Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Free Throws

by Janette Rallison

  Josie reached out and shook my hand.

  Which meant I had a shot at playing with Rebecca, or at least I would if I could get Ethan to talk to Josie.

  Two

  Josie

  I thought about Ethan for the rest of the night—which was not out of the ordinary, except this time, as I pictured him sitting in class, his bangs falling across his forehead in that slightly mussed way, I wondered if what Cami said could be true.

  Would I talk to him soon—not once, but three times?

  We were about to pair up with partners in biology class to work on science projects. Was it wishing for the impossible to want Ethan to team up with me?

  That night Cami e-mailed me a list of things I needed to get Ethan to notice me. Cami is one of those ultraorganized people who makes lists for everything. Her to-do list for me was

  1. Smile while walking through the hallways at school.

  2. Don't giggle nervously.

  3. Don't slouch.

  4. If you catch Ethan's eye, say, "Hi."

  5. If he says, "Hi," back to you, try to start a conversation.

  6. Don't use the words um, uh, or huh in sentences.

  Permitted things to say to Ethan:

  Anything about sports, especially basketball.

  Not permitted to say:

  That your free-throw average is better than his.

  Permitted to say:

  How are you?

  Not permitted to answer:

  Madly in love with you.

  Permitted to say:

  Anything about his friends.

  Not permitted to say:

  Anything embarrassing about me.

  Which just shows you how much confidence Cami has in my conversational powers. Like, what was she afraid I would say about her?

  ME (while giggling and slouching): Hi, Ethan, have you written a poem about yourself for English class yet?

  ETHAN: No. Have you?

  ME: Um, I'll probably do one about unrequited love.

  Cami hasn't thought of anything to write yet though.

  She, uh, has a hard time making up her mind sometimes.

  ETHAN: Oh?

  ME: Yeah, she's also a picky eater and an impulsive shopper.

  ETHAN: Really?

  ME: And she was afraid of the dark until the third grade.

  I mean, honestly, I do have some social graces. Still, I took Cami's list to heart.

  The next day between classes I walked around school smiling. By fourth period my lips felt sore, and people kept glancing around the hallway to see what I was looking at.

  I continued the grin during English class. Since Ethan was the reason for my big-teeth spotlight, I thought I shouldn't stop until he noticed me. He never looked my direction, but Mrs. Detwiler accused me of not paying attention.

  Evidently she doesn't get a lot of students smiling while she recites Shakespeare's sonnets, and she figured if I looked happy, I must be doing something other than listening to her. (If only I could.)

  After she scolded me, I put on my usual blank stare for the rest of English class. My lips enjoyed the rest. Then I smiled on the way to lunch, biology, and history.

  Ethan never noticed the new, happier me, but I learned something important—there's a reason runway models don't smile while they walk down the catwalk. Mainly, you feel like an idiot strolling around smiling for no apparent reason. I'm sure this knowledge will come in handy if there's ever a shortage of runway models and they start drafting average-looking tall girls like me into the profession.

  When school ended, Cami came by my locker. "Did you talk to Ethan today?"

  "No."

  "Well, don't get discouraged. This is only day one of our plan. Tomorrow we'll go outside to the courtyard where he and Justin hang out after lunch. And then we'll"—she fluttered one hand in the air—"we'll do something."

  "What?"

  "We'll talk to them." She pushed on my shoulder blades. "You're slouching again."

  I straightened my back until my muscles strained.

  "Now you're not smiling."

  I smiled.

  "And remember, don't giggle."

  No chance of that. It was hard to laugh when both my lips and my back felt sore.

  Guys. If only they knew what we went through for them.

  Cami

  The next day after lunch, Josie and I walked out to the courtyard to look for Ethan and Justin. We found them sitting on a bench eating their sack lunches.

  I had no idea how to start a conversation with them, but I didn't let Josie know this. I was supposed to be the expert. I had to at least act like an expert if I wanted a chance to play with Rebecca Lobo.

  You'd think after living with an older brother for fourteen years I'd know everything about guys, but my knowledge consisted of the following:

  1. They think burping is hilarious.

  2. They think sitting behind the wheel of a car gives them superpowers.

  3. Punching each other is a form of communication.

  4. They would rather shower standing in a brown tub every morning than clean the bathroom. This makes sense when you consider they like monster truck racing and football, two events that can't be done while staying clean. Dirt, apparently, is a guy thing.

  That was all I knew about guys. I doubted any of it would help to get a conversation going with Ethan.

  We sat down on the bench across the courtyard from him and Justin, and we talked about science projects, talked about nothing, really, because neither one of us was thinking about science.

  I waited for an opportunity to—I didn't know what—bring up monster truck racing or toss out a compliment. Hey, Ethan, you're pretty clean for a guy.

  Ethan threw a grape into the air and tried to catch it with his mouth while Justin said, "You'll never make it."

  If only one of them would say something to us first. I mean, here we were, two girls by ourselves. . . .

  We were pretty enough to attract attention, weren't we? Josie had smooth brown hair and dark eyes that gave her a mysterious look. Each year those features seemed more refined and feminine, as though she was a painting that was still getting the finishing touches.

  I used to think I was the prettiest—guys are supposed to like blonds best—but suddenly I wasn't sure. When Ethan looked over at us, who did he think was better looking?

  "I wish you were in advanced biology with me, and we could do our science project together," Josie said. "We could think of something fun."

  Josie was in all honors classes. I only had honors English, so I was in regular biology with all the other regular people. Which meant not only was Josie prettier than me. She was smarter too. Just like in basketball, I was number two.

  My only advantage over her was that due to my older brother and his set of annoying friends, who constantly streamed through our house, I had more experience with guys. I had one advantage, and I was using it to help her attract the attention of the guy I liked.

  "Of course I'd like to do my project with Ethan," Josie whispered, "but I can't even talk to him. I'd never be able to ask him to be my partner." She leaned in closer to me. "We're out here. What do we do next?"

  Yes, what?

  A grape bounced off Ethan's chin. As he made a grab for it, the sun streaked through his brown hair.

  Justin took another grape from his lunch sack. "You're pitiful. Watch a pro." Justin threw the grape up in the air, and might have caught it in his mouth if Ethan hadn't pushed him out of the way. The grape hit Justin's cheek and then bounced to the ground. Justin picked up the grape and chucked it at Ethan. "You loser."

  Ethan ducked and smiled. He had great teeth too.

  The grape flew over toward our side of the courtyard, hit the ground, and rolled under our bench. I picked it up. "You guys are both lousy shots. I'll show you how it's done." I took aim at the garbage can by Justin. "This is a three-pointer." I flung the grape, and it sailed toward the can, then plunked into the side of the can an
d dropped to the ground.

  Justin snorted. "Not even close."

  "Girls can't throw," Ethan said.

  Josie tilted her head at him, all smiles. "Is that a challenge?"

  "Nope, it's a fact Cami just demonstrated."

  Her smile didn't falter. " I 'm a better shot than Cami."

  Which is just the thing you want your best friend to tell the guy you like.

  "Prove it." Ethan tossed a grape to Josie.

  She caught it with one hand, threw it into the air above her head, and opened her mouth. It fell onto her tongue, and she turned to Ethan, holding the grape between her teeth. "See."

  "That was luck, not aim." Ethan tossed her another grape. "Try throwing it in my mouth."

  She shook her head. "You'll cheat and move so it won't go in. If you want a contest, you throw one at Justin's mouth, I'll throw one at Cami's, and we'll see who has better aim."

  "Fine." Ethan walked over to our bench, fingering a grape between his thumb and forefinger.

  Josie pushed me toward Justin. "Come on, Camilla, this is one time when I need your big mouth over there."

  Thanks. In the game of love, I had suddenly been reduced to a catcher's mitt with teeth.

  I wanted her to miss.

  Still, I stood unmoving beside Justin, my mouth hanging open like I was preparing for a tonsillectomy. At the other bench Josie stared intently at me, the grape poised between her finger and her thumb. Her hand rocked back and forth as she took aim. Then with a flick of her wrist, she hurled the grape in my direction.

  It was a good throw. Apparently, not only basketballs but also grapes liked Josie. She would make the shot, show Ethan she was dripping with talent, and gloat about it for the rest of the day.

  If I tilted my chin down just a bit, she'd miss.

  I kept my chin up, watching the grape soar toward me until it plopped into my mouth.

  Josie held her hands up. "Victory!"

  I wasn't sure whether to spit the grape out or eat it. I let it sit on my tongue in case Ethan demanded to see the proof.

  He didn't. He just chucked his grape at Justin. The grape curved toward Justin's face but was too far to the left. Justin took a step in that direction, then straightened up, trying to center himself. He reminded me of one of those trained dolphins at Sea World who stand on their back fins to get food—except dolphins are better at it. The grape hit him in the forehead.

  "Girls rule," Josie said.

  "Rematch," Ethan said. "Best two out of three."

  "All right," Josie said.

  "Waid a minud." I held up a hand while I chewed the grape. It was bitter, and I tried not to purse my lips while I talked. "What if I don't want to stand here getting grapes thrown at my face?"

  Ethan pulled two more grapes from his lunch bag and handed one to Josie. "Don't worry. She'll miss your face altogether next time."

  Josie took aim. "You wish."

  I barely had time to open my mouth before Josie tossed the next grape. It hit me on the nose, then fell to the ground.

  "Ha!" Ethan said, then threw his grape at Justin.

  Justin did another dolphinlike attempt trying to catch the grape, but missed.

  Josie beamed. "I still win."

  "Nope. It's two out of three. If you miss next time and I score, we'll be even and need to go to best three out of four."

  "Do you have that many grapes?" Josie asked.

  "We can pick the ones off the ground if we need to," he said.

  "I'm not eating grapes off the ground," I called over to them.

  "Of course you're not," Ethan called back. "She'll miss the rest of her shots."

  But she didn't. She and Ethan threw three more times before the bell rang, and she landed a grape in my mouth twice. Ethan only got it in Justin's mouth once, and that was just because Justin was getting better at cheating.

  "Best eight out of nine," Ethan called when the last round was over.

  I walked back to the bench where my books were. "Sorry. We'll be late for class as it is."

  Josie picked up her books, but didn't move away from Ethan. "At least you won't go to class hungry," she told me. "You got to eat grapes."

  Yeah, but they were sour grapes.

  I decided not to wait for Josie to pull herself away from Ethan. "I've got to go," I called over my shoulder, then walked back into the school. Our biology classes were in different directions, and besides, who knew how long she'd stand there flirting with Ethan. Any moment she'd ask him to be her science fair project partner, and he'd be thrilled.

  I just didn't want to see it.

  Josie

  Justin looked at his watch and winced. "Mr. Renault will give me detention if I'm late again." He grabbed his books from the bench and headed out of the courtyard with quick steps.

  I fiddled with my notebook paper, unsure whether I should wait to walk with Ethan to class, or whether that would be presumptuous. Now that I wasn't throwing grapes, I didn't know what to do with my hands.

  Ethan picked up his books and glanced over at me. "Guess we'd better hurry, or Mr. Parkinson will make us clean out the lizard cages."

  We walked silently out of the courtyard through one of the side doors and down the hallway to biology.

  I should say something. Here was my chance to ask him to be my partner—the only chance I was likely to get, since we were choosing partners today in class.

  The hallway was empty, and my footsteps echoed around me.

  So, Ethan, would you be my science fair partner? That sounded like a marriage proposal. I'd have to come up with something more subtle. I switched my books from one hand to the other. "So, um, today's the day we're choosing partners in biology, right?"

  Um. I'd said um. And I was probably slouching and not smiling.

  Thirty seconds alone with Ethan, and I'd already broken three rules Cami had given me for impressing him. I straightened up and smiled, until I realized that smiling probably made me look like I loved biology.

  "Yeah, today is the day," he said.

  The bell rang. We were officially late. I didn't mind.

  "Do you have any ideas about a project?" I asked.

  "I was thinking of doing something on germs. Maybe test antibacterial soaps on different surfaces and see if they actually work."

  "That's sounds interesting. So . . ." Would you be my partner? Only I couldn't say it. "So, um . . ." I'd said um again. This was getting worse. "So . . ." Why did I keep saying 50? So was as bad as um. When Cami asked me how my first real conversation with Ethan went, I'd have to say, "It went so-so. Literally."

  I cleared my throat. "I bet you'll do really well with germs." That sounded like an insult. I was lousy at talking with boys.

  We rounded a corner, and the biology door came in sight.

  "Maybe Parkinson won't notice we're late," Ethan said.

  "Right." I knew he'd not only notice, he'd make a big deal about marking us tardy and telling us we were disrupting class.

  And then I smiled without forcing it. "They're probably choosing partners right now."

  He didn't say anything.

  "If everyone else is taken, I wouldn't mind doing something on germs."

  We reached the door, and Ethan turned the knob. "Brendan and I already decided to be partners."

  "Oh. Okay." I'm not sure he heard me. He walked through the door into the already jumbled classroom. Everyone was out of their seats, standing and talking in clusters of two. Some were congregated around a stack of science project books on Mr. Parkinson's desk.

  Brendan came up to Ethan, notebook in hand. "There you are. I was afraid you were skipping class, and I'd be stuck with the Whine as my partner."

  The Whine's real name was Frederick Vine, but he had earned the nickname due to years of complaining about everything at school. According to Frederick, the teachers graded unfairly, the popular kids got special treatment, and PE class was stupid. No one, he insisted, needs to know how to play badminton to succeed in life.
>
  Well, yeah, but you don't see the rest of us complaining about all of it.

  Mr. Parkinson stood behind his desk, looking over the top of his bifocals at Ethan and me. "Glad you two could fit class into your busy schedules. If you come in late again, you'll both have detention. Now choose a partner and get to work. You have until the end of class to decide on a project, write a paragraph describing it, and turn in a plan of action."

  Ethan went off with Brendan, talking about petri dishes, without another glance in my direction.

  I walked to my desk, looking around the room for a girl, any girl, who was still by herself.

  No one.

  I knew, but I still kept looking anyway. It wasn't until Frederick walked right up and plunked his books on my desk that I accepted the fact: I was stuck with the Whine.

  Frederick was about five feet and nine inches, all of it knees and elbows. His dark brown hair was a little too long, as though he couldn't be bothered to cut it, and he usually walked like he was in a hurry to get somewhere. Maybe he was. I had never talked to him enough to find out.

  He pulled a chair up to my desk, sat down, and opened up his notebook. "I wanted to work alone, but Mr. Parkinson says teamwork is part of the grade, so you can be my partner." He wrote "Description of Project" across the top of his paper. "We're going to test rocket stability with different fin configurations and balance."

  I got out my own notebook. "Frederick, it's supposed to be a science project, not a NASA experiment."

  He didn't stop writing. "This is exactly why I didn't want a partner. What kind of science project were you thinking of doing? Which nail polish stays on longer?"

  "No," I said hotly, and then as I thought about it, "although at least that would be a useful thing to know."

  "Rocket stability is a useful thing to know."

  "Half the population wears nail polish. How many people launch rockets?"

  Frederick continued writing his paragraph. "We're doing rocket stability. It will involve one day when we measure and weigh the rockets and another day when we launch them and track their trajectory. We'll also need to get the calculations to determine the center of pressure. I'm pretty sure we'll be able to get that off the Internet. I've already found a few sites to look at."