I sit at my desk and stare at the calendar overhead. Red X’s mark out all twenty nine days in this month. A red circle is circled around the 30th with a note scribbled there.
      “National Teen Writing Competition due date” is placed there. I remember at the time I wrote that, I was ecstatic to submit my work to the judges of this competition. The winner of the competition would have their work published in a compilation of other short stories. Day and night I slaved over my notebook, trying to perfect my short story.
      Unfortunately, my hands no longer work.
      I lost the ability to write last week. In the front of the yard after school, the boys from the football team play a quick football game. I liked to sit on the steps with my notebook and write. Occasionally, I would watch them as well.  My former friend, Gavin Fuentes, was playing quarterback. His dark hair was slick with sweat and he was breathing hard. I never understand why he takes things so seriously all the time. It wasn’t even a real game.
      At the time, I took my eyes off the game and began to write. My best friend, Evelyn Rogers, sat next to me and began to jabber on about who was dating who and who got in a fight with whom. I remember getting annoyed with her because she was disturbing my writing.
      Suddenly, a voice yelled, “Aubrey, watch out!”
      I looked up just in time to see a football flying in my direction. I caught the football in my hands and stood up. Gavin and the rest of his team were laughing. Anger coursed through me. I had never felt so furious in my life. Gavin definitely did that on purpose.
      The football was rough on my hands as I squeezed it. I had wanted to throw it at his head even though I knew that effort would be futile. He would catch it without breaking a sweat. Instead I decided I would join the game.
      Gavin refused to let me join. A few guys made the usual sexist comments about girls not being able to play football, but I didn’t care. I loved football. In elementary school, when Gavin and I used to be friends, we played football after school all the time.
      “Come on. Are you still mad that I beat you in a little pick-up game back in –what- eighth grade? Is your ego still bruised?” I laughed dryly. “Sorry about that. I really am.”
      Sarcasm wasn’t usually my style, but I wanted to prove something. Gavin’s attitude towards me for the past three years has been ridiculous. I refused to be bullied by him anymore.
      Gavin agreed to let me play and he put me on the opposite team. Of course he wouldn’t want me on the same team as him. My team was now on offense. The center hiked the ball towards the quarterback. I immediately ran to my left because the defense wasn’t covering that side. I knew it wasn’t a serious game, but the defense was still sloppy.
      The quarterback noticed I was open and threw the football to me. I caught it and began to run. My legs were burning from the running I was doing, but the adrenaline took over. I heard cheers and chants as I sprinted across the schoolyard.
      I hadn’t felt this good since the last time I played football in eighth grade.
      However, just like good books, all good things must come to an end.
      Rough hands grabbed my shoulders and threw me down to the ground. The football slipped out of my hand. Pain coursed through both of my hands. I screamed.
      A piece of my bone stuck out of my left arm and the blood gushed. Evelyn ran over to me and pressed her jacket-- the expensive one that she bought-- against my arm to stop the bleeding. I screamed and cried as I stared at my arm and hands.
      I wouldn’t be able to write.
      The ambulance came and I was taken to the E.R. where the doctors declared I had a compound fracture in my left arm and a broken right hand. The doctors gave me pain medicine, but it didn’t help for the first two days. The night I came home from the hospital was absolute hell. My arm and hands throbbed and no pain medicine helped at all. Evelyn came by my house that night and told me that Gavin was the one who pushed me. She also said when she went back to the steps to grab my backpack, my notebook had disappeared.
      I wanted to blame this on Gavin or God, but that would be immature. I knew I needed my hands to write, but instead I abused them by playing football. I was cocky and lost the use of my hands because of that. My decisions have led to consequences.
      Doing normal everyday things are a huge challenge for me. I have slowly slipped into depression. My mind has become blank. The only thing I do is stare at my bound arm, hand and my calendar. The opportunity of a lifetime escaped me and I would never retrieve it. That is why I sit here now with weary tears running down my face.
      “Aubrey?” At the sound of my mother’s voice, I quickly wiped away my tears with my right arm. My mom opened the door slowly and peered into my room. A sad look crossed my mom’s face when she saw me. “Aubrey, someone is here to see you.”
      “Oh, ok.” I mumbled. What is the point of visiting me anyway? I don’t want to talk about anything. The only thing I want to do is write. (Unfortunately, every idea my mind teemed with as possible short stories or potential novels have all vanished along with my notebook.)
      I walk downstairs and into the living room where I see Gavin. He is wearing a green T-shirt and black sweats. Gavin’s eyes are fixated on the carpet. His left leg bounces up and down nervously.
      “I didn’t expect you to come see me.” I say. Gavin quickly looks up with a startled look on his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out.
      “If you have nothing to say then leave,” I tell him. My hand begins to throb. I don’t want to see him.
      Gavin stands up and I notice a grey notebook in his hand. My writing notebook. All of my ideas for my stories, including my idea for the National Teen Writing Competition, are all contained in that notebook. It’s been missing since the day of my accident. Evelyn and I checked the lost and found for it multiple times during the school day, but it never turned up. Gavin had it the whole time.
      “One of my teammates had it. He thought it would be funny if he took it, but Evelyn found out. She got it back from him and gave it to me. She wants me to apologize.” Gavin’s confession shocked me. He didn’t come over for feeling guilty. He came over because Evelyn told him to.
      I let out a humorless laugh. “Well, it doesn’t matter. My hands are broken. I can’t write. Maybe if you weren’t an arrogant, pig-headed jerk I wouldn’t be in so much pain!”
      “I know. I’m sorry.” Gavin whispered. His eyes focus on the floor again and he clutches my notebook tighter. The tension in the living room is completely unbearable. I want to scream and cry at my bad luck. I want to blame him for everything too. For refusing to be my friend after I embarrassed him in front of his teammates. For breaking my arm and hand. For ruining my chances at getting published and fulfilling my dreams.
      However, I can’t find the words. My mind is completely blank.
      Gavin walks towards me and hands me my notebook. “I’m sorry Aubrey. For everything I’ve put you through. You didn’t deserve it.” Gavin walks towards the door and opens it. Before he walks through it, he turns around and gives me a half smile. His smile seems sad as well.
      “I read through your notebook. You’re an amazing writer, Aubrey. You’re definitely going to be an great author one day.”
      My heart skipped a beat at his words. Gavin’s words were absolutely genuine. He left before I could even tell him thank you. I sighed and went back upstairs to my room. I stare at my decrepit arm and hand and smile a little. Gavin and I’s relationship will still be rocky and no better than it was before, but we will move on.
      My arm and hand will heal, and I will be able to write.
      My mind will teem with life again.