Don't Stop by Maureen Holohan

Author:Maureen Holohan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing
Published: 1998-12-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

When I woke up in the morning, the crusty, dry potatoes scraped against my feet. I draped my legs over the side of my bed and peeled off my socks.

“Ew,” I said as I winced. A dark gray layer of dirt and mold had stained the insides of my socks. I ripped the tape and slowly removed the potatoes, which had left slime stains on the heels of my feet.

I tossed both my socks and potatoes into the garbage can by my bed. I so badly wanted to cry out for my mom. She’d yell at me for doing something so crazy, but at least she’d come running. But then my chest grew tight knowing my mother was not right next door where she should be, in bed sleeping next to my father.

I gently set my feet on the ground, closed my eyes, and wished all the pain away. I pushed myself up and stood still for a few seconds. My feet felt tight and a little sore, but not too bad. I took one step, then another. The pain didn’t stab me like it had all the mornings before. I looked up at the ceiling and thanked God for potatoes.

For two days I put up with the slime and stuck to the potato treatment. I wanted to tell some of my friends about the magic of potatoes, but I thought they’d think I was really strange. And Faith couldn’t find out. If she did, she’d go running to my mother and father. Then they’d think I was really nuts and probably take me to a doctor to check out my head instead of my feet.

Life without pain came to an end much sooner than I expected. During our soccer game on Tuesday, the aching began all over again. When we won, I was so happy about our game, that I stopped thinking about my feet even though they still hurt. Then on Wednesday afternoon I stood up in the locker room and felt the heavy, inescapable pain creep its way back into my feet. I walked a few steps until the pain had cleared. Then I hustled out of the locker room and warmed up for the last game of the soccer season.

“Russomano!” Coach Simon screamed. I looked to the sideline and watched as my coach waved me over. She stood with her arms crossed and her hands tucked under her armpits. After I sprinted over and stopped in front of her, she looked down at me and said, “I just want you to know that I’ve been proud of the way you’ve played this season. You’re a great player to coach.”

I stood there for a second in disbelief. “Thanks,” I muttered.

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