January. Age nineteen.

Letting my backpack drop to the floor, I slumped down onto the edge of the bed. I was missing my English class, but I didn’t have it in me. I was too damn tired.

The medications I took made me feel like I was slogging through mud. Mornings weren’t bad. I usually woke up feeling fine. I could walk to class, and even carrying a shitload of books in my backpack didn’t bother me. But by early afternoon, my body was just done.

By the time I got back to my room every afternoon, it felt like I’d been wearing lead shoes all day. My entire body ached, the fatigue settling deep in my bones. I felt like I was ninety, not nineteen.

I lay back on my bed and let my eyes close. When I’d first been diagnosed almost a year ago, I’d figured it would take a few weeks, maybe a month, for my heart to get better. I’d hated the way the medications had made me feel—getting through an entire school day had been exhausting—but I’d known I could live with it for a while. I’d held on, doing what I had to do. After all, it was only temporary.

A second heart biopsy, eight weeks after the first, had brought bad news. The inflammation wasn’t getting better. In fact, it was worse.

They’d changed my dosages, added new medications. I’d slogged through the last couple months of high school as best I could. I probably wouldn’t have graduated without Cami’s help. She’d been at my house after school almost every day to help me with my homework. The meds made me so tired, I had a hard time staying focused. But I’d passed all my classes, and coasted through graduation.

My friends had all gone out that night after the ceremony. Bonfires. Beer. Couples making out in the backs of pickup trucks. Everyone celebrating the end of childhood, and the beginning of a new chapter.

I’d gone home with my parents and put myself to bed by nine.

Summer had come and gone, and my parents had tried to get me to change my plans for fall. They’d wanted me to live at home, maybe take a few community college classes, or find something online. Something less taxing. But I’d stuck with my resolve to start at U of I.

I needed to do this. I needed to be on my own. Letting my heart condition win wasn’t an option.

I hadn’t had another ventricular fibrillation, but I’d been having a lot of smaller fibrillation episodes. I could feel them—times when my heart fluttered or beat erratically.

Every time it happened, I was hit with a wave of fear. Was my heart going to stop again? Was there anyone nearby who could help if it did? I wore a medical alert bracelet with instructions, but someone would have to see it, and have the presence of mind to do something if I collapsed.

So far, I’d been okay. But I lived with the worry every day that my heart was going to quit while I was sitting in class, and everyone would just stop and stare at the big guy on the floor.

But even that hadn’t deterred me from starting school—or staying once I’d gotten here. I’d made it to January. I was doing okay.

I looked up at the clock. Charlie had a meet tonight, so he was probably already down there, getting warmed up. Charlie and I had decided to room together, and he made a pretty good roommate. I’d assumed I’d be joining him on the wrestling team, but my heart hadn’t recovered enough yet. Coach Harris would welcome me to the team as soon as I was well enough to compete. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be this year.

After a nap I hadn’t exactly meant to take—I’d basically passed out on my bed for an hour—I felt a little better. Which was good because I didn’t want to miss the meet. Injured wrestlers still supported their teammates. That’s all this was. An injury. Athletes got them all the time. Mine was just taking longer to rehab than most.

Before I left, I texted Cami. I wasn’t sure what she had going on tonight, but she knew there was a meet, so we didn’t have plans. Despite being on the same campus, we only saw each other about once a week. Classes kept us both busy, and Cami was a joiner. She’d pledged to Delta Gamma, and her sorority had a full calendar. I figured it was good for her. I didn’t have the energy to do a lot of extra stuff, so her friends kept her busy.

I gave myself extra time to get over to Carver-Hawkeye Arena. Fortunately, I could take Cambus—the free university bus system—to get around, so I didn’t have to do too much walking. Coach Harris had given me a wrestling season pass to get me into all the meets, since I couldn’t technically be on the team. When I got to the arena, I flashed it and walked inside.

The entire place buzzed with energy. Every college meet was like the high school state finals—packed with cheering spectators. Audience chants. Shouts and cheers for campus favorites. I’d never cared a lot about the attention from the crowd. I’d always been focused on the match ahead, on my competition. But now, the roar of the crowd uncurled a thread of jealousy in my gut.

I should have been doing my pre-match routine right now. Pacing. Listening to loud music. Prepping my mind for the battle to come. Instead, I felt out of shape and weak. I wouldn’t last ten seconds against any of these guys. I’d lost weight, and the fatigue I battled every day left me feeling frail. I hated it.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. I made my way through the crowd to the main arena. Coach let me sit down with the team, so I didn’t have to be up in the stands. Everyone was focused, so I didn’t say anything when I got to their spot. Just took a seat in an empty folding chair on the sidelines.

Charlie was on the floor nearby, stretching. He met my eyes for a second and gave me a brief nod. I nodded back, but kept it at that. I didn’t want to break his concentration.

I watched each match. Cheered for my teammates. There were two other guys from Waverly on the team—one who was a year older than me, and another guy from my class. It was weird seeing them here, dressed in singlets and headgear, while I sat on the sidelines in street clothes. They both won. I clapped. They nodded to me in acknowledgment. But that was it. No good-natured bullshitting. No post-win taunts or friendly insults tossed in my direction.

It was like they didn’t know what to say to me anymore.

My heart fluttered, the beat suddenly irregular. I took slow breaths to stay calm, my eyes locked on the floor. People moved around me, but I had to stay focused. Will my heart to keep working. My chest tightened and it felt as if my lungs had suddenly shrunk to half their size.

Resisting the urge to put a hand on my chest—I didn’t want to scare anyone—I gripped my thighs and tried to breathe. This was the worst episode I’d had in a while. My head swam with dizziness and the pressure in my chest grew. At least I was already sitting down.

“You okay?” someone asked.

I nodded and my voice came out strained. “Yeah, just need a second.”

My heart resumed its normal rhythm and the pressure gradually eased. My phone buzzed in my pocket—it was probably Cami—but I needed to breathe through this first. I kept my focus, eyes on the floor. Air in, air out.

I looked up to find Charlie standing in front of me, his hands on his hips. “You good, man?”

“Yeah,” I said. Damn it, I didn’t want to mess with his routine. “Nothing serious. Just uncomfortable.”

“You sure?”

I met his eyes. “Yeah.”

He glanced around, then stepped closer and lowered his voice. “No tough guy shit with this, okay?”

“Yeah, man, I know,” I said. “Now get out of here and go make that North Dakota asshole cry.”

Charlie grinned. “Oh yeah, he’s fucked.”

I laughed a little, but Charlie’s confidence was well-earned. Even at the collegiate level, he was a tough competitor. I watched him wrestle, noting a minor mistake. If Coach didn’t point it out, I’d make sure to tell him. I tried not to focus on the fact that the guy I’d beaten last year was kicking ass this season. I was pumped for Charlie to win. But it was still shitty to be stuck on the sidelines.

After the last match, I followed the guys into the locker room. Another wrestler, a junior named Randy, was out for the season too. He’d torn his rotator cuff in practice last week and he’d need surgery soon. He slapped guys on the back, congratulated them on their wins. There were handshakes and bro fists.

I realized, as I sat on a bench off to the side, that no one was treating me like an injured team member. Maybe it was because I hadn’t started the season with them. A lot of these wrestlers were guys I didn’t know well. Older than me, or freshmen who’d come from different high schools. We hadn’t bonded like teammates yet.

But even the guys I did know—guys I’d wrestled with for years—looked at me differently.

Everyone knew who I was. Sebastian McKinney, Iowa state champion. But that’s not what they saw when they looked at me now. They saw the wrestler who’d collapsed at state. The guy who was still too sick to wrestle. Who’d lost twenty pounds since last season and couldn’t work out to put the muscle back on. The guy who had some weird heart condition most people mispronounced.

I’d been trying to deny how much my illness had changed me. Trying to hold on to the guy I’d been before the state finals. Tough. Focused. The best at what I did. My entire identity had hinged on being an athlete. It was all I knew.

But I wasn’t him anymore. I could no more win a wrestling match than run a mile. Hell, I could barely walk a mile.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, remembering I’d gotten a text.

Cami: Busy tonight, babe. Not sure about this weekend. The girls want to go to a thing. If you’re up for it, you can come.

A thing probably meant a frat party. Just the thought of a crowded house full of dumbasses drinking beer out of plastic cups was exhausting. She knew I didn’t have the energy for something like that. I could tell she was getting bored of our usual stay-in-and-watch-a-movie routine, but what the fuck did she expect me to do? Maybe I should have texted her back, but I didn’t.

I heard some of the guys making plans to go out—probably to grab some food. I got up and slipped out of the locker room. I didn’t want their pity invite. And the truth was, I’d have said no anyway. My limbs were heavy and the pressure in my chest was wearing me down. I was so fucking tired.

I took the bus back to my dorm and tossed my wrestling season pass in the garbage. What was the point of sitting on the sidelines? The rest of the team didn’t give a shit if I was there. I made them uncomfortable. Even my old friends didn’t know what to say to me anymore. These guys lived and breathed wrestling. I couldn’t practice, couldn’t work out. I could barely make it to my classes.

Whoever—whatever—I was now, it wasn’t a state champion wrestler. I was just a kid with a sick heart. A guy who spent more time in doctor’s offices than college parties.

A guy who didn’t know who he was anymore.