The Sprain

It was lunch time. This was one of the few days of the past two months where we could go outside without jackets, so I was happy. After about twenty minutes of eating and chit-chat, Anton had suggested a game. This game was called “Shoe, Jeans, Backpack.” Slowly eating my Cheetos, he explained the rules slowly. “If I were to say ‘Shoe’ you would jump. Last one to touch the ground, loses. If I say ‘Jeans’ you would twirl on one foot like a ballerina. Last one to stop wins.” Pause. An anxious pause snapped by the crunch of Cheetos getting ground in teeth. “If I say ‘Backpack’ you have to find the nearest Backpack and declare your love to it.” Everybody in the group chuckled. This was normal for Anton’s sense of humor. We all went along with it. We lined up next to our lunch table, and Anton quickly said “Shoe!” We all jumped and Anton couldn’t tell who lost, so he had us jump again.

Across the lunch area, on the asphalt covered hill, someone threw a ball. He most likely saw a few kids lined up for some stupid reason, and decided to throw a ball to get their attention. After witnessing them jump for after one had loudly proclaimed the word “Shoe”, he lifted the soccer ball into the throwing position. Right as it left his hand, he heard the really tall one yell “Shoe!” One thing I don’t know is whether or not this person felt that something was off or if he didn’t notice. What could go wrong?

As Anton yelled “Shoe!!” once again, I jumped, of course. I saw everyone’s feet start to collide with the ground. I was thinking, “Crap. I’m out. Better accept it.” One foot was about six inches from the ground. The other, about the same, but I could feel something under it. I had blinked a split second before this, and my eyes were closed. I never saw exactly what happened. I felt my foot go to the left, out in a weird way I’d never felt my foot go before. And that is the story of how I sprained my ankle.