It had been quite the few days, Connor decided. Between getting asked to the dance and confronting his dad, Connor decided that he needed a few hours off studying. For once, running simply disgusted him. Drills of any kind made his legs hurt. He had been practicing until he could no longer feel his insteps or his calves. A few hours of simply existing sounded nice. So here Connor was, lying on the floor between the two beds and throwing a tennis ball at the wall above the door. He was probably breaking at least ten school rules by throwing a ball in his room or throwing it at school property. But who was here to stop him?
With a very consistent pattern, Connor threw with his right hand, caught with his left, passed back to his right, and repeated the process. It was easier to throw with his right since it had only been broken in one place, whereas his left arm had been broken in three and dislocated at the shoulder. So he considered the catching an easy way to work his arm back into its full activity. He did not want any sort of post-injury recurrences during the season. Connor refused to let anything keep him from playing. The more he thought about the injuries, the angrier he got. No one was around to get hurt, so Connor decided that blowing off a little steam right now would not be a bad idea. After all, he had set aside this time to unwind, right? Cocking his arm back, Connor let fly one impressive pitch of the tennis ball that put a slight dent and a few cracks in the drywall. Whoops. Good thing it was above the door? Maybe no one would notice?
Connor hit full panic when he heard a knock on the door. Shit, do they have sensors in here or something? Stashing the tennis ball under his desk, Connor sat up and called out, "It's open!"
