by Janet Walker
* * *
Grace watched the scrimmage contest without expression. Her girls, who had trailed the entire game, had finally managed to tie the score with less than three minutes of play remaining. This thrilled her, but she did not let it show. Instead, she soberly considered the state of this year’s program—and Tracy Sullivan’s presence in it.
Eight weeks had passed since the first practice on September 10th, eight weeks of rigorous workouts, drill sessions and, now that it was November, scrimmage matches against college players, and she still had not absorbed the reality of Tracy Sullivan. The girl was, quite simply, the most promising and graceful player Grace had ever coached. It was Saturday, November 10th, and pre-season training was coming to an end with a scrimmage game against the Georgia State University women’s team. Last Saturday, Tracy had performed well against Georgia Tech, but the girls had lost that game. Which was why a win against GSU today would be sweet. Last month, the girls scrimmaged against themselves on Saturdays. In those games, Tracy barely broke a sweat as she averaged 23 points a game. She could have scored more, but Grace, in directing traffic on court, could not allow it. Practice was the opportunity for all players to hone their abilities, not just one. But Tracy’s performance last month had made Grace impatient for this month to arrive, for she knew that if the girl played against college athletes the way she did against her own teammates, this was going to be another national championship season for the Beck Lady Lions.
Now, as Grace stood courtside, she did indeed sense that something auspicious and amazing was forming in the gymnasium, and in her body. GSU had missed its last field goal and now Tracy, partnering with Dent in the backcourt, dribbled boldly toward the goal, scanning the floor in search of weaknesses in the defense, remaining aware of which of her teammates were open for shots. This skill often resulted in Tracy’s ripping a no-look pass to a teammate who was in a prime position to score—a pass that startled even the teammate, for prior to throwing the pass Tracy made no indication she was even aware of her teammate’s location on the floor. Now, Tracy whipped such a pass to Toni, who was underneath the basket. Toni tried a lay-up and missed. One of the tall GSU forwards snatched away the rebound. Action shifted down court and Tracy crouched low, sticking doggedly with the GSU point guard who now had possession of the ball. Grace watched Tracy’s face. Normally, the shy girl did not taunt her opponents but played with quiet, intent, polite persistence, but today was different. Today, Tracy had met aggressive competition in the opposing guard, who defended hard and tried to provoke Tracy with a steady stream of insults. And so Tracy had begun retaliating with retorts spoken lowly to the other girl as they faced off. Grace saw this and loved it, for up until today she had worried that a weakness in Tracy’s game was her inability to counter a bullying opponent. Now, as she watched Tracy’s lips move in taunts, Grace smiled inside. This was good. This was very good.
Grace tensed. Tracy intercepted a pass flung by the GSU guard to the center, and the Grace Girls, their trainers, and the small audience Grace had allowed in the gym broke into cheers as Tracy and Dent raced down court on a fast break. The GSU set guard sped ahead and planted herself beneath the basket to block Tracy’s progress. “Tracy! Here here here here!” yelled Dent, who was running with a clear path toward the goal. Tracy sent a beautifully placed bounce pass to Dent, who received it, floated upwards, and kissed the ball off the fiberglass. At the same time, Tracy avoided an offensive foul by shifting her bodyweight and spinning around the GSU player, narrowly avoiding a collision. Beck had the lead for the first time in the game. Around Grace, greater cheers erupted. She tightened the muscles of her face to keep from revealing the excitement she felt, but she nodded in approval and ran fingers through her hair.
Tracy and Dent set up defense and tried to prevent GSU from making an inbound pass. Grace saw it before it happened. Tracy anticipated a flaw in the other team’s synchronization and darted out and snatched the ball before it reached the hands of the waiting GSU player. And then, in a skilled and graceful body fake, she spun around her opponent and dropped the ball through the net. Grace couldn’t help it. She looked away from the action and—she couldn’t stop it—a smile slid over her face. Even as she succumbed to the expression, Grace knew the reaction would not go unnoticed by her girls and crew, knew they would discuss it among themselves when she was out of earshot. Did you see that? Miz Grace smiled! And their fascination would be justified, for it wasn’t just for Tracy Sullivan that Grace suppressed emotions. Whenever any player made a fabulous move, she reacted, or didn’t react, in the same way. It was her custom to remain impassive even when a rage of emotions brewed inside—it had been her way, for as long as she could remember. And it worked well in her job as coach because she believed effusive displays of approval from a coach made a good player overconfident and lazy—the player had earned approval and so what was the point of improving her game? Also, Grace feared that exulting over the abilities of one player promoted jealousy, so while occasionally she praised a good shot or commended a well-executed pass, she did not do it often and she made sure the compliment was delivered with restraint.
But sticking to her custom had not been easy since Tracy Sullivan arrived. Sometimes Sullivan performed an act so awesome Grace found herself nodding approvingly on the sidelines, much more than usual, or softly uttering “Great,” or something like it. Often she responded to a fabulous move with a run of ten fingers through her hair, the gesture she resorted to when otherwise she would have imploded. She had run fingers through her hair while watching the first scrimmage game, when Tracy took a trip through space, soaring above her open-mouthed teammates on her way to a finger roll, as if she had sole access to some invisible stairway that led to the basket. For a moment during that move, Grace had thought the girl would dunk. And she ran fingers through her hair on another Saturday, when Tracy faked and fought her way out of triple-team attacks by frustrated seniors, who could not stop Tracy from scoring twenty-six points for the B team. Whenever there was a timeout, Grace struggled to hide the awe she felt for Tracy Sullivan. During those seconds of rest, when the team stood around her, breathless and sweaty and attentive, Grace did not trust herself to meet eyes with the exceptional player, for she worshiped athletic perfection and blushed in its presence—and to her, Tracy Sullivan was a budding goddess who would one day deserve the reverence Grace herself received.
Grace looked at the clock. Two minutes, twenty-three seconds left, GSU 50, her girls 52. They could win this, they could. The breakthrough lead had given them the confidence to fight. The GSU point guard passed the ball to a teammate, darted away, shaking off Tracy’s tenacious guard, and ended up near the top of the key, where she yelled for possession. She got it and fired off a shot that was good. Grace watched as the girl said something to Tracy, who acted as if she didn’t hear the taunt but flew down court with Dent, who had possession and in that moment looked at Grace and called, speaking rapidly, for a change, “N, M’Grace? N? N?” Grace nodded with approval, pleased, for she was just about to call out and instruct Dent to do just that—lead the team through their N-play. She was right to have made Dent captain; the girl’s intuition was soothing. The girls ran through the pattern and then Tracy, standing outside the three-point line, yelled to Pat for possession. Pat, seeing the dynamic sophomore momentarily unguarded, heaved the ball to Tracy, who caught it, dribbled into step, and launched a jump shot. When it went through, Grace raked her hair and inhaled sharply. And then she felt it again, bubbling warmly to the surface of her lips, and this time she did not want to stop the pleasure from showing on her face. She waited for the look Tracy Sullivan always gave her after an impressive move, and when it came, Grace met eyes with the girl, nodded once with approval, and smiled.
Yards away, Tracy’s face brightened with surprise and pleasure, and she flew into a defensive position with gusto, as if the smile had injected her with new energy. And in that moment Grace made a decision. She would do something, a monument
al something she had said she would never do as a coach. And she would do it that day, after the game—after the win, for she was sure Tracy Sullivan would lead her girls to a victory over GSU. She was certain of that.
