“Will you look at that?” Coach James says, astonished. “You wanna try that again?”
I grab another ball and do the same thing. Once again, it moves silently through the net.
“Again,” Coach says.
I do it again. And again. And again. No idea why, but the same thing keeps happening. I keep...making the basket. I remember what Anthony said at dinner. Basketball skills run in the Stone family. Genetic taste in music? Genetic basketball skills? What are the odds? I smile.
Coach James is almost salivating. “Let me get one of my bears down here.” She looks up into the bleachers. “Londy Bear! I need you.”
London quickly moves down the bleachers, her long ponytail swaying from side to side. Oversize boobs bouncing underneath her green tank. Her long legs look muscular and supertoned in her shorts, making me realize my bean-pole legs could use some sort of emergency fitness. Stat.
“Tiffany, my varsity starting lineup is Goldilocks, the three bears and the big bad wolf. You’re looking at one of my three bears.”
Ohhhh. Now it makes more sense. Oh, thank goodness they weren’t stupid enough to name themselves that.
“London Bear, I want to see if Tiffany can make these shots with some defense at her front. Nothin’ too fancy. Just some standard, white-belt defense. Tiffany, I’m gonna pass you the ball. Your goal is to make the shot. You still with me?”
I’m eyeing London, who is crouched low, arms extended toward me, face intense. This looks serious. What’s happening here?
Coach passes me the ball. I grab it with both hands and turn, but London’s arms are waving and blocking my ability to take the shot. She easily slaps the ball out of my hands, retrieves it and runs under the basket, tossing the ball in effortlessly.
“All right, London Bear,” Coach says. “Take it easy on her.”
“I’ll try, Coach,” London replies.
We do the drill again. Coach James passes me the ball; I turn in to make the shot, and of course London’s waving her hands and trying to get the ball from me, so I decide to lunge it at her foot.
“Hey!” she yells, moving her foot out of the way. The ball bounces; I grab it and take the shot. It rolls around the rim before tipping over and moving through the net.
“Yes! Touchdown.”
London scowls. “This isn’t football.”
“It was a joke, London Bridge. Get a sense of humor.”
Coach nods in approval as she grabs her buzzing cell from the pocket of her warm-up pants. “James here.” She holds the phone away from her ear. “London Bear, run the drill again.” She tosses her another ball and steps a few feet away, turning her back to us to take her call.
London passes me the ball. Hard. I want to flinch but suck it up. Not going to let her think she could ever hurt me.
“Let’s go, Tiffany,” she says. “No more white-belt defense. Let’s see how you do against real ball playing.”
I grip the ball and extend with my left hand and London moves to the left, but with the ball extended left, I move right and she lunges out of my way, giving me plenty of time to set up the shot and make yet another basket. Swoosh.
“Home run!” I crack a smile. “I thought you said no more white-belt defense?” I bust out a break-dance move, then pretend to brush dust off my left and right shoulders. “Like takin’ candy from a baby.”
She wraps her ponytail around and around until it’s a bun on the back of her head.
“Oh, is that your secret move?” I chide. “Now that your hair is in a bun your basketball superpowers spring forth?”
She grabs another ball from the bin and chucks it at me. I catch it; my fingers burn from the impact yet again.
“Did that hurt?” she asks. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your hands. Then you wouldn’t be able to waste your life away trying to make it in the music business.”
“How thoughtful of you. By the way, how’s your boyfriend’s face?”
She’s back in position, crouched in front of me, arms extended. “You shouldn’t have done that, Tiffany. He could ruin you.”
“Oh, I’m shaking in my Air Force 1s.” I decide to try the same move, entertained for the first time since this pointless basketball tryout began. Not having learned her lesson the first time, London lunges left and I dribble to the right when her leg extends. To dodge it, I spin around. Pain shoots up my ankle as it twists one way and I fall another. My shoulder slams down hard onto the court. The impact makes me see little white flickers of light around my eyes. This must be what people mean when they say they “saw stars.” I scream in pain.
“What happened?” Coach shouts.
I’m writhing on the floor, groaning, clenching my teeth in agony. Coach rushes over and kneels at my side. She reaches out to touch my ankle, which sends excruciating pain through my whole body. I scream again.
“Tiffany, are you all right?” London kneels beside me.
Coach looks at London. “What just happened here?”
“She tripped.”
“You lie!” Tears are welling up. Damn it. Stupid tears. “You tripped me. On purpose!”
“That’s not true,” London explains calmly. “Tiffany, I wouldn’t do that.”
Coach looks up at the bears in the stands. “Girls! Who saw what happened? Right now!”
Izzy moves down the bleachers with Charlie at her heels. Both blondes are dressed in matching green tanks and shorts, hair in high, bouncy ponytails.
“London’s telling the truth,” Izzy says. “She fell on her own.”
“That’s her friend!” I shout. “She’s lying for her.”
Coach looks to Charlie.
“I—I didn’t see it.” Charlie wrings her hands together nervously. “Sorry.”
I cry out again, the pain intensifying.
“You girls get ready for practice. I’m gonna walk Tiffany to the nurse.”
* * *
“So does that mean you didn’t make the team?” Anthony’s voice booms through my cell speakers. Is he serious? I lean my head back in the car. Darryl turns off the radio and places earbuds in his ears to give me privacy.
“My ankle’s twisted. The nurse recommends I stay off it for six weeks. She loaned me crutches and wrapped it. I’m sorry I disappointed you.”
“I’m not disappointed.” He sighs, clearly disappointed. “Accidents happen. When you get all healed, I’ll work with you privately and next year you can try out again. Coach said you showed real promise.”
“You’re going to make me do this again? Why? I hated it.”
“House rules say you must play a sport. You have another one in mind?”
“Look, I don’t have any sports in mind because I don’t play sports. So why are you making me? Jeez.”
“Tiffany, we really need to talk when I get back. The way you speak to me is borderline disrespectful. I won’t tolerate that sort of behavior.”
“I’m just talking. Voicing my opinion. I didn’t realize house rules banned me from saying how I feel.”
“Listen, hun, I gotta run. I’ll be home tomorrow. Keep it elevated. Ice packs are in the freezer. I’ll call Margaret and let her know what happened. We’ll talk about appropriate speech when I return.”
Appropriate speech? “Sounds superexciting. Can’t wait.”
I hang up and text Keelah. I explain every detail of what happened, including the conversation with Anthony. After I click Send, I delete the message. Within a minute, my phone rings.
“Your phone gets confiscated at night?” Keelah asks, shocked. “Guess you better stop sexting with your imaginary boyfriends.”
“Keelah? Seriously?”
“So he’s extraprotective. Big what? Stacia’s dad started making her wear a uniform to school.”
“But we don’t have to wear uniforms at West.”
&n
bsp; “I know. She looks positively insane. See? Your new dad’s not so bad. And about your new sis. What if she really wasn’t trying to trip you, though?”
“You think I’m making it all up?”
“No, no. I’m just sayin’. You’re majorly clumsy and basketball illiterate.”
“Omigosh! You’re siding with her?”
“No. I’m siding with logic.”
A text comes in. I check the screen and sigh. Aric. “I have to go. I’ll call you back, Keelah.”
“You mad at me?”
“Can I just call you back?”
“Tiff, wait. I’m on London’s Facebook page and there’s a YouTube video of you at basketball practice.”
I sit up. “I’m sorry...what?”
“Tiffany, it’s bad. You’re falling all over the place and it’s scored. There’s that circus theme song playing as background music. It’s already got three hundred and fifty shares.”
“Keelah. You’re lying!”
“And lots of comments.”
“She posted a video of me?”
“It looks like somebody else did it. Isabel Alex? You know her?”
“Izzy Bear? How bad is the video, Keelah? How bad do I look?”
“Put it this way—at the end, you’re screaming in pain, laid out on the court, and then it cuts to a monkey screaming in the jungle.”
“Omigosh!” Another text comes in from Aric. “Fuck my life, Keelah. I really have to call you back.”
I hang up and read the two texts from Aric: My parents want to press charges against you. Is there any way you can meet me at Menchie’s Frozen Yogurt so we can talk. Privately.
Fuuuuuck! I respond: What’s the address?
He texts back within seconds.
“Hey, Darryl?” I say. “Can we make a quick pit stop at Menchie’s?”
12
Aric’s sitting at a table. A white bandage covers his nose, the skin surrounding it all black-and-blue. I turn and see Darryl’s eyes glued on me, watching me curiously. I wave happily so he thinks I only ran into a friend from school and slide into the chair across from Aric.
“My parents are going to call your dad when he gets back in town,” Aric explains.
“Okay.”
“You have to say you didn’t hit me.”
“Look. I’m a big girl. I can own up to what I did.”
“No.” He looks serious. “You can’t. You don’t know my parents. They hate black people. They’ll sue your whole family. Do not admit you hit me.”
“They hate black people? You’re dating a black girl!”
“Right and you wanna know what my mom said when she found out? That I’d be better off gay. And my dad said if I married one of them, he’d disown me and cut me out of his will.”
“Wow. Nice family.”
“Look, Tiffany. Everyone basically knows it was you who broke my nose. And what everyone knows, my parents know, too. When they found out you’re black, they flipped. They’re already talking to the principal about getting you expelled. But as long as we keep our stories straight there is nothing they can do. You did not hit me.”
Only I did. Becoming exactly what his parents expect of me. I lay my head into my hands. “Aric, your nose is broken. How’d you explain that?”
“I said I fell asleep and my face fell on the desk.”
I look up. “What? You are the world’s worst liar.”
“And you’re the world’s worst person! You broke my fucking nose!”
“You were being so mean!”
“What? Are we in kindergarten?”
I shift in my seat and glance out the window. Darryl is still eyeing me suspiciously. “We should at least get yogurt. My driver’s looking at me weird.” I laugh like Aric said something funny, stand and gesture dramatically toward the yogurt stations. “Just play along.”
Reluctantly Aric stands. We both grab cups and move toward the line of yogurt choices.
“I won’t admit you did it. No one saw it. Just say you didn’t do it, Tiffany.”
I pull on the silver handle for harvest pumpkin. An orange ribbon of yogurt swirls into my cup. The smell is like sweet autumn and makes me long for Chicago. “Why are you trying to save my ass? I thought you’d want me to get expelled.”
Aric pulls the handle for cookie dough. I watch as light brown yogurt swirls into his cup and contemplate adding a bit of cookie dough onto mine. Would pumpkin cookie dough be weird? “Trust me, I do,” he growls. “But London made me promise to fix this.”
“You’re only doing this because London told you to?”
“Yeah. She tells me what to do and I do it. It’s called being a boyfriend.”
We both move toward the checkout counter.
“Oh, like she told you to go to her church and convert to her religion? Back in Chicago we have this thing. It’s called ‘be who you really are and see if people still love you.’ You should try it.”
“I’m standing here, saving your life, and you’re trying to lecture me? You think because you’re from Chicago you know everything? You think you’re better than all of us because you grew up in the fucking ’hood?”
“The whole city of Chicago’s not the ’hood, asshole.”
He shakes his bangs out of his eyes. “Careful, rage machine. You gonna break my skull next?”
I want to scream and shout that I’m not violent. That he shouldn’t judge me and the whole city of Chicago based on one dumb punch. But what right do I have? He’s the one with the twisted face. So instead I say, “I’m sorry, Aric. I really am.”
“Too bad ‘sorry’ can’t fix anything. Stick to our story. Got it?” He places his cup of cookie dough yogurt on the counter and slides it next to mine. “Knock yourself out. I’m lactose intolerant.” He exits the restaurant.
* * *
The loft and crutches don’t exactly go well together, so I’m lying on my bed finishing up my homework when someone bangs on the door.
“Come in.”
Nevaeh peeks in; her silver braces shine bright as she grins. “I heard you wiped out at basketball practice.” She rushes inside and Margaret comes in behind her with an ice pack.
“Mom, I’ll take it.” Nevaeh takes the ice pack from Margaret and sits on the edge of my bed. “Tiffany. Dude. This is supposed to be elevated.” She grabs one of my pillows and sticks it under my injured ankle, then gently places the ice on top. I wince.
Margaret folds her arms under her chest. “I hate that you’re injured. You’ll miss out on surfing and boogie boarding with the girls in Malibu this weekend.”
“I know,” I say, faking disappointment. “Being on a board in the middle of the ocean sounds like fun.” Like a fun way to die.
London bursts through our bedroom door. Her eyes are red. Has she been crying?
“What’s wrong, London?” Nevaeh asks.
“My contacts are bothering me.” London quickly moves toward her dresser and begins rummaging through her drawers, back turned toward us. Then she slams the drawer shut and spins around. “Can you guys get out? I need to take a shower and get dressed.”
“Jeez.” Nevaeh frowns. “What’s up your butt?”
Margaret clears her throat. “Nevaeh? Language.”
“Mom, what’s wrong with butt? Everybody has a butt. Pumpkin has to know that she has a butt.”
Margaret grabs Nevaeh gently by the arm. “Dinner in half an hour, girls.”
They exit. Shutting the door behind them.
“What did you say to Aric?”
“What do you mean?”
“Tiffany! What did you say to him? I know you guys met at Menchie’s and now he’s being crazy weird about my faith. He says he’s never coming to my church and won’t ever be a Jehovah’s Witness.”
I sit up and
remove the ice pack from my ankle. “Wait...seriously?”
She grabs her hair and pulls at it, completely out of sorts and frantic, pacing around the room. “I can’t be with someone who’s not a Jehovah’s Witness. Not like for real. I don’t get it. He’s been totally on board this whole time and now he’s pulling a one-eighty. You said something to him. I know you did. He wasn’t acting like himself at all. Do you like him or something? Are you trying to break us up? It’s not my fault your ankle got busted at practice. You sucked.”
“Actually, Coach said I showed promise. Until you tripped me.”
“I didn’t trip you!”
I swing my legs off the bed and stand on one leg, leaning against the dresser for support. “Right. I saw that circus video of me on Facebook.”
“You saw that?” At this point, tears are streaming down her pretty brown cheeks. She wipes them away. “Tiffany, I swear I had nothing to do with that. Izzy posted it on my page. She showed me after practice and I made her delete it. I got really mad.”
“You did?”
“Yes! I wouldn’t do that to you. And Dad monitors my Facebook page. My pastor is one of my Facebook friends. Why would I let something like that stay on my page?”
“I’m so sorry. I thought...I thought you had something to do with it.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Now what about Aric? What did you say to him?”
“I mean, I might have mentioned something about being who you really are and people loving you for you, but it wasn’t specifically meant—”
“I knew it! I’ve been sharing the good news of the Kingdom with Aric. That’s our job as Witnesses. He was coming around to it and then you go and say something stupid like that?”
“Why is that stupid? It’s true! You can’t convert everybody. I’m not converting to your religion, either.”
“So how is that going to work, Tiffany? We drop you off at another church or something?”
“No church for me.”
“You have to go to church. It’s house rules.”
“London, I don’t even believe in God.”
Tiffany Sly Lives Here Now Page 15
