Last Chance Summer

by Shannon Klare

  “Now, try and move with the ball,” he said, standing in front of me. “Remember what I said about defending the ball. If you don’t protect it, I’ll take it.”

  “That’s encouraging,” I said, bouncing the ball against the ground.

  Grant got into his stance, his eyes on mine as I stepped to the right with the ball close to my side. He shuffled the same direction, shifting back as I moved to the left. He let me keep it for a minute, not even bothering to lunge for it when I lost control.

  After a few more rounds, he easily stole the ball before heading to the net. When he made the basket, I frowned.

  “I thought the point was to make me feel better about this,” I said. “Stealing and scoring is counterproductive.”

  “You didn’t protect the ball,” he said, bouncing it. “I told you I would take it if you didn’t.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to.”

  “Just because you’re you doesn’t mean I’m going to take it easy,” he said, tossing me the ball. He got into position again, leaving a foot between us. “All right, try again. Remember to keep that arm up.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up, attempting to get into a basketball stance. Arm up. Feet angled. Squat. This was stupid.

  “Ready?” he said.

  “Yep.”

  I bounced the ball again, this time making sure to keep my arm up. Two minutes later, he stole it for the second time. When the ball swished in the net, I headed for a cookie.

  “What are you doing?” he said, laughing.

  “It’s called chocolate therapy,” I said, opening the container. I grabbed a cookie and ate it, watching Grant as he made a few baskets from a farther range.

  “Why don’t you show me how to do that?” I said, pointing toward the hoop. “I think we’ve established how bad my dribbling is. Let’s move off it and focus on how bad my goal making is.”

  “First you need to learn how to dribble.”

  “I think we both know I’m going to need more dribbling practice than either of us can get in tonight,” I said, shaking my head. “Teach me how to shoot. That looks funner.”

  Grant shrugged his shoulders, bouncing the ball toward the basket while I followed behind. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll move off it, under the agreement you’ll continue to practice between now and the game.”

  “Deal,” I said, finishing the cookie. “Now, what do I do? Any special stances?”

  “It’s basketball. There’s a stance for everything,” he said, tossing the ball against the backboard. “But the main thing is aim and momentum. If you can hit the square on the backboard, you’re good.”

  “So, the big red square has a point and isn’t just a decoration?” I said, glancing at the hoop. “That would’ve been helpful to know back in eighth grade.”

  “I’ve seen your dribbling. Would it really have been that helpful?” Grant said, dribbling the ball.

  “You know, some girls would take those blunt remarks as insulting. Lucky for me, I’m thick-skinned and can dish it back.”

  “One of your most admirable traits,” he said, tossing me the ball.

  I dribbled, using my newfound knowledge. “Okay, so where on this square am I supposed to aim?” I said, pausing. “Anywhere specific?”

  “Depends on the type of shot you want to make. I usually aim for one of the top corners. Unless your momentum is off, you should bank the shot.”

  “Top corner. Got it,” I said, shooting the ball. It hit nothing but air.

  Grant hurried to catch the ball before it rolled out of the pavilion. He succeeded, edging the concrete as he caught the ball. “Okay. You have to throw it harder,” he said, turning. “If you don’t get it high enough, it’s never going to hit the corner and it’s never going in.”

  “Throw it harder. Got it,” I said.

  I bounced the ball twice and held the dribble, positioning myself closer to the basket. The shot was better than the last, hitting the rim before ricocheting in the opposite direction.

  Grant jumped for it, landing on the concrete like some pro-basketball player who was leisurely shooting hoops. “You weren’t playing when you said you were the worst basketball player ever,” he said, bouncing it my way.

  “You’re such an amazing source of encouragement,” I said. “Better than a Hallmark card.”

  “I try,” he said, moving closer to the basket.

  I tried to shoot again and failed for the third time.

  “All right. Let’s work on the stance,” he said, grabbing the ball. “I didn’t think it would matter, but you have zero follow-through. I can’t watch it anymore. It’s an insult to the game.”

  He dribbled the ball between his legs, holding it as he stopped in front of me. “See this,” he said, pointing to a black circle in the middle of the ball. “This is where the ball gets air. It’s also where you put your check.”

  “Check?”

  He stepped around behind me, my nerves tensing as his hands found mine. Carefully, he moved the fingers on my right hand so they created a check around the little black circle. With that in place, he moved my left hand farther down the ball.

  “See. It’s a check,” he said, his stomach flush against my back. His hand found the bottom of my elbow and gently moved it down.

  “You want this elbow to rest against your rib cage,” he said, tapping my elbow with his fingers. “Keep it tucked even when you go for the shot. Your other hand provides the force, but this needs to provide the stability.”

  “Stability. Okay,” I said, not even paying attention to what he said.

  He paused, studying me. “Are you even listening to the instructions?”

  “Yep,” I said, grinning. “You were talking about stability.”

  “What else did I say?”

  His face was dangerously close to mine, his body a hulking shield of warmth that left my brain deprived of oxygen and my stomach a flurry of nerves.

  “Alex?” he said, his smile spreading. “What else did I say?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, embarrassment flaming my cheeks. “I was paying more attention to you than I was the instructions.”

  He paused and my cheeks grew warmer. I mean, he asked. What kind of answer had he expected me to give?

  “I feel like we’re getting off the topic of basketball,” he said, tilting his head.

  “Well, you’re the one who asked,” I said. “I was just giving you an answer. You’re distracting. Plain and simple.”

  “Distracting?” he said.

  “Yes. Your sense of humor could use some work, but the outside of you isn’t half-bad.”

  “My sense of humor is amazing,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re the one who’s too serious.”

  “Seriously attracted to you,” I said, staring at him.

  He paused for a moment, his smile faltering. Back home, hitting on a guy was easy. Knowing where they stood was easy. Grant gave nothing away. Nothing.

  “I don’t even know why I said it,” I said, after a pause. “That was dumb.”

  “Hey,” he said, grabbing my hand. “Hey, hold on a second.”

  “No. I’m good. I’ve obviously made this awkward, and it’s pretty clear. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for today. We’ll try again tomorrow. ’Kay?”

  “You didn’t embarrass yourself.”

  “Did you miss the part where I tried and failed at basketball, then tried and failed to hit on you? I’d call that embarrassment,” I said.

  “You need to quit being so sensitive,” he said. He raised his hand to my cheek, his fingertips warm against my skin. “I’ll give, you caught me off guard, but I think it’s been apparent from the beginning that I like you. Still, feelings aside, this is a job. This thing with you and me is just an added complication. A complication I’m pretty sure neither of us needs.”

  Rejection stung like a knife, knotting my stomach. “Right,” I said, nodding. “It’s a job. I got wrapped up in this basketball lesson and completely space
d on what this actually is. We’re co-counselors. I don’t need to get it twisted. Point taken.”

  “That’s not what I said,” he said, frowning. “It’s just … you’re Loraine’s niece and my co-counselor and—”

  “You don’t have to explain it,” I said, holding up a hand. “You’re trying to be the responsible one. I get it.”

  “You don’t get it.”

  “I do get it,” I said, putting distance between us. I glanced at the ball. The situation was growing worse by the second. I never should have crossed that line. Why did I cross that line?!

  I grabbed the ball and handed it to him. “Um, here’s this,” I said. “I think this is the part where I leave and you stay. Thanks for the lesson.”

  “Alex.”

  I fled the pavilion, cheeks burning with embarrassment. The flashlight did little to hide it. I stopped, surveying my surroundings while mentally recapping how to get out of here.

  Behind me, footsteps pounded the path. My heart dropped, the inevitable looming as Grant came into view.

  “Alex,” he said, still jogging. “Hang on a second.”

  I waved him off but he caught me anyway, his hand wrapping around my waist as he stopped in front of me.

  “It’s fine,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re co-counselors who occasionally flirt. I can respect that. I do respect that. I just feel bad for being so up-front with you. I mean, I don’t feel bad about it, because it’s how I feel, but I should’ve kept it to myself. You were just standing so close and you smelled so good, and your sense of humor sucks but it doesn’t. I mean, you have a really stupid sense of humor, but I get it and appreciate it. But you just, you seemed to get me. At least I thought you did, and it was really nice. You know? I’m sorry if I crossed a line I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t trying to. Can we just rewind and pretend this didn’t happen? Can you forget everything I just—”

  Grant’s hands found either side of my face, and then his lips were slanting over mine.

  He was kissing me. Holy crap he was kissing me.

  My nerves shot into overdrive, my heart pounding as my hands twined through the hair at the base of his neck. The smell of his skin overpowered my senses, spinning thoughts through my head.

  Beneath moonlit shadows, he pulled away first. His hands stayed on my face, warm. Comforting.

  “I thought you said this was complicated,” I said, looking at him.

  “It is,” he said. “But I never said I wouldn’t try.”

  12

  Mistakes

  “I thought you agreed to try!” I said, racing down the court.

  Campers crowded the pavilion benches, their cheers echoing off the rafters. Tonight’s counselor basketball game was the main event, drawing every camper from every cabin. Unfortunately, we were losing. Our agreement to figure things out, despite our co-counselor status, hadn’t done anything to help my basketball skills.

  “I did. I tried to sub you out,” Grant said, slowing with the ball. “Kira isn’t ready to come in. Not my fault.”

  I rolled my eyes and took my spot beneath the basket. Kira’s freshly rolled ankle had sent me out on the court with no substitutes in sight. It didn’t matter that the right side of my body was crying out for relief. The court and this game were my current options.

  Grant dribbled the ball, sweat rolling down his neck as he surveyed his options. He held the ball, looking at the basket as he attempted to hit the same top corner shot he taught me about a few days before.

  Erica caught the miss and carefully dribbled the ball as she sprinted the opposite way.

  “I feel like I’m about to die,” I said, heaving in a breath. “My body is pissed.”

  “We’ve got about two minutes left,” Grant said, chuckling as he jogged beside me. “Can you make it that long?”

  “That depends. Does lying on the sidelines, trying to breathe, qualify as defense?”

  He increased his pace, guarding the male junior counselor who was eagerly clapping for the ball. The difference between his height and Grant’s was ridiculous. Grant easily stole the ball, then did a behind-the-back dribble as he took off toward our hoop.

  “Nope, not running,” I said, clutching my sides.

  Grant made the basket easily and gave one of the guy counselors a high five as he hurried my way. “You aren’t supposed to stay here while everyone else is over there,” he said, reaching half-court. “Pretty sure that’s called being offsides.”

  “I don’t care. All this running is going to kill me,” I said.

  The guy counselor from cabin one had the ball again. He dribbled, darting looks our way as he maneuvered through the players.

  “Alex!” he yelled, throwing the ball straight at me.

  My hand shot out with a smack, the rubber hitting my palm before I registered the movement. “I have the ball!” I said, panicking.

  “Run!” Grant said, nudging me forward.

  I did my best to remember Grant’s dribbling tips, but quickly found myself tripping over the ball. Luckily, he hadn’t given me more than a foot of space. He rescued the ball before it fell into the other team’s hands, dribbling quickly toward the basket before the other team could take their spots.

  Loraine blew her whistle as he was putting up the shot, signaling for stop of play.

  “Time!” she hollered with a smile. “Game goes to the blue team.”

  “Holy crap, we won!” I said, throwing my hands up. It didn’t matter if I had contributed or not. My sweaty blue jersey was proof.

  “We won!” I repeated, spotting Grant as he carried the ball across the court.

  He handed it off to Loraine, then shook the other team’s hands before grabbing a bottle of water from the bench. He downed it in one gulp, his jersey clinging to his abdomen as sweat rolled down the planes of his face.

  “He’s so hot,” Brie said behind me, clapping me on the shoulder as she came to a stop.

  I nodded in agreement, peeling my eyes away despite really wanting to stare.

  “Apparently he’s also really good at basketball,” Jess said, joining us with my other two campers in tow. “I didn’t think he could game like that, but he’s got some talent.”

  “He’s obviously the reason y’all won,” Brie said, nodding. Jess elbowed her in the side, earning a glare. “What? Alex is cool, but basketball is not her thing.”

  “Her team still won,” Jess said through gritted teeth. “How about you quit critiquing and jump to the celebration part. You remember that, don’t you?”

  “Oh, right,” Brie said, nodding. She looked at me, grinning. “The girls and I figured out the perfect way to end tonight. Hint: baby oil.”

  “Already got the tarp secured,” Jess said, nodding.

  I paused, trying to rack my brain for answers. Nothing came to mind.

  “Clue me in a little bit more,” I said. “What were we doing with the baby oil and the tarp?”

  “Seriously injuring,” Jess answered. She lowered her voice as Loraine walked by, waiting until she was out of earshot to speak again. “We never retaliated for them toilet papering our cabin, remember? Tonight is their hike to the lake. Their side of the cabin will be free.”

  “It has to happen tonight,” Brie added. “We won’t get another shot at it.”

  “What has to happen tonight?” Grant said, quirking an eyebrow as he stopped beside me. His hand rested on my shoulder, heating my sweaty skin.

  “Game night,” Jess said on the fly. “Monopoly, Uno, maybe even a round of checkers.”

  “Thrilling,” Grant said with a nod. He raked his free hand through his hair, tugging it messily away from his scalp.

  “The perfect way to wind down,” I said, my insides melting at his staggering good looks.

  “I mean, it isn’t as cool as a fishing trip,” Brie said.

  “Our counselor didn’t get us approved for that,” Steff said.

  “Um, I tried and was rejected,” I said, holding up a hand. “Loraine said it�
��s against camp policy to have any type of coed night trip. When it comes to hanging out with the boys, we’re limited to all-camp activities. Not my fault.”

  “Forgot. Loraine is afraid of anyone sneaking off,” Brie said, rolling her eyes. “Like we can’t figure out a way to sneak out. Pft.”

  “Don’t bring me into that conversation,” I said, cringing. “The less I know about how and when you sneak out the better.”

  “Rectangular,” Brie said, stepping away.

  Grant’s brow furrowed as he watched her leave. “I’m guessing that’s the one you had the issues with?”

  “Yes,” I said, shaking my head. “But I’ve learned to accept her how she is and move on. There’s no reason fighting something I can’t fix.”

  “Wow. Is this a new version of Alex I’m just now getting to see?” Grant said, attempting to put a hand to my forehead.

  I batted him away, pointing at him instead. “I blame all that running you made me do. My brain isn’t getting enough oxygen. I’m not thinking clearly.”

  “It’s basketball. You’re required to run.”

  “You couldn’t have kept it on one side of the court longer than ten seconds?”

  “It’s called a shot clock,” he said. “If I don’t shoot, there’s a penalty.”

  “There is no clock,” I said. “There isn’t even a scoreboard.”

  “There’s a clock in my head,” he said. He brushed a kiss to my lips, earning oohs and ahhs as his guys passed behind us.

  “Shut up,” he said, waving them on. “You act like you’ve never seen PDA.”

  “Not among the counselors,” Loraine said, closing the distance.

  My cheeks heated as she surveyed Grant, then me, her glasses riding low on her nose. Her annoyed expression looked exactly like my mom’s.

  “I get that Alex is new here, but Grant knows about our counselor rules and expectations,” she said, looking at us. “You’re the examples. Cut it out in public. Okay?”

  “Sorry,” Grant said. “I wasn’t thinking about—”

  “It happens,” she said, stopping him. “You’re teenagers. You spend a lot of time together. I don’t need the justification. I just need it not to happen in public, especially when your campers are around. PDA limitations are hard to enforce when the counselors won’t even abide by the rules. Okay?”