I smell freshly cut grass and see white paint that coats the sidelines of the soccer field. My cleats dig into the dry soil as the sounds of engines on the street roll by the soccer complex. A forest lies behind one of the nets and on the other side a parking lot.

“Okay guys time to warm up,” my coach, Allan, tells the team. Our team jogs across the field, while our cleats strike the dirt in unison. The white jerseys sway back and forth with our body movements making the green letters and numbers dance in front of me –Johnson 10, Campbell 4, Ferreira 17. I turn my head to view the competition. The team of Caucasian girls runs up and down the field with yellow and blue jerseys clinging to their bodies. The team takes first place in the league while we follow behind in third place. We must win in order to advance to the play offs.

The referee scratches his bald spot while looking at his watch. He raises his whistle to his thin, dry lips and blows. “Captains!” the referee shouts.

Game on. The coach starts me in center midfield. I run up and down the field and side to side in every position possible. I pant as I hustle to the ball, knocking down our opponents.

“Stop pushing!” one of the girls yells. Her lanky body towers over me and her fiery red hair shines against the moon’s cool glow. Freckles scatter across the girl’s pale skin and her dark brown eyes glare at me. My teammates call her “Big Red” because she often gets into disagreements with other teams. “Yeah, whatever,” I say and run off to get the ball.

The ball rolls a few yards from our net. My eyes lock on the ball and my legs sprint before my mind’s instructions. The parents cheer, “Come on Dani get the ball!” The ball lies a few centimeters away from my right foot. “Go, go, go! You got it,” I hear around me. My foot reaches out to dribble the ball.

Boom. I collapse to the ground and see Big Red running off in the distance. I try to get up but I can’t even sit up. “Why can’t I get up? I always get back up.” I attempt to rise for the second time. My right leg burns as if on fire. I clutch it tightly to dowse the flames but I do not feel any heat. My mind frantically spins with millions of thoughts: “What happened to my leg? Can I play the next half? Will I be able to play the rest of the season? What did Big Red do? “

“REF!” I hear on the sidelines. My mom jumps up and down hysterically with her arms flailing in the air. Her short brown hair bounces from the right side of her shoulder to the left side with every hop. “Player down! Stop the game!” my mom shrieks. The referee slightly turns his head to look at me on the ground. He shrugs his shoulders and runs to the ball. The game continues.

I look up to the sky while I lie on the ground. Beyond the oak trees I see a crescent moon surrounded by darkness. No stars illuminate the humid night. I hear muffled sounds in the distance. Only the glow of the field lamps light my surroundings. “Wait, field?“ The muffled sounds grow louder. They sound angry and continue to rise. “REF!” I hear the muffled sounds clearly now. “Ref! Stop the game!” the parents scream.

I look back down and realize that I still lie on the field. One of my teammates kicks the ball out of the sidelines and then my coach and manager run onto the field.
“Are you okay?” the manager asks.
“I can’t get up,” I respond.
“Let’s try to sit you up,” the manager recommends.
The manager slides her hand under my back and lifts me. My body viscously shakes and sweat rolls down my forehead. My leg pulses in agony.
“Oww, stop! I can’t!” I shout in pain.
Coach Allan kneels down beside me. “Put your arms around my neck,” he says. I do what he tells me. Allan picks me up and carries me to the bench while his arms tremble under the weight of my body. The game continues. My mom races around the net to where I sit on the bench. I shake and rock back and forth, covered in sweat.
“Are you okay sweetie? What happened?” my mom asks as her green eyes water.
“I don’t know. My leg hurts a lot.”
“Let’s try and get these socks off so we can see if you got a cut or a bruise”
My mom rolls down my grass-stained white socks.
“Oww! Not so fast! It hurts. Slow down mom!” I blurt out.
My mom slowly rolls down the socks. My skin looks perfectly smooth without a single cut or bruise. My mom removes my socks and stares at my right shin pad. Her eyes widen.
“What?” I ask.
She hands me the shin pad and my eyebrows rise up to my forehead. A large crack lies across the shin pad. I look at my mother. “Mom, get me Advil.”
“Okay sweetie,” my mom replies.
My mom stares at my leg with moist eyes and shakes her head.
“NOW!” I roar.

My mom jumps and turns frantically to get the Advil.

“WOOOO!” the other team cheers. They run over and high five Big Red. The ref takes out a pen and a small black book from his breast pocket and writes down number seven. As Big Red runs back to her half she turns her head towards our bench and grins at me. I scowl. “Stupid b****.” The referee blows his whistle three times –two short blows followed by one long blow. Half-time.

“Maybe we should go to the hospital,” my mom suggests.

My mom puts my right arm over her shoulder and the manager puts my left arm over hers. They help me hop over to the car. Everything spins and my body shakes viciously as sweat drips down my body. I look at the car. It gets farther and looks miles away. I stop.

“I can’t,” I gasp.

The parents on the sidelines watch us struggle. No one helps.

“It was shin on shin. Probably just a bruise, the other girl is fine,” I hear from the crowd.

“She had it coming for her,” one of the parents comments.

“That red head struck her right in the shin,” another parent states.

“Someone, help us!” my mom screams, waving her right arm wildly.

A small, Filipino man runs over. He puts his hands under my back and picks me up. My weight pushes the man lower to the ground and his knees tremble. He takes two steps then stops.

“I can’t,” the Filipino man sighs and puts me down.

A skinny man, over six feet tall, with bright red hair walks onto the field and lifts me up. He swiftly walks over to the car and places me in the passenger’s seat.

“Thank you,” I say.

The man nods and turns back towards his chair. As he walks his bright red hair glows in the moonlight.