sy set up behind the center, and Harris set up at the far end of the offensive line, two steps back.

  Sy called out the signals. “Hut, one,” he barked. “Hut, two.”

  Harris drew back and cut behind Sy.

  “Hut, hut, hut, hut!” Sy cried, and the center snapped the ball from between his legs up into Sy’s arms.

  Sy turned to his left, slipped the ball to Harris, and drew back out of the pocket. The wide receiver took off up the field, and Sy pretended to pass.

  Meanwhile, Harris sprinted along the left sideline. He’d already gained seven yards on the play before the red team realized it.

  Suddenly, two passing defenders pulled away from their players to cut Harris’s run short. Harris saw the two boys charging toward him. They both looked huge, their red pinnies waving like warning flags. Before they could reach him, Harris cut out of bounds and stopped running.

  Harris tossed the ball to Coach Andersen to set up the next play. Coach shot him a disappointed look. Harris hustled back to the team one huddle.

  “Why’d you step out?” Sy asked Harris. “You could have had another ten yards on that run, easy.”

  “Yeah, you’re faster than both those guys,” said Dan Robbins, the team center.

  “We got the first down, didn’t we?” Harris pointed out.

  Besides, he thought, no point in risking an injury for a few more yards. Especially in practice.
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  “I guess,” Sy said. “Let’s get some passing in now.”

  CHAPTER 4

  NIGHTMARE

  It was a cold February afternoon. Harris crouched at the end of the offensive line. The Tigers were in the Super Bowl. He watched the puffs of vapor from his nose as he breathed hard. He heard Sy’s voice call out the play: a wide end run.

  Harris stepped back from the line. He cut behind Sy just as the center snapped the ball. Sy turned and put the ball in Harris’s open hands.

  “Keep your head down,” Sy muttered as he handed off the ball.

  “What?” Harris replied, but he had to run. He couldn’t wait for Sy to respond.

  Harris cut up the sideline. Behind him, he heard the stampeding feet of the defensive line for the Wasps, two tons of defenders chasing him down.

  But he was fast, the fastest boy on the Tigers. So why weren’t his feet working? As hard as he tried, his feet would barely move. It felt as if they were caught in wet cement.

  Harris cried out for blockers at his side to keep him safe. But all he saw were more black and yellow jerseys with those wicked Wasp stripes. These defenders were huge! They couldn’t be sixth-grade boys. They towered over him like professional football players.

  Harris couldn’t beat them. They crashed down on him, slamming him to the ground. From behind him, the defensive linemen plowed onto his helpless body.

  He got knocked over and banged around, from one defender to the other. His head bounced around like a pinball. The sky twirled. His stomach heaved.

  He screamed out and sat up, covered in sweat. His blankets were tangled around his legs. It was just a dream. Actually, it was a nightmare. And it was the most terrifying nightmare Harris had ever had.

  CHAPTER 5

  SICK

  Harris didn’t tell anyone about his nightmare. He went to practice and played safe and careful. Then Friday came along.

  Their second game of the season was against the Plainfield Harvesters. It was an away game. Harris sat at the back of the bus with Sy and a few other friends from the team.

  The other boys were excited. But Harris could only remember the hit he took the week before and the nightmare he’d had the other night.

  His skin felt cold, and his stomach was twisted in knots.

  “Hey, you OK, Weathers?” Sy asked. “You look sick.”

  “Yeah, I don’t feel good,” Harris said.

  When the bus pulled up to Plainfield Middle School, Harris was the last kid off the bus.

  Coach Andersen stood at the bottom of the bus steps with his clipboard. He clapped Harris on the back, and Harris stumbled.

  “Whoa, you OK, Weathers?” Coach asked.

  “Yeah, I think so,” Harris said. He thought about it again and quickly added, “Actually, I do feel kinda sick.”

  “Sick how?” Coach asked.

  “Like, in my stomach,” Harris said. “I think maybe I have food poisoning or the stomach flu or something.”

  “Think you might throw up?” asked Coach.

  “Maybe,” Harris said.

  “Head to the locker room with the others,” Coach Andersen said. “But don’t bother putting on your pads. I think you’ll sit this one out.”

  Harris spent the game in the first row of the visiting team’s stands with his mom and dad and little sister, Wendy.

  Harris watched his friends out on the field. He watched the second string running back, Lew Gordon, run the plays Harris had practiced all week. Lew was an all-around good guy, but he wasn’t as fast as Harris. He didn’t know the plays as well as Harris did. Sy had to pass more than he usually did. Harris wanted to be out there in Lew’s place.

  He wanted to give it his all. But his fear of getting hurt was just too much. The fear really did seem to settle right in his stomach. He didn’t know if he could conquer it.

  Late in the fourth quarter, the Tigers were down by five points. It was third down, and they were within field goal range.

  But a field goal wasn’t enough to take the lead. Sy called for a run, hoping to get a first down and set the team up for a touchdown.

  Harris watched Lew line up in the backfield. He heard Sy bark out the play. Lew cut around behind Sy as the center snapped the ball.

  Lew took the handoff, but he didn’t make it smooth or sneaky. When Sy dipped out of the pocket like he was going to pass, the defense wasn’t fooled at all. They rushed over the line of scrimmage and knocked Lew down for a loss of four yards.

  Harris wouldn’t have blown the handoff. He would have gotten that first down, he knew it. But as he watched Lew get up, with a tuft of grass stuck in the face mask of his helmet, he knew he couldn’t be out there with them. The Tigers didn’t score again that game.

  CHAPTER 6

  FEELING BETTER?

  When the Tigers headed into the visitors’ locker room, Harris didn’t go with them. He just couldn’t face the team.

  “How are you feeling, sweetie?” his mom asked as he walked with his family to the car. “Fine,” Harris mumbled. “No more stomachache?” Dad asked. Harris shook his head. His parents exchanged a glance.

  “Let’s get ice cream!” Wendy said.

  The Weathers family squeezed into a booth at Crazy Custard Cone with their treats.

  “You sure you are feeling better?” Mom asked. “You look a little pale.”

  Harris nodded. With the game behind him and the next game a whole week away, he felt a little better.

  Maybe playing football wouldn’t be his thing after all. He was fast enough to join track and field instead, and no one got hurt running laps.

  From outside the ice cream shop, Harris heard the squeaking and hissing of a bus coming to a stop. He looked out into the evening twilight and saw the Tigers team stepping off the bus.

  “Oh no,” he said to himself, sinking into the booth. But the moment the door opened, with Sy Berner at the front of the pack, Harris was spotted—and so was his ice cream cone.

  The rest of the team went to the counter to order. But Sy, Dan, and Lew came directly over to his booth.

  “Feeling better, Weathers?” Sy asked. But his tone wasn’t one of concern. He was angry.

  “Um, yeah,” Harris said. “Much better. Thanks.”

  “Usually if I feel like I might throw up, I don’t want ice cream,” Dan said, suspiciously. Harris shrugged. “It went away,” he said.

  Sy turned away from the table with a huff. Lew left with him.

  “They didn’t seem very happy with you,” Mom said.

  “That’s because they know the Tigers would have won with their star running back,” Dad pointed out. “But it’s not Harris’s fault he wasn’t feeling well.”

  Harris slid even deeper into the booth. He wished he could disappear.

  “You really were feeling sick, right, Harris?” Dad asked.

  “Of course,” Harris said. “I didn’t even bring it up. Coach Andersen did. He said I looked sick. Even Sy said I looked sick.”

  “But it went away,” Dad clarified.

  Harris nodded.

  “OK then,” Dad said. He went back to eating his ice cream. Harris didn’t feel like eating any more.

  CHAPTER 7

  I QUIT

  It was almost two in the morning when Harris rolled over and stared at the red numbers of the clock in his room. He hadn’t slept at all. All he could think about was the game. He felt awful for missing it, but whenever he imagined playing, all he could think about was getting hurt.

  And he couldn’t shake the nightmare he’d had. Harris was exhausted, but he was also scared to go to sleep. Quietly, he got out of bed and snuck down to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of milk and grabbed a granola bar from the cupboard.

  Harris sat in the dark kitchen. He stared out the back door into the yard as he sipped his milk. The yard was covered in orange, yellow, and red leaves. In the dark, though, they looked gray.

  Suddenly the kitchen light clicked on. Harris shielded his eyes from the light as his dad sat down next to him.

  “Can’t sleep?” his dad asked.

  Harris shook his head.

  “Thinking about football?” his dad asked, knowingly.

  Harris nodded.

 

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