Chapter 43

A loud, aggressive knock on the dorm room door interrupted my attempt to flex my swollen, purple hand for the hundredth time since waking up. Mickey was already down at breakfast, but I begged off. I’d eat some breakfast bars and then get something after the game.

My nerves were getting the best of me. My hand felt better, but still a long way from a hundred percent, and I didn’t want to sit out this game and let Gabriel play.

I assumed it was Coach Holloway. Sounded like the way he pounded on doors. Probably here to check on me.

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

I got up and limped to the door, my whole body aching, especially my ribs from where he’d kicked me and my hip was feeling like it was on fire. When I opened the door I was surprised to find Li’s mom standing there instead of the coach, arms crossed, with Li hovering behind her looking apologetic.

She didn’t say anything, just pushed past me into the room.

“I was about to get ready to go down to meet...”

“Li’s father was a doctor, did she tell you this?” she asked as she set the case she was carrying on the desk.

“Uhh, yeah,” I said, not sure where she was going with this.

“Besides western medicine, he also practiced traditional Chinese medicine. His father was a very famous traditional Chinese doctor, traveled all around China, helping people. He understood qi, the energies of the body, and how to use them to heal people. He was very good, and in high demand,” she said, and paused, looking at me before pointing at a chair next to the desk. “Sit.”

I sat as ordered. You did not argue with Li’s mom.

Mrs. Sun unwrapped a silk bundle she took out of the case, revealing an array of slender, needle-thin spikes. My stomach lurched.

“Whoa, hold on. Needles? No way.”

“These open channels. Let bad blood out, let good energy in. If you want to throw the football today, you will do this, or do you want to sit on bench like sad little boy?”

When she put it like that.

“Okay. Okay.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now, give me your hand.”

I reluctantly extended my arm. She held my hand with a surprising gentleness, her thumb pressing into different spots on my palm and wrist, each press feeling like fire. Her touch was firm, knowing. She pressed a spot just below my thumb and then another between my knuckles before taking a tiny needle from her kit.

“This will not hurt. Little prick. Like mosquito.”

I braced myself, staring at the ceiling. I felt a tiny pinch, so small I barely registered it. Then another, and another. I risked a glance down. Three tiny silver needles were sticking out of the back of my hand. It didn’t hurt, but it looked bizarre.

“Such a big baby,” Mrs. Sun said, almost disappointed.

She stabbed fifteen more needles into my hand until it looked like a pin cushion.

It was so weird to look at.

Once they were all in, she pulled out a small, dark jar. The moment she opened it, a powerful, pungent smell filled the room, a mix of herbs and something that smelled like mint and earth.

“What is that stuff?”

“Dit da jow,” she said, scooping a thick, dark brown balm onto her fingers. “Good for bruises. It moves the blood.”

After a few minutes, she removed the needles as quickly as she’d put them in. Then she began to massage the balm into my hand. It was a strange sensation. The balm was cool at first, then a deep heat spread through my knuckles and wrist. Her thumbs worked in firm, circular motions, pressing hard against the swollen joints. It hurt, but it was a productive kind of pain, like a knot being worked out of a muscle.

She worked on my hand for what felt like an eternity but was probably only ten minutes. When she was done, she wiped the excess balm off with a cloth.