Playing by Heart

by Anne Mateer

  “So what happened between you?” Nannie asked, standing before me in her dark bloomers and white middy blouse, feet planted wide apart, hands on her hips. It felt as if I were holding the basketball and she were trying to take it from me.

  I looked at the empty bleachers to my right. “I don’t know what you mean.” From the corner of my eye I saw her eyebrows shoot toward the ceiling. I walked toward the team benches. She bounced along beside me.

  “Look, Nannie, it wasn’t appropriate for Miss Delancey to discuss her personal affairs with her students and it isn’t appropriate for me, either. Besides, there was never anything ‘between’ us. Everyone knows that female teachers aren’t allowed to keep company with men. Your imagination has run amok.”

  Nannie huffed and crossed her arms. I envisioned her foot stomping the ground, too. Like Inez when Trula wouldn’t let her play dolls. “I thought you and I were friends.”

  “We are, Nannie, but I am your teacher and your coach. There are boundaries we can’t cross right now.” I set my things down, avoiding her eyes.

  “Blaze says Coach Vaughn’s barking at the team like a dog who’s lost its bone. He never did that before.”

  I dropped my backside to the bench. I didn’t want to know about Chet. It had been hard enough to keep my mind off him.

  Her eyes narrowed. “What did he do?”

  Heat splashed my face, turning all my fight to ash. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Nannie sat next to me. “But you still like him.”

  I nodded, fingered the belt at my waist.

  “Then show him.”

  “Show him?”

  Nannie rolled her eyes. “Get his attention. Do something he can’t help but notice.”

  What would Chet notice? Right now he saw only basketball, especially since he refused to look at me. Basketball plus . . . what . . . equaled reestablishing our friendship? I dared not hope for any more than friendship.

  “. . . and Blaze says when they win, they’ll—”

  Win. Chet would notice that. Until this moment, the idea of winning a game had been a hazy thing, nice if it happened but not vital to my existence. Suddenly winning mattered. It mattered as much as it had to hear my name announced as the winner of the Donally Award.

  No, victory now mattered more because it involved my team. All of the girls had worked so hard.

  “Nannie, we have to win a game. Tonight or next week. It’s all we have left. We. Have. To. Win. Do you understand?”

  Nannie grinned, then hugged me with a small squeal. “That’ll do it. Let me talk to the girls. It’s not that we haven’t been trying before, but we’ll work even harder.” Her eyes brightened with a mischievous twinkle that frightened me a bit. “Who knows? We might come up with a secret weapon.”

  She scurried away, left me limp on the bench. I had just put my heart, my future, in the hands of a group of girls.

  Maybe I hadn’t killed crazy Fruity Lu after all.

  We suffered another loss, but the score was close. For the first time, I found myself hopeful.

  All week I studied everything I could find about the strategy behind basketball.

  One win. That’s all I wanted. A gift to Nannie. To Blaze.

  To Chet.

  A gift that said I understood them a little better now and was thankful for their help.

  I remembered Chet’s words about offense and defense and having a game plan. I hadn’t stuck to that as well as I ought, changing course in the middle of games based on what the other team did. But no more. Now we would stand our ground.

  I gathered the girls before they changed for our last practice on Thursday. “What did we talk about this week?”

  Rowena’s arm shot into the air, her hand fluttering. “I know! I know! We have to stick to our plays, no matter what.”

  “Even when it seems they aren’t working,” Bill chimed in.

  I nodded. “And?”

  A smile burst out on Nannie’s face. “And don’t let up. Give your all the whole game.”

  “Exactly.” I looked over my team. Blondes, brunettes. Even a redhead. Eyes of every hue. Unique personalities and intelligences, each with her own strengths and weaknesses, hopes and dreams. I’d learned that every one of my girls could be unrelenting in at least one area of her life. Now I needed them to transfer that tenacity to the basketball court.

  “I’m proud of each one of you for your effort this season. I believe we can log a victory tomorrow night right alongside the boys.”

  The girls cheered, but my stomach tightened. Could a win on the scoreboard really help me gain victory over Chet’s heart?

  32

  CHET

  I brooded over Lula. The hurt in her eyes as she’d avoided me these past two weeks. The pride that kept me from telling her I’d pulled away to save her job. Her reputation. Because I cared too much instead of not enough.

  By Thursday, my brain needed a different occupation. “Any news from Clay?” I asked Ma at supper.

  She shook her head sadly. I regretted asking. Now she’d mope around the rest of the evening. I wasn’t sure my nerves could stand the strain.

  If only I could be as good as Clay at making Ma happy. But that had never been a talent of mine.

  As I scooped food into my mouth, I wondered what kind of meal Clay had today. Bitsy Greenwood was always putting together packages full of goodies to send to Giles. The thought made me sit up straight. “Ma, would you like to make up a package of treats for Clay? I could get it in the mail on Saturday.”

  Ma looked thoughtful as she picked up my empty plate and hers. “Do you think a cake would last the whole trip over?”

  I leaned back in my chair. “I’m not certain. Why don’t I ask Jarvis Grand, the postal clerk? He usually comes to our games, and he ought to have some idea.”

  “I’ll need to stop at the store to pick up a few other things.”

  She took our dishes to the kitchen. I thought of a few items I’d slip in the box to Clay, too. Then my mind drifted back to Lula. I sighed. The idea of the package for Clay had kept Lula off my mind for, oh—I glanced at my wristwatch—a whole two minutes.

  I wandered over to the gramophone, turning the crank and then setting the needle on my newest recording. The Original Dixieland Jazz Band played “Livery Stable Blues.”

  As my toe tapped to the rhythm, I thought of JC. After the season ended tomorrow night, I wanted to spend more time with him. At the livery stable. Or over in Lawton. Not at Jewel’s house. Or even church. Those places were too close to Lula.

  Ma frowned as she picked up her knitting and settled in the chair farthest from the music. “Can’t we have some real music tonight?”

  I knew some said jazz was of the devil, but I found the rollicking beat helped relieve the pressures of the day, even if Ma didn’t care for it much. “This is real music, Ma. Played by real musicians. Down in New Orleans, I believe.” That’s what the man in the music store had told me when I’d bought the record that day in Lawton with JC.

  “Doesn’t sound decent.”

  I closed my eyes, ignored her dramatic sigh. But when the phonograph needle stalled at the end of the recording, I took a different record from its slip. One Ma would prefer.

  Mozart’s Symphony no. 41 filled the silence between us until we bid one another good-night.

  My mind refused to quiet. Just before midnight, I threw on my Levi’s and a flannel shirt and walked the quiet streets of Dunn, enjoying the moderate temperature. Not spring yet, but not the bitterness of winter, either. The chill slapped me further awake, though I warmed with every step.

  Yet even after three brisk blocks, the unease that had pulled me from my bed didn’t abate.

  Lord? Is this You? Are You trying to tell me something?

  My heart pounded with every flick of a tree branch in the breeze. I tried to name the feeling that crawled over my limbs, through my chest, and rattled my brain. Not fear, exactly. More akin to the dread that arose when the sky
grew green, when the nearest storm cellar looked like heaven. That moment when you closed the shuttered doors over your underground hideout, slid the brace in place, and prayed it would hold.

  But why? As much as I wanted to win our last game, I knew it wasn’t life or death. And as much as I’d wanted to spend more time with Lula, she wasn’t the only woman in the world, even if she was the only woman in years I wanted to pursue instead of hide from. Yet she’d be gone in a few short months anyway.

  I kicked a small stone. It tumbled over the path, bounced off the trunk of a tree, and rolled to the bottom of a short stack of stairs. The ones leading into the church.

  I glanced at the parsonage next door. Completely dark. As it ought to be. I shuffled up the steps, knowing the door wouldn’t be open. But it gave way under my grip. I stepped into the building, then felt my way to a middle pew and sat hidden in the darkness. The howling cyclone inside me fell quiet in an instant.

  My elbows found my knees.

  “I feel You here, Lord. Closer than in my bedroom at home.” I rubbed my forehead as if I could iron out the wrinkled thoughts beneath the skin. No matter. God knew what troubled me. Or rather, who.

  Faces flashed through my mind like scenes in a moving picture show. I prayed for Ma. Clay. Giles. Blaze. JC. Even Lula. All while holding tight to my conviction that each one had been brought into my life for a reason.

  Lord, You’ve entrusted my heart with the care of so many. Please guide me toward how I can best help them.

  Despite my lack of sleep, excitement flooded through me with the light through my window Friday morning. The promise of a brilliant taste of spring, the prize at the end of basketball season.

  And yet a sheen of sadness colored the day, too. For Blaze, Virgil, Clem, and Glen, this would be their final game. I’d miss coaching them, watching them play. I knew others would rise to take their places, but these four had come to my team as freshies my first year of coaching and would always hold a special place in my heart.

  Sopping up my gravy with a biscuit, I ruminated on endings and beginnings, trying to shove aside the fact that I’d ended something that had never quite begun with Lula. My stomach soured. I escaped to the kitchen to wash my face. No sense giving Ma the chance to question.

  But she followed me anyway, dumping the dirty plates in the sink full of water. “I’d like to attend the game tonight.”

  I paused. She’d come to a few games before, when Clay had been here to bring her and to sit with her. But she hadn’t come since he’d left. I wondered what spurred her interest now. Blaze?

  “All right. I’ll be home after school. We won’t need to leave again until a half hour before the game begins.”

  “Oh.” She plunged her hands into the water and scrubbed a plate. “I thought we’d go to the girls’ game, too.”

  The girls’ game? My jaw sagged. She’d never wanted to attend a girls’ game before. Never had quite approved of girls and athletics. “Are you sure?”

  She shrugged as she lifted a plate and let the excess water drip into the sink. “I’d like to see what all the fuss is about.”

  I wanted to throw my hands in the air. The one thing I’d determined not to do today—see Lula—was the one thing Ma wanted to do.

  Yet I couldn’t deny Ma’s request. In spite of her ongoing prickly behavior, she’d softened some in recent months. And she seemed to genuinely like Lula.

  “If that’s what you want, we’ll go to both games. I’ll be by after my last class. You’ll be ready to go?”

  She nodded, giving me one of her rare smiles. Maybe in spite of my pain over Lula, God was doing something good in my life, after all.

  33

  LULA

  “Is everything in order, Bitsy? What do you need me to do?” I held on to the doorframe of the domestic science room, trying to catch my breath after running up from my classroom.

  Bitsy laughed. “The girls have everything ready to go. I’ve just supervised.”

  My gaze roamed over tables set with dinnerware, pots and pans scattered about the counters.

  Bitsy gave me a playful shove out the door. “Go on. I told them I’d clean up. The girls need you over at the town hall, not here.”

  I wanted to throw my arms around Bitsy as if she were my sister instead of a casual friend. It was like I was sixteen again: Fruity Lu, giddy over the prospect of a pleasant evening in the company of friends. And one particularly handsome face I hoped and prayed would notice my efforts in the sport he loved so much.

  If he sought me out after our game—our win—no one could criticize his behavior. One coach commending another. I could imbibe his nearness even if I couldn’t indulge it. If he showed up to the team dinner afterward, I’d bask in his presence all the more.

  As I arrived at the town hall, the girls marched out of the makeshift dressing room, their arms linked, whispers and squeals in abundance.

  I clapped my hands. “Let’s get warmed up, girls. We have a game to win.”

  Nannie flashed me a smile. “Don’t worry, Miss Bowman. We’ve got this.”

  Her flippancy didn’t inspire confidence. I pressed my fists to my hips and watched my team run through their drills. Rowena seemed to be limping a bit. Had she hurt her foot? Her ankle? Then I noticed a gleam at the toe of her shoe. “Rowena, come here a minute.”

  The bow in the center of her head flopped as she ran to me. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Let me see your foot.”

  “My foot?” Too innocent.

  “Your foot. The left one. Lift it up here.”

  She glanced back at the others who stood watching, then lifted her foot. I grasped the bottom of her shoe, peered at the toe. A small spike of silver protruded from the end. I pressed my fingertip against it.

  “Ouch!” I stuck my finger in my mouth, partly to cool the pain, partly to keep from exploding at Rowena. I counted to ten—or at least to six. “Why on earth do you have a pin sticking out of your shoe?”

  Rowena’s chin dropped to her chest. “We heard about other girls doing it.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Putting pins in the ends of their shoes. You know, so if the other team gets too close, you can prick them. After that, they stay farther away.”

  I groaned. “Call the girls together.”

  They gathered around me, glancing at one another. Fearing, probably, that I’d ask them to tattle.

  “I don’t care whose idea this was, but I want you to go to the dressing room right now and remove every pin from every shoe. Do you understand me?”

  Mumbles of “Yes, ma’am” accompanied shuffling feet. I wanted to shake some sense into each one of them. And yet the moment they disappeared from sight, I had to slap a hand over my mouth to keep down the laughter.

  Pins in their shoes. I shook my head. What would these girls come up with next?

  Foxy and Bill took their places to defend against the Edgewise team’s shots. Rowena and Nannie stood at the opposite end, ready to shoot for the hoop, while Dorothy and Elizabeth covered the center third of the court to pass the ball from defense to offense without having it stolen and returned to the other team.

  I almost forgot to breathe as Dorothy and one of Edgewise’s centers jumped for the ball to start the game.

  Edgewise scored first. Then we made a basket. Then they scored and we missed. They missed and we scored. Back and forth. I didn’t take my eyes off the ball. Neither did my girls. With fierce concentration, they were down by only two points at the half.

  I gathered the team into a huddle. “Y’all are doing great. But Dorothy, we need to move the ball out of the center more quickly. And Bill, you’ve got to block that short girl’s look at the basket.”

  Solemn nods. Then a cheer rose from the stands. We all turned. The boys’ team hooted and clapped in our direction. My girls flushed, giggled, and poked one another in the ribs. I bit my lip, loving the boys’ enthusiastic display but hoping it wouldn’t distract my girls from the goal. Ch
et would understand. He’d calm his boys in a minute.

  But the noise continued on, Chet nowhere in sight.

  Odd. He usually wasn’t far from his team before a game. I craned my neck, searching the crowd, but couldn’t locate him.

  I called the girls’ attention back to me. “Focus on the game. You can do this. And no matter what the scoreboard says at the final whistle, I’m proud of all you have accomplished.”

  After a moment of wavering, I put Gracie in to play for Rowena. The six girls trotted back out on the court, each to her respective zone. The others sat near me on the bench.

  The whistle blew to start the second half, but I couldn’t get Chet out of my mind. Where was he? His game would start soon after ours ended. Besides, what was the point of my team winning if he wasn’t there to see it?

  I mentally slapped Fruity Lu and her need to be noticed. My girls needed to win for themselves. For the satisfaction of setting a goal and reaching it. I needed their win for exactly the same reason.

  The basketball rolled around the rim, then slid down through the net. Air whooshed from my body. A tie game. Minutes left to play.

  Every girl focused. Every girl intense.

  “You can do this!” I whispered, wishing that willing it in my head would cause it to happen on the court. But I’d learned that coaching wasn’t like working a math problem—or even teaching one. I couldn’t do anything to help them get the result I desired. Only watch. And pray.

  I almost laughed. Pray about a basketball game? Had I come that far in these few months? And yet I knew I had. Praying about things that involved my heart, not my head. I’d given up things I’d enjoyed, like music, to gain approval from my father—approval that would last only for his lifetime. If I continued on my path to please him, what would I really have on the day they lowered him into the ground beside Mama? A day that seemed to be quickly approaching.

  A whistle. A foul. A free trial for a goal by Edgewise. Dorothy jumped at center court after the ball went through the hoop and Elizabeth caught it and threw it to Foxy, who pivoted, raised her arms overhead, and lobbed it to Gracie.