If you find yourself typing fragmentary, desperate keywords into a search bar—looking for a story that captures the time you were sidelined by a golden boy or girl who forgot you existed—here is what you do:
The dash at the end of is not a dead end. It is a prompt.
Right now, mercy was the last thing on his mind. Searching For- Sidelined The QB And Me In-
"You’re not supposed to be here," I said.
"Searching," he said.
"For what?"
He stopped a foot away. Close enough that I could smell his laundry detergent—something clean and boring, like gain. "For the person who’s going to remind me that I’m more than a knee." If you find yourself typing fragmentary, desperate keywords
"So do I." He finally lifted his gaze. Blue eyes. Not the friendly, "Golly, we sure did win, folks!" blue from the post-game interviews. This was a cold, bruised blue. The color of a winter sky right before a car wreck.