“TWEEEEET!” The referee blows the whistle as the other team passes the ball inbounds, marking the start of the 4th quarter. It’s 10:06 p.m on a Friday night and I am playing in one of the most important games of my season, the game against the other Terrace Park team. All of us were out of breath from running up and down the court but we were still able to keep the lead of 13 against 9.  I hate this sport. I’ve never liked basketball before. At first, I tried a year of it. At first, I knew I would be okay but I also knew I didn’t want to play again. Then my dad decided that he was going to be the coach for my 3rd-grade year, so I felt that I had to play. Then my nanny practically begged me to play, telling me I was so good at it, when I wasn’t, but, in the end, I yielded and joined the team. It was no surprise to me when at practice I felt the churning of discontent at the first practice. I kept my thoughts to myself because I knew that I would get a lecture if my dad found out that I was coerced into playing. So I pushed through, relentlessly because now, the only reason I continue playing with the team is that I made a commitment when I joined the team, even if I was persuaded to join and forced to stay. Even though I knew I hated the sport, my commitment overrode the emotion, making me stay. People around me tell me I’m good at it, but their comments are the thing that made me sign up out of guilt for feeling that it was my responsibility to play. Now I’m roped in with no way out, so might as well play hard.

With 4 minutes left on the clock, our point guard steals the ball from the other team and now we are all sprinting to the other side, trying to get open. That’s when I see my opponent's foot, I’m too late to stop myself, and the fall was inevitable. My foot catches on theirs, sending me to the ground. It's as if time slows down and I see where this will end, me, face planting in the middle of a game. Not today, I tell myself. I throw my right arm out to catch my fall, but it doesn’t feel right. The next thing I know, I am on the floor with a throbbing pain in my hand. It’s almost unbearable but I will not cry and I will not stop playing. No one seems to notice my discomfort so I get myself up and prepare myself to continue playing when I hear my coach call for a sub. 

Next thing I know Kiera is calling my name so I can go sit on the bench. I’m exhausted so I walk off the court, grateful to get some water. The problem is my hand hurts so much that if I take the pressure of my other hand off of it, I get the sensation of my hand being painfully bent backward. I don’t want to seem weak so I pull myself together making sure no tears fall as I lift my left hand off of my right so I can open my water bottle but as soon as I grab it the horrible pain becomes unbearable and I have to put the pressure back on my hand before I can open my water bottle. 

Finally, I give in and try to not seem in too much pain as I ask my teammate Lucy, “My hand hurts, could you please open my water bottle for me?”.

She’s too focused on the game to say anything so she just nods, takes the water bottle, twists it open, and hands it back.

“Thanks,” I say.

She nods again so I just drink my water, grateful for the cold water that pours down my dry throat. I set it down, and as if she could hear the words before they left my lips she grabs it and closes it. “Thanks,” I say again. 

Even now, I can’t do much else other than making sure I don’t cry until Coach Laite calls my name and says, “Ready to sub?”. 

I shake my head and say, trying to keep my voice from cracking, “My hand really hurts and there’s only a minute left, can I stay on the bench?”. 

Concern flashes across his face but he nods and decides, “Alright.”

I look across the gym, looking for my parents because I don’t think it's just sprained and when I make eye contact with my dad, he looks down at my right hand squashed between my left hand and thigh, the last resort to keep pressure on it. I see something change in his gaze, as his paternal instinct told him what had happened. He looks back at me and we have a silent conversation, he adds hand motions to the words that he was mouthing, but all I could do was just shake my head and nod. 

I hear the aggressive sound of the buzzer that makes me jump as it marks the end of the game. We won, but the only thing I focused on were the tears now freely flowing down my face as if the scoreboard sound was the opening of floodgates. 

While my team was standing up and cheering I was now sitting on the floor sobbing. The pain is like someone is stabbing my hand, over and over and over again. My parents rush over to me and my dad picks and puts me back on the bench as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

Through my tears, I get out, “M-my han-nd.”

Looking over at my mom she passes a glance towards dad and they seem to have a conversation through that one look, “Honey, do you think you could wait until tomorrow, or do we need to take you to the children's hospital tonight?”

Again, trying to take a deep breath I get out, “T-tonight.”

With the pain being too much to use my legs, my dad picked me up and brought me through the throngs of people leaving the gym. Some people stared because I was still trying to stop my sobs. Some people asked what was wrong and we just told them I might’ve broken a bone.

We get to the car, I sit in the passenger seat and Dad decides that we could use my sister’s brace that was for her left hand, on my right. We figured that it would at least keep my hand from moving.

“We’re barely going to make it to the children’s hospital before it closes, it’s 10:20 and the hospital closes at 11:00 but it’s 30 minutes away,” Mom told me, pulling my thoughts away from the unrelenting, throbbing pain in my hand.

“Well let’s hope we make it in time,” I joke, with most of my tears gone.

Once we got there, 11 minutes before closing, I got an x-ray and they told me that I fractured my wrist so I got a cast and that I couldn’t do anything athletic. Disbelief hit me over and over, in beat with my pounding heart, then it was gone, washed away with the rolling waves of relief because I no longer had to play basketball. I felt free, no pressure from the team or people I know could keep me down. Now I know the unhappiness I will feel if I keep letting people push me into things I would never want to do. From now on I will find what makes me happy and never turn away from it just to make other people satisfied.