by E. M. Moore
After the fight song, my dad wraps my arm through his hand. I fumble at first to step forward with him. I’m not used to being the one he escorts to the podium. It’s usually my mom. But, once I’m striding next to him, I try not to let my awkwardness show. He gives my arm a squeeze before he puts both hands on the podium and smiles up at the press and students who’ve gathered. “Hellooooo, Rockport High!” This gets the cheers going. It always does.
I look back toward the Ballers and find them all smiling and clapping. They actually look genuinely happy, maybe even excited. It makes me stare at them, wishing they would keep those faces instead of the angry ones they like to give me.
“My daughter and I would like to welcome you once again to Timothy Dale Court.” Dad waits for another round of applause. I clap next to him, smiling up at the larger-than-life figure in the shape of my dad. I’ve always admired my father. Who wouldn’t? What he’s been able to accomplish is mind-blowing. He grew up here, right in Rockport. He pushed hard, he practiced hard. He got into college on a basketball scholarship. From there, he was drafted into the NBA where he kept pushing, kept working hard. When people ask my dad what the key to his success was, hands-down, he always says hard work.
He gives a condensed version of his background to the entire crowd before telling everyone he can’t wait for basketball season. He looks down at me and winks. My heart flip flops in my chest, and my knees practically knock together. His last words are, “I think we’re about to have our best season yet.”
He leans over and kisses me on the top of the head. I place my arm through his again and then walk back to where we were standing. I wave at Dawn as we pass. Her cheeks are flushed, but she waves back excitedly.
Coach Bradley heads to the podium next. He talks about the team’s past accolades, then also reaffirms what my father just said about the excitement for the upcoming season. It’s all very normal. I could predict what happens from year-to-year, but the Ballers have no idea what’s up my sleeve.
The lights go down next. I think I even hear Dawn shriek a little, drawing a few laughs from the crowd. Lasers beam out of the rafters as the court speakers play last year’s theme song. Every year, the team picks a different song to be introduced to. Once the team is complete, they’ll all vote.
I’ve always loved coming to RHS games because of this atmosphere. It’s like going to an NBA game with just as much flare and excitement. The talent is top notch, too. The song fades after a second and then the DJ starts announcing all the players. They start with the third and second string first. When the DJ says, “And for your Rockport High Rock Ballers!”, the crowd—students, media, and the public alike—go nuts. The stadium fills with the stomping of feet, and then the clapping starts, too. For a moment, the music goes into a crescendo. I look past Dad toward the Ballers. All five of them are circled around one another, one hand toward the middle. It’s stupid, but I get choked up watching it. I will never, ever admit it, but it’s the game. It’s the competition. This is how I know I’m meant to play professional basketball. Men’s team, women’s’ team, I don’t care. I just want to play.
“Your power forward! Alec Christopoulos!” Alec steps back from the circle and runs toward center court. He slaps hands with the rest of the team and then looks up at the crowd, looking sexy as fuck in his suit. This really is hotness overload and there’s only one Baller out on the court right now.
“Center! Hayes “Ice Man” Irving!” Hayes’ dirty blond hair flops back as he runs toward center court, fist bumping Alec when he gets there then throwing his hands into the air as he faces his adoring fans in the seats. The only emotion I ever see on Hayes is when he’s in a game.
“Shooting Guard, Lake O’Brien!”
Trip, trip, trip, I pray. He doesn’t. Of course, I couldn’t be that lucky. I don’t think any of the Ballers have done anything that embarrassing ever.
As they announce each name, I bounce a little on my toes. The electricity in the room is rampant. My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest.
“Your small forward! Sloan Ivy!” The DJ draws out Sloan’s last name. The crowd eats it right up. In fact, during games, the crowd will just yell his name over and over again, I-vyyyyyyyy. He doesn’t just play well, he’s an amazing showman.
“And for point guard, Mr. Ryan Linc!” I hold my breath. It sounds like a tornado is making its way through Timothy Dale Court. As Ryan runs out, there’s a definite roar as he slaps his teammates’ hands.
Seeing all five of them up there like that, I’m in awe. It’s hard not to be. However cruel they might be, they truly are gifted basketball players. Nothing can take that away from them. I forget about that fact when we’re in school, but right now, they’re in their element. This is why everyone looks up to them. This is why they can get away with anything and people love them for it.
When the cheers die down, the lights come back on and the music stops. The roar in the room fizzles like we’ve all been doused with ice water. I peek over at Dawn whose jaw is about on the seat next to her. She slowly turns toward me and mouths, What the actual fuck?
I can’t help but laugh. Dad walks over to the DJ booth then, making his normal announcement that the sign-up sheet is ready and waiting. The press, though interested in the new recruits, have descended upon the Ballers. Most of the other teammates slink off to the snack table as do the students. When I was just here as Timothy Dale’s daughter, I used to watch the table like a hawk. I wanted to see what it looked like when a prospect first signed his name. Was he nervous? Was he excited? Was he cocky? You have to have a certain amount of confidence to even do this.
When I look over at the sign-up sheet now, no one is near it. My stomach drops. I don’t want to be the first name on the list. I know some people aren’t going to take this very well at all. I’d hate to ruin the other prospects’ Sign-Up Day just because I decided I want to have my chance this year.
Coach Bradley makes his way toward the sign-up sheet. He stands off to the side, looking out over the court. A freshman I’ve seen in the halls walks up. Coach shakes his hand, and then I see him bend over to write his name. The name is passed over to the DJ who announces it. There’s a smattering of applause. Only time will tell if this kid is worth getting excited over. Maybe one day he might even be a Baller, but he’ll have to prove himself. Even Ryan and Sloan had the same reception when they first signed the sheet. I remember that day well. I’d been extra anxious because I knew them from camp. To everyone else at RHS, they were nobodies. Now look at them.
After another minute, another kid walks over to sign the sheet. He’s pretty tall. Not Hayes tall, but still, he’s pretty tall for a freshman, so I imagine he play Center. Or at least wants to play Center. Not that he has a chance at taking Hayes spot. His best chance is second string. He’ll never start this year. His only shot is when Hayes graduates.
My dad meets my eyes. He’s still standing next to the DJ. He gives me a slight nod. This is it. He’s telling me those are the only recruits there’s going to be. No one just signs the sheet for fun. Even a prankster wouldn’t dare try that. They know how seriously basketball is taken around here. They’d get laughed off the court.
For some last minute courage, I look toward Dawn. She’s ogling Alec, so she’s absolutely no help. My heart thunders. I take a step forward, and it’s as if all the sounds mold together until there’s just a whooshing in my ears. I’m focused on the table. I’m focused on Coach. I’m focused on not falling on my ass in front of everyone. When I get to the table, I raise a shaking hand to Coach Bradley. He smiles at me good-naturedly and shakes it. “Nice to see you, Quintessa.”
My mouth is dry. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I anticipated being nervous, but I always just kind of looked past this moment to tryouts and then games. I didn’t anticipate wanting to hurl before I even signed my damn name on the simple white sheet. I swallow. “Coach Bradley, I’m signing the sheet.”
Someone laughs loudly ne
xt to Coach, who gives an annoyed glance behind him and then leans in closer to me. “What’s that, dear?”
Boom, boom. Boom, boom. “I’m signing up,” I say again.
The whole world falls away. Coach Bradley pulls away in surprise. “For here?” he asks, actually pointing at the court.
I nod. “I want to play ball for the Warriors, Coach.”
“But we…”
My dad steps up. He’s all smiles.
Coach turns toward him. “Tim, what’s going on?”
“My little girl wants to follow in my footsteps,” Dad tells him. “That’s what’s going on.” He turns his full attention toward Coach, his face a mask of hardened lines. Instead of challenging Coach that his daughter has a right to play the same as everyone else, he says, “She won’t be treated any differently. If she can’t hack it, she can’t hack it.”
“I wouldn’t want to be treated differently,” I tell them both, my voice as hard as my dad’s face.
Coach just shakes his head. “But, she’s a girl.” He whispers “girl” like neither one of us have noticed that for the last seventeen years.
I almost laugh at the complete and utter shock on his face. I pull out the piece of paper I printed that morning. “There’s nowhere in the bylaws that say I can’t sign up and tryout or even play. Two years ago, Maggie—”
Coach waves me away. “Yeah, yeah. Maggie White wrestled. We know.” The indignation on his face makes my blood boil. I don’t want to be the face of feminism, but for fuck’s sake, if a girl is just as good as a guy, there’s no reason why there should be any distinction. Just because I have breasts doesn’t mean I need special treatment.
He looks up to my dad again, and my dad just raises his eyebrows. I take that time to lean over and sign the sheet, my hand still shaking. My dad smiles and grabs me to him, giving me the biggest and longest hug I’ve had from him in a long time. He walks over to the DJ with a skip in his step. The DJ announces, “Another sign-up, Quintessa Dale!”
The room falls silent. I haven’t even put the pen down yet, so I do so now and turn to face the rest of the court. The Ballers are all staring at me, ignoring their interviewer. Most look shocked. It’s Ryan and Lake, though, who look like they want to call bullshit. Actually, they look like they want to do more than call bullshit, but they won’t here. Not yet. I’m fully expecting retaliation, but it won’t be right here.
I don’t even care that not one person is clapping, my dad is smiling at me, and that’s all that matters. Plus, I’m one step closer to playing ball again.
However, I’d be lying if I said a little part of me isn’t screaming in excitement inside for getting this bit of revenge on the Ballers. Okay, a lot. A lot of me is screaming inside.
11
“Holy fuck, did you see their faces?” Dawn runs toward me and then launches herself at me. I have just enough time to open my arms wide as she embraces me for a split second. She steps back just as fast. “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or institutionalize you for having a death wish. If they didn’t hate you already…” She trails off.
I try not to let her words bother me. They do hate me. I just have no idea why. Am I really that much of a threat to their masculinity? Can’t they just play ball like me? The best one wins, and that’s it. Sure, I get competitive. I want to be the best. But that also means I want to play the best, no matter gender or looks or any other personal preference.
Aside from that, I also just want them to like me. I’ve tried so hard and never gotten anywhere. Dawn is right that this is just another nail in my coffin when it comes to them, but I love basketball too much to care about that. I’ll even piss off the Ballers just to play the game.
I look around the court. The Ballers are huddled together. The other two recruits, Matt Dempsey and Shawn Loggins, are standing next to one another, their arms crossed over their chests. The snack table is pretty much wiped out. The media is still here. They won’t talk to the recruits today. There’s plenty of time for that leading up to official tryouts. There’ll be a feature of Matt, Shawn, and I each week. My dad would devour the articles, and then I’d ask him what he thought of their chances. My dad has a way of picking people out. I swear he can just look at them and tell whether they’re going to be a star or not. His predictions are uncanny. I don’t think he’s been wrong yet.
“You want to get out of here?” I ask Dawn. Sign-Ups Day is winding down, and I’ve already done what I came here to do.
She nods. When I look around to find my dad, I don’t see him anywhere. I guess I can’t tell him I’m leaving because he already has.
Dawn turns to head back toward the glass doors that lead into the school, but I place my hand on her shoulder to stop her. “This way is quicker.”
We go out the main doors of the court. Out this way, I can see my car parked on the street a little ways down. As soon as we step outside, Dawn says, “I know you warned me, but I didn’t expect it to be that intense. People are serious about basketball around here.”
“Deathly,” I say. “We’ve even had some players go straight pro.”
Even Dawn knows what that means. Her jaw drops. “You’re kidding?”
I shake my head.
“I’m going to have to brush up on basketball, especially if my best friend is going to play for the team!” She lets out a squeal that makes me laugh. “How good are you, anyway?”
I’m about to answer when I hear footsteps behind us. Multiple footsteps. Dawn notices it, too. She turns, and I see her face color. “Baller alert,” she says under her breath.
I close my eyes and swallow. I expected they would have something to say. Stopping, I turn to face them. Dawn does the same.
All five of their faces are a mask of anger. Four of them stop just a foot away from us, but Ryan charges on. “Are you trying to make RHS basketball a shitshow? Some freak sideshow people laugh at?”
I stand my ground, poising my shoulders back. “I just want to play ball.”
His chest is heaving. He’s lost his suit jacket somewhere, so it’s just his button-up shirt that’s strained over his wide chest now. He laughs. “You actually think you can make the team?”
Lake steps forward now, too. Ryan doesn’t back down though, so Lake is trying to squeeze in without Ryan giving him any room. “I don’t mind the challenge. She’ll never win.”
As if Ryan didn’t even hear the interruption, he says, “Don’t you get it? We don’t want you. I never wanted you. This attempt is fucking pathetic.”
I pull myself up. I wish I was taller, but I’m tall enough to get the point across. “It isn’t about you, Linc. It’s not about any of you.”
“Come on,” Dawn says. I feel a slight tug on my arm.
Out of the corner of my eye, Alec steps close to her. “Dawn, right?” She looks at him, but instead of her pooling into jelly because he talked to her, she just raises an eyebrow. It doesn’t deter him one bit though. “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be hanging out with whores like her.”
My face burns. The past comes back to slap me. Images of Ryan and I kissing. So sweet and gentle, then the cruel, cruel reality.
“Whore?” Dawn says, her voice high and tight and laced in surprise. “I’m pretty sure we know who the whores are around here. I’ve seen almost every girl fall all over you guys since the beginning of the year.”
Alec’s lips turn into a cocky grin. “That just means I have experience. I’ll show you some time. You just have to drop her.”
I swallow, not daring to look at Dawn. This is her opportunity for Alec. Why do they want to take everything from me? They’ve already told the entire school to treat me as enemy number one, now they want to take my only friend away from me. Their aim must be for me to be alone. Humiliated and alone.
“Just that?” Dawn asks. She steps into Alec’s personal space, and I see his eyes light up.
He runs a hand down her arm and then grabs her hips, pulling them into his own. “Just that. I
think I’d like to see your face as you scream—”
“No thanks,” Dawn says. She forcibly removes his hand and steps back. She reaches for me, and I grab her hand. I need her hand to keep me grounded. The look on Ryan and Sloan’s face is almost hurt. Sure, they’re both angry, but there’s so much more there I can’t decipher.
“Dyke,” Alec snaps.
A hand reaches out to snatch my own. “I warned you, Tessa. If you think what we’ve already done is bad, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Ryan’s cool words make me shiver.
“It must be real hard to ask Daddy for a spot on the team,” Sloan calls out after us. “Coach won’t let that happen. Your dad doesn’t have that much influence.”
I want to turn and tell him to fuck off so badly. Dawn, though, squeezes my hand. I know it’s not worth it. The only thing that will be worth it is when I make the team and get to shove it in all their faces. I am good. I’m as good as them.
“Watch yourself,” Lake says.
That has me walking faster to the car. The last thing I need is another piece of the male anatomy drawn on my face—or worse.
The drive to my house doesn’t take long. Neither Dawn nor I talk much other than me thanking her for sticking up for me. She tells me I should be thanking her because she just lost her one and only chance with Alec because of me. In the same breath, though, she says there’s such a thing as being too cocky. Whatever her reasons, I half-expected her to jump on his out. Everyone else at the school hates me because they say so, why not her?
I pull up the circular drive and see my father’s car in the place mine is normally parked. No wonder why he didn’t say bye to me, he’s probably trying to surprise me. I push the car door open with a smile only to be met with a string of curses yelled by my mother. I freeze. My dad answers and then something breakable shatters. Dawn whips her head toward me. I just slowly get back into the car and shut the door. Dawn’s door is still open though, so I can hear the remnants of their argument, my name being thrown out like a curse. Each scream of it makes me wince. Dawn clamors inside again and shuts her door, thankfully blocking all the noise out.
