Sunday afternoon, I head to the hospital. When I ask if Benjamin Lewis can have visitors, I’m thrilled that the lady tells me he can, and directs me to his room.

I take the elevator to the fourth floor and am walking down the hall, toward room 412, when his mom steps out.

She pulls me into a hug when I reach her. “So good to see you, Colby. Before you go in there, let’s talk for a minute.”

We walk out to the small waiting area.

“How’s he doing?” I ask as we sit down.

“He’s talking some, which is great. They say that will improve every day now. But he has a lot of work to do.”

“Work? Like what?”

She lets out a long breath. “He’s going to have to relearn most everything — how to walk, how to brush his teeth, how to  put his pants on. You know, everything we do without thinking about it and take for granted.”

I look down at my lap and close my eyes. She can’t be saying this. I don’t want her to be saying this. I don’t know what I was expecting. A miracle, maybe.

She continues. “Soon we’ll have to move him to a rehabilitation center. We’re trying to decide what to do. The best one in the country is all the way in Atlanta, Georgia. Insurance would pay for most of it, but one of us would have to take time off from work so we could go with him. And living apart, with only one income, I’m just not sure we can do it.”

I look up. “I had no idea. I thought he’d go home with you. I guess I didn’t know . . . how bad it really is.”

She pats my arm. “I know. I wish he could go home too. But no.” She looks at me, tears welling up. “He might not seem like the same Benny, but he’s in there. Don’t worry if he doesn’t say much to you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Russ can hardly stand to see him like this. He’s only been by once since he woke up. He’s pretty upset about the whole thing. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I know it’s hard. But it’s important for him to know we’re behind him.”

She sits up straight and blinks a few times before she smiles. “I’m so glad you’re here. Are you ready?”

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

When I walk into the room, there are cards and flowers spread out everywhere. Benny’s in his bed, watching television. He’s wearing a knit hat, with a big bandage around his head that the hat doesn’t fully cover. Mr. Lewis gets up from the chair he’s sitting in and shakes my hand. “Thanks for coming, Colby. I know Benny’s glad to see you.”

“Not as glad as I am to see him,” I say.

He sits back down, and I turn to Benny. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”

“Okay,” he says slowly. Methodically.

I look at Mrs. Lewis, suddenly aware of how awkward this is. What am I supposed to say? Does he want to hear about the team, or will that make things worse? The last thing I want to do is depress him because he’s in here and I’m out there, playing the game he loves more than anything else in the world.

“Don’t you just love all of these cards and flowers?” she asks. “Every day, more and more come. Letters too. All kinds of letters, telling him to stay strong and that people are pray-ing for him.”

“Yep,” Mr. Lewis chimes in. “Some people even send money, if you can believe that. There’s some mighty fine people in this world, that’s for sure.”

I go over to the bed and look at my friend. He looks at me.

“One of the finest, right here,” I say. I grab a chair and pull it up to the side of Benny’s bed. “So, you wanna hear about Friday’s game?” I ask him.

“Is . . . the Hulk . . . green?”

I laugh. Tears fill my eyes, both happy and sad ones. Benny’s mom is right. He’s in there. “That would be a yes.”

And so, I start in. I tell him about the game, leaving out the part about how I messed up so much because I couldn’t stop thinking about him not being able to play.

He has a lot of work to do.

“We won the game for you,” I tell him after I’ve given him the quarter-by-quarter rundown. “We can’t wait until you’re back out there with us.”

The look in his eyes tells me he’s not so sure about that. I know the chances are slim to none, but doesn’t he need something to work toward? Something to fight for?

I stand up, grip his hand, and hold it firm. “I believe,” I say. Because the thing is, when it comes to Benny, I do.

If anyone can come back from this and make a full recovery, it’s him. He’s strong. He’s tough. And he’s got a team of believers behind him, and we will not let him forget who he is and where he comes from. He can do it. I know he can.

“You know the rule,” I tell him. “You gotta say it.”

It comes out softly. Hesitantly. “I . . . believe.”

I sit back down, glancing at his mom and dad as I do. They’re both smiling. “Awesome. That’s a good starting place, right there. Coach would be proud, Benny.”

The corners of his mouth turn up just slightly.

“Yep. He’d be proud.”

Dear Colby,

I need to talk to you. Will you meet me at lunch? On the football bleachers?

Please. It’s important.

Lauren

I tell myself I won’t go. Because that’s the easiest thing to do.

I read the note Monday morning, after Stasia passes it to me in the hallway like we’re fourth graders. I crumple it up, toss it into my locker, and tell myself to forget about it. Whatever she has to say, it won’t change anything.

But as the day goes on, and lunchtime draws closer and closer, my resolve softens. And when the bell rings, and kids stream toward the cafeteria, I realize there’s no way I’ll be able to stay away.

First of all, I’m curious. And second of all, I like her.

Damn it — I really like her.

It’s gray and cloudy, but no rain. I head toward the field and see Lauren walking a ways ahead of me. At least I think it’s Lauren; she’s got the hood up on her pink sweatshirt, like she wants to be incognito for this meeting.

I almost turn around and go back inside. No, I tell myself, I need to face her. Get it over with.

I follow her through the parking lot and onto the field. She starts climbing the bleachers, and I watch as she goes all the way to the top.

When she finally turns and sits down, dropping her backpack beside her, I wave and then take the stairs up, slowly. I went for a long run yesterday, after talking to Benny, hoping it’d clear my head. My body probably could have used a day of rest, now that I think about it.

“You look like you’re in pain,” she says when I reach her.

I stand there, looking down at her. Her eyes are warm. Kind. She seems concerned. “Nah. I’m okay.” I push her backpack down to the step below and take a seat.

She unzips one of the pockets on her bag and pulls out a sandwich. “You want half? It’s turkey and cheese.”

“No. You eat it. I’ll grab something from a machine on my way to class.”

“You can’t have lunch out of a vending machine,” she says.

I smile. “Says the girl who practically lives on Bugles.”

She tries to hand me the sandwich. “But you’re an athlete. You need real food.” My hands stay in my lap. She raises her eyebrows and asks in the sweetest voice, “Please?”

I take it and say thanks. While I inhale my half in about three bites, she gets a bottle of water and two apples out of her bag.

“Wow,” I say, picking up the water. “You thought of everything. It’s like a picnic or something.”

She hands me one of the apples and sets the other one in her lap. “I really wanted to talk to you and figured lunch would be the best time.”

I stare at the apple because it’s easier that way. “Look, Lauren, I know I said it before, but I really am sorry. About Saturday. It’s just —”

“Please don’t. Colby, I know. I know what happened. Saturday night, Stasia and I were driving by here, and we saw your truck. So we got out. We saw you and your dad on the field. At least, I assume it was your dad?” I look up at the sky and exhale slowly. Suddenly it feels like I’ve swallowed a brick. How can I possibly explain how obsessed my dad is when it comes to football and me?