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see his shin was raw and bleeding. 
    “Branson!” my mother exclaimed.  “What
happened to your leg?”
    “I don’t know.  It was fine earlier today,
but then during the game it started burning, like it was on fire or
something.  I took off my shin guard, thinking maybe I’d been bitten by a
bug, and this is what I found,” he said, pointing to his shin.
    “We will head to Dr. White in the morning,” my
mother declared.
    “What if he says I can’t play on it? 
Championships are coming up,” Branson whined.
    “Can you play on it like it is?” Mother
countered.
    “No.”  Branson groaned and kicked at the
ground.  “Fine.   I’ll go to the doctor’s,
but I am going to play regardless of what he says.”
    “We’ll see,” said Mother, leading us to the car.
    My time to intervene had arrived.
 
 

 
 

C HAPTER S EVEN
 
 
 
 
    I could barely concentrate on my calculus test
knowing Dr. White was prescribing the potentially toxic medication as I was
completing my final computation.  It seemed absurd to me that I should
have to retake every test and rewrite every essay, but there was always the
chance that I would save Branson’s life, and maybe, just maybe, college would
again be in my future.
    As the bell rang, I threw my exam on the
teacher’s desk as I sprinted out of the classroom.  Instead of heading to
my next class, I made my way clear to the other side of the building in the
hopes of catching Branson coming into school.  I stopped in the office and
quickly scanned the attendance sheet.  My mother had signed him in only
fifteen minutes before.  Branson would be heading to Spanish class. 
I took off in that direction, without regard to my own tardiness.  The
late bell rang well before I made it to the foreign language hallway.  The
classroom doors were all closed and I peered through the window into Branson’s
class.  He was there, seated in the back, leg wrapped and propped on a
spare chair.  I tapped gently on the door.  Mr. Hernandez waved me
in.
    “Can I help you Senorita?” he asked.
    “Um, well, yes sir, I was wondering if I could
speak to Branson for a minute? ”
    Branson gave me a quizzical look and struggled to
get up out of his chair.  I hurried in to kneel down beside him so he did
not have to get up.
     “I was just wondering what the doctor said
about your leg,” I whispered to him.
    “Are you kidding me, Sis?” he laughed. 
“It’s just a rash from my shin guards.  He gave me a prescription for some
cream and wrapped it up so it doesn’t get all dirty.  What’s gotten into
you?  You act like I’m dying!” 
    I blanched at his comment.  If I was acting
as if he was dying, it was only because he was.  I knew I would have never
in a million years have reacted so extremely the first time.  I did not
remember even acknowledging his rash, except perhaps to tease him that he was
itchy due to a lack of good hygiene.  I had to admit that I was acting
weird.  I tried to backpedal.
    “It’s just, I uh, was wondering if he said if you
can play Thursday or not,” I stumbled.
    “I can play.  He said the meds should work
fast.  Mom’s filling the prescription now and I can put it on when I get
home.  Now go to class spaz,” he joked.
    “Okay.  Yeah.  Bye,” I said.
    I backed down the aisle, tripping over three
backpacks along the way.  I thanked Mr. Hernandez, apologized for
interrupting his class, and quickly left, closing the door quietly behind me.
    I was on my way to the office for a tardy slip
when I changed my mind.  The only way I was going to get my hands on that
cream before Branson was to get home before he did and somehow get it from mom
between the time she got home from work and Branson got home from school. 
In the meantime, I needed to find a suitable replacement to have for Branson in
place of the methotrexate sodium.  I admonished myself for not having
lined it up in advance.  I could have easily had the replacement