And then Coach pulled us together, quieted us down, and said, “Ladies, you did good.” He smiled around at each of us. “See you Tuesday.”
And even though I didn’t know if I’d be at Tuesday’s practice, didn’t know if Mom would let me stay on the team, I jumped around and shouted, “Action!” as loud as anybody.
Maybe louder.
On the way home, Booker and Sam and I and even Mom talked nonstop for about the first twenty minutes, then I fell asleep, and I think maybe Booker and Sam did, too, because a couple of times when I woke up a little bit, the only thing I heard was the car stereo playing that Beethoven symphony Mom likes—the one with the big choir of people singing out Beethoven’s version of joy.
When we got to Booker’s house, his parents were outside working in the yard again. We all got out of the car and Mom shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, and Mrs. Wallace looked at Booker’s hands and said, “My goodness, don’t your thumbs look fancy,” so Sam had to show her his thumbs, too.
“Looks like a good time was had by all,” Mr. Wallace said. “And how was our phenom today?”
“Phenomenal!” Booker said.
My face got hot.
Sam ran onto the front lawn, then stopped, staring at the bushes. “Hey, Booker!” he shouted. “You have plants that look like animals!”
Booker and I looked, too.
“Oh gosh,” I said. “A camel has joined the giraffe.”
Booker shook his head. “What next?” He reached for my hand, and… and I reached back, lacing my fingers through his.
Mom called Sam and got in the car and Sam raced over, and Booker squeezed my hand before he let go and I squeezed back, and by the time I got in the car, my face was burning hot.
When we got home, I headed straight for Mia McCall, leaning my hands against the poster, bending my head forward until my forehead touched hers. “Thank you, Mia,” I said. “Thank you for showing me how to love basketball again.”
And then I just about fell into the shower.
By the time I was done, I could smell dinner cooking, and I realized I was starving.
When I got downstairs, Mom was sitting at the kitchen counter, reading.
“Tectonic plates?” I said.
She shook her head. “Jellyfish.”
“Sounds slimy.” I sat down next to her. “Have you decided?”
“Decided?”
“If I can keep playing with the Action?”
Mom closed her book. “Nikki, do you know what I saw this weekend?”
I shook my head.
“I saw the girl with joy in her face again.” She put her hand on my cheek. “How could I possibly take that joy away from you? Especially when you’ve been working so hard. So, yes, you can keep playing on the Action.”
I jumped up and grabbed Sam and danced around the kitchen.
“But,” Mom said.
I turned back to her.
“You will bring your grades up.”
“I will, Mom.”
“And I’d rather not see any more broken bones.” She held a small box out to me. “I have something for you.”
“What is it?” Sam said.
Mom shrugged. “Open it, Nikki.”
I untied the ribbon, opened the box, and looked down at three little beanbags and a book called How to Juggle.
Mom put her arm around my shoulders. “You obviously have the sports gene,” she said. “I thought you might have the juggling gene, too.”
My eyes burned. I picked up the beanbags, covered in soft, rainbow-colored fabric, and rolled them in my hands.
“What is it?” Sam said again.
“Beanbags.” I tossed one to him. “So I can learn to juggle.”
“Why?” Sam said.
“Because…” I looked at him. “Sam, have you ever wondered about your father?”
“Yeah.”
“And you know he was a, um, sperm donor, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“Not really.”
“Okay, good. Mom can explain that later. Come on.” I took his arm and headed for Mom’s office.
“Nikki,” Mom said. “Sam’s too young for this. It won’t mean—”
I turned around, taking her arm, too. “You waited too long to tell me, remember?”
“Yes, but…”
“He should know, Mom,” I said. “He should know something about his father.”
Mom took a deep breath, the kind of breath you’re supposed to take to calm yourself before shooting a free throw, then blew it out, long and slow. “All right,” she said at last. “You’re right, Nikki. But I’m coming with you.”
So we went into Mom’s office and she sat in the big chair by the window and pulled Sam into her lap. I opened the file drawer where she kept our paper dads and pulled out the two folders. Then I sat on the arm of the chair and held the folders out in front of Sam.
“These files tell about our fathers.” I flipped the Nikki, Donor file open and leafed through the pages, pointing at things. “See? My paper dad has brown hair and brown eyes, and he was on the track team at the University of Virginia, and he can ride a unicycle and juggle.”
Sam grabbed the Sam, Donor file and pulled it open. “Can my father juggle?”
Mom put her hands around Sam’s, holding the sides of the folder, and I pulled the green paper clip from the top of the forms. “Let’s find out,” I said. “Here’s what your father looks like. He has brown hair and brown eyes, like mine. He’s six foot four inches tall and weighs two hundred and ten pounds.” I started to turn the page. “Wait, what?” I grabbed the form and looked closer. “Six foot four! Mom! My paper dad is five foot eleven, and Sam’s is six foot four?”
“Oh dear,” Mom said, “I’d forgotten about that.”
I picked up the rest of the pages and shuffled through them. “What does he do? Med school, grew up in a small town, played high school football, baseball, and basketball?” I dropped the pages into the folder, grabbed Sam’s hand, and pulled him out of Mom’s lap. “Come on. We’re going outside.”
“Why?” Sam said. “What are we doing?”
And Mom said, “Nikki, it’s almost dinnertime.”
“Doesn’t matter.” I’d already pulled Sam halfway across Mom’s office, but I stopped and looked down at him, holding his shoulders in my hands. “Sam,” I said, “you got the sports gene and you got the tall gene. Good thing it’s your left arm that’s broken. You’ll only need your right one to develop good shooting form.”
I clapped my hands, loud and slow, the way Coach Duval always did. “You ready to learn how to shoot a basketball?”
Keep reading with Little, Brown.
Get activities, videos, reading guides, and more!
LittleBrownYoungReaders.com
Facebook.com/LittleBrownYoungReaders
Instagram.com/LittleBrownYoungReaders
Twitter.com/LittleBrownYR
Youtube.com/LittleBrownBooks
Pinterest.com/LittleBrownYoungReaders
Acknowledgments
I’m extremely grateful to the faculty, staff, and students of the Master of Fine Arts in Writing for Children and Young Adults program at Hamline University. I could not have completed this novel without your instruction, help, and support. I’m particularly grateful to my faculty advisers: Claire Rudolf Murphy, who taught me how hard a writer needs to work; Marsha Wilson Chall, who showed me how fun writing for children and young people can be; Mary Logue, who made me push my characters to be uncomfortable; and Gary D. Schmidt, who gave me encouragement at a time when I needed it most. Thank you all.
I’m also grateful to Kate DiCamillo and to the family of Frances and Kermit Rudolf for the scholarships that helped me complete my MFA at Hamline.
An enormous Thank-You to my wonderful agent, Ginger Knowlton, and to her wonderful assistants, Megan Tripp and Natalie Edwards. Thank you for loving this book and for finding it such a great ho
me at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers.
And speaking of which, I cannot imagine a more perceptive, insightful editor than Lisa Yoskowitz. You made me work so much harder than I wanted to on revisions and, in the process, made this a much better book. Thank you.
And thank you to Michelle Campbell, Jackie Engel, Shawn Foster, Marcie Lawrence, Christine Ma, Annie McDonnell, Christie Michel, Hannah Milton, Emilie Polster, Jessica Shoffel, Victoria Stapleton, Karen Torres, Megan Tingley, and the entire team at Little, Brown for bringing Nikki’s story to life.
To the Hamlettes—Dori Graham, Jamieson Haverkampf, Tina Hoggatt, Andrea Knight Jakeman, Lily LaMotte, Jan LaRoche, Regina McMenamin Lloyd, Aimee Lucido, Christy Reid, Blair Thornburgh, Lily Tschudi-Campbell, and Stephanie Pavluk Wilson—I could never have done this without you. Write on, sisters!
Thank you to Coach Chessie Jackson at The College of New Jersey for answering my questions about the arcane rules of the NCAA.
Thank you to Jamie Coniglio and her fellow research librarians at George Mason University for answering my questions about their world.
A big shout-out and thank-you to the Western Fairfax Mustangs, the Potomac Valley Vogues, and the Oakton High School girls’ basketball teams. What a joy it’s been to watch you girls play. And to Coaches Tommy Benton, Fred Priester, Krista Jay, Kathleen Rose, Gus Taylor, Jeff Robinson, and Willie Diggs, thank you for your dedication to young athletes, for teaching them the skills they need to succeed, and for inspiring them to work hard, dig deep within themselves, reach high, and love the game.
And finally, thank you to my family for always believing I could do this. I love you.
Nikki on the Line Page 22
