Whippet Tales May 2013 Edition 1 VOL.1, Issue 1, May 2013 | Page 19

someone he didn't even know. Lila had always assumed that Joel was a selfish, self-absorbed
man who didn't think about anyone but himself. She had always thought that football players
only cared about money and only played a game for a living because they were too lazy to do a
real man's job. Apparently she was wrong. Dead wrong.
“Mom, I need to go see him. Now.”
“I don't know –”
“Please, Mom. He could be dying for all I know. I need to see him and make sure he's
alright.”
Lila was relieved when her mom helped her into a wheelchair and asked a nurse for
Joel's room number. She knocked on the door and when they heard a weak “come in,” her
mother pushed her into his room and left when Lila was situated. Lila was afraid to look at him,
fearing that in doing so she would see him angry or worse, dying. “Hey, Lila.”
That caught her attention and without really thinking it through, she looked up at him.
“How do you know my name?”
He looked worn out and she felt bad for battering him. “I heard it through the
grapevine.”
“Where does a rich professional football player hear about someone like me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, I'm just an ordinary girl, not anyone special. I went to thrift stores for my
prom dresses and eat at McDonald's when I want to be frivolous. I think bandanas and
suspenders are classy and cowboys are romantic. I'm definitely not the type of girl Richie Rich
hears about.”
“Well, then I guess it's good I'm not Richie Rich. So...suspenders are classy? I'll have to
look into getting a pair.”
Lila grinned. “Did I mention that I'm not a fan of cheesy lines?”
“I'll try to keep that in mind. So. How are you feeling?'
“Your liver feels pretty great. Probably from all that working out you do.”
Joel laughed. “It's not my liver anymore and I don't think playing football makes my liver
feel any different but I guess I wouldn't know.”
Suddenly, a look of pain contorted his face and he turned his head, trying to hide his
pain from her. Wanting to help him but not being able to get the wheelchair to move where she
wanted, she slowly stood but quickly dropped to her knees. Her body was going to hate her for
this. She crawled as quickly to his bedside as she could and reached for his hand. She took hold
of his hand and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “What can I do to help you?”
As his eyes met hers, he said harshly, “You shouldn't be out of that wheelchair. You're
going to kill yourself.”
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Whippet Tales 2.0

May 2013