Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Free Throws

by Janette Rallison

  I tapped my pencil against my paper. "Wait a minute. This is supposed to be teamwork. How come you just get to decide what we're doing?"

  "Because you think fingernail polish information is use­ful." He snorted and wrote in his notebook again. "What kind of idea could you come up with?"

  "I can come up with a good idea." I leaned over to see what he was writing. It was a timetable of the rocket experiment we'd be doing and when we'd do the research.

  He continued to write without looking at me. "And don't expect that I'll do everything, and you'll just put your name on it at the end. People think because I'm smart I'm going to let them cheat. Well, I won't."

  I put one hand across his notebook. "Frederick, I think we're having a little teamwork problem. I'm still in the brainstorming-for-ideas phase of this project, and you've already decided it, planned it, and branded me a cheater."

  "We're doing rocket stability."

  "I'm not a cheater."

  He pulled the notebook away from my hand. "I want to get the project done before the regional chess tournament in two weeks so I can concentrate on that."

  "Two weeks? Most people won't have even started procrastinating on their assignments by then."

  "Yes, two weeks. It's stiff competition at State this year. I'll be up against Daniel 'the Knight Slayer' Dixon." He ripped out the sheet in his notebook and handed it to me. "This will be our schedule because I have chess club and debate on the other days."

  "I have basketball practice after school every day until four fifteen."

  He let out a tormented sigh. "Great. I'm stuck doing my science fair project with a jockette."

  I handed his schedule back to him. "Just because I play sports doesn't mean I'm stupid. This is advanced biology. Everyone here is smart. You shouldn't just assume I'm a slacker."

  He shrugged his shoulders. "If you're smart, and you're not a slacker, then rocket stability shouldn't be a problem for you."

  "It wouldn't be."

  "Good, because that's what we're doing our science project on."

  "But—" But rocket stability sounded boring and hard. Only I couldn't tell him that after I'd just told him how smart and unslackerish I was. Now I was going to have to endure weeks of rocket calculations.

  And really, I would have rather done a project on nail polish.

  Three

  Cami

  I ran all the way to biology class and still came in two seconds after the bell rang. Most teachers would overlook two seconds, but not Ms. Brooks. The woman has had half a century to perfect the art of being mean, and she likes to use her skills on defenseless students. She hadn't even started taking roll yet, but she marked me tardy and assigned me a two-page report on the function of sodium chloride in the human body.

  I walked to my desk, breathlessly. "But I don't even know what sodium chloride is. How am I supposed to find out its function?"

  She tapped her pen against the roll book. "If you have problems, you can look it up in a dictionary, research it on the Internet, or just cry about it."

  Several people in the class chuckled, although I didn't see what was so funny. Maybe it was just the nervous laughter of people who'd suddenly realized that (1) their biology teacher was deranged—we should have suspected as much from a woman who cut apart frogs year after year—and (2) this de ranged woman had access to dangerous chemicals. I mean, how much of that frog-killing stuff did she have on hand?

  I sat down at my desk silently, and Ms. Brooks shook her head as though disappointed in my intelligence. "Sodium chloride is salt, Cami. Salt is found in tears."

  "Oh."

  More laughter from the rest of the class.

  Yes, thank you all. I was not only tardy, I was also the entertainment in today's biology class.

  When Ms. Brooks finished with the roll, she assigned us science project partners. She assigned me Caroline Fipps, I assume, because she was still punishing me for coming in late.

  Caroline was the only freshman I knew who wore acrylic nails. She also wore a ton of makeup and necklaces with strange symbols on them. If you sat near her at lunch, she'd tell you all about them. "This one's a druid symbol. It means love. This one's a Japanese word. It means mysterious."

  What they actually meant was that she had no taste in jewelry.

  And now—all because Josie couldn't stop playing grape toss with Ethan—Caroline was my science project partner.

  Josie and Ethan were probably partners now, sitting close together in advanced bio, murmuring things like, "Let's do our project on chemistry. We have plenty of that."

  Caroline scooted her chair over to my desk and laid her hands, today with light blue polish, across the top. "I already know what I want to do for our project—ESP."

  I forced a smile at her. "It's supposed to be a science project. Psychic power stuff is not science."

  She took her book bag from the floor, plopped it on the desk, and pulled out two books and a magazine. ''Discover did an issue on Rupert Sheldrake. He studied the sixth sense—our ability to know when people are staring at us." She moved one hand across the air in front of me. "There you are sitting in class. Suddenly, for no reason, you look up and see someone staring at you. How did you know they were watching?" Both her hands and her eyebrows rose. "It's the sixth sense. We can duplicate Sheldrake's experiments and prove it exists."

  "You want us to stare at people for our science project?"

  She nodded. "That's the scientific method."

  "I don't think Ms. Brooks will let us stare at people as a science project."

  "Why not?"

  "It's not science. That's like calling one of those psychic hotlines and asking them to predict things for us."

  Caroline's eyes grew into wide circles. "What a good idea. We could document how often the psychic is right to prove people really do have ESP."

  I leaned forward in my chair. "But people really don't have ESP."

  She rolled her eyes, and I noticed she was wearing frosty blue eye shadow that matched her nails. "Well, not everybody. Only some people have the gift. I'm trying to develop my abilities so when I'm older I can get a job either as a fortune-teller or as a pet psychic."

  "Um, great." I was stuck with a science partner who was insane. I said the only thing I could. "But I really don't think Ms. Brooks will let us do a science project on ESP."

  Caroline let out a sigh, like she couldn't believe she had to work with me. "I'll go ask her, and then will you stop exuding all of this negative energy?"

  Exuding? Negative energy?

  "Sure," I said. "If Ms. Brooks says we can do a psychic science fair project, we'll do one."

  Caroline pushed herself up from her chair, picked up her books and magazine, and flounced up to Ms. Brooks's desk. She handed Ms. Brooks the magazine, then spoke while waving a hand in my direction.

  Ms. Brooks sighed, looked down at the books and magazine, flipped through a couple of pages, sighed again, said something I couldn't hear, and handed Caroline the magazine back.

  Caroline returned to my desk with a triumphant smile. "She said we could do it."

  "Are you kidding me?" For a woman who'd killed countless frogs over the years, I expected her to have a little more backbone.

  "I think it was the issue of Discover that convinced her. It; is a scientific magazine, after all."

  "She said yes?"

  Caroline opened her notebook and smoothed down the paper. "You know, Cami, you really need to work on your negative energy problem."

  Yeah, well, I'd take that'up right after I fixed all of my other problems.

  Josie

  I play basketball like it's a game. I play to have fun. Cami plays basketball like it's war. She plays to annihilate everyone else. She tries to psyche you out by staring in your eyes and murmuring, "You can't stop me. I am the ball."

  As soon as we walked into the gym after school for practice, Cami was all determination and training. She actually ran hard for our first two warm-up lap
s. I struggled to keep up with her, then threatened to trip her if she didn't slow down. Coach Melbourne had created a monster with her stupid Rebecca Lobo reward.

  I couldn't tell Cami about biology during the first two laps, because Ashley Holt and one of her lackeys, Erica Green, were right in front of us. I didn't want them to hear me talking about Ethan.

  Even though Ashley and Ethan aren't going out at the moment, Ashley would probably still turn around and say something like, "You and Ethan together? When pigs fly."

  And then Erica would add, "Pigs might fly someday. After all, they're already playing basketball with us."

  Ashley is team captain, so you'd think she'd be nice to everyone, but mostly she just uses the position to boss people around. She especially doesn't like Cami and me because we're both better at basketball than she is, and we don't suck up to her like so many girls who just want the privilege of her friendship.

  Besides, Ashley and Cami used to be friends back in sixth grade, then they had a fight and have been feuding ever since. I think it physically pains Cami to have to throw the ball to Ashley during a game, but she does it anyway. Ashley is a good player, and Cami puts her feelings aside when it comes to winning. But outside of game time, the feud is back on.

  When Cami and I slowed down during our third warm-up lap, Ashley and Erica pulled ahead of us, and I finally told Cami about biology and my science partner. " . . . So I asked Ethan, and he turned me down, but I don't know whether he wanted to be my partner but couldn't, or whether he was relieved he'd already agreed to be Brendan's partner because it gave him an excuse to say no to me. I don't know whether it was bad luck or rejection."

  "We could ask my science fair partner. She has psychic powers."

  "Really?"

  Cami huffed in a way that had nothing to do with running. "No, not really. People don't have psychic powers, which is why my science project will be laughed out of the science fair. I bet you and Frederick win first prize."

  "No, our rockets will probably explode on us. I mean, aren't they too dangerous for science projects? Don't they have rules about these things? Why couldn't I just study germs like Ethan?"

  Cami laughed, and I knew what she was going to say before she said, "I'm sure there are enough girls studying germs like Ethan."

  "Very funny. So how will I have my second conversation with him? I should probably start planning it now so I can think of something to say besides 'um' and 'so.' "

  We finished the lap, and Cami put her hands on her hips, breathing deeply. "How about the mall? Ethan was talking to Justin at his locker about going there tomorrow night. We'll show up, wander around until we run into them, and there's your second conversation."

  "Okay." We walked over to the ball bin. Cami took two balls out and threw one to me. I let the ball bounce between my hands, feeling the strength of its spring. "I need to think of mall topics—"

  "My parents won't be able to drive us though. They're going to Kevin's band concert."

  "I'll ask my mom if she can drive."

  Coach Melbourne blew her whistle, and we started our drills.

  While I dribbled, I thought about Ethan, the mall, and about helping Cami with extra free-throw practice.

  When was I going to find time to do my homework—especially writing three poems about myself? I tried to come up with something while I played.

  What rhymed with basketball player? What rhymed with . . .

  I couldn't think of anything else to say about myself.

  These were either going to be three very short poems, or I was going to have to develop some interesting personality traits very quickly.

  Words ran through my mind in the rhythm of the ball hitting the floor.

  I-smack-play-smack-basketball.

  Pivot, smack. Ym kinda tall.

  Run, smack, jump, that's really all.

  No wonder Ethan didn't know I was alive. I needed to be more . . . anything, everything. I needed to be popular, to be "in." I glanced over at Ashley. Even with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, even with a sheen of sweat across her face, she looked beautiful and confident. In class she had this way of tossing her hair off her shoulder that seemed so sophisticated. It was time for me to add some of that to my image. Tomorrow at the mall I'd be the very essence of sophistication.

  Cami

  I am the ball, I told myself over and over again during practice. I will be MVP.

  When practice ended and everyone else headed toward the locker room, I tossed the ball to Josie. "Run another passing drill with me. How about a bounce pass going up and a chest pass coming back?"

  Ashley sauntered by us, carrying her basketball under her arm. She'd taken her hair out of the ponytail, and it swung around her shoulders without even looking mussed. She nudged Erica and pointed at us. "Cosie and Jami are both wearing blue T-shirts. They're such clones, you can hardly tell them apart."

  "Maybe you can't," I called after her, "but we don't expect much from you. You probably need name tags to tell your parents apart."

  "And you don't," Ashley answered over her shoulder, "because you just remember your mother is the ugly one."

  I dropped the basketball and lunged toward Ashley. Josie grabbed hold of my arm, pulling me back while Ashley and Erica hurried away from us. "Are you crazy?" Josie asked. "Do you want to get suspended from playing?"

  "It'll be worth it."

  "Not if she's the one who plays ball with Rebecca."

  I tugged my arm away from Josie, but by then Ashley and Erica were halfway across the gym and heading quickly to the locker room.

  Josie picked up our basketball and held it loosely against her hip. "I don't know why you let her get to you. I mean, it's not like your mother is really ugly."

  I put my hands on my hips. "I don't know why you don't let her get to you. I mean, what would you do if she had called your mother ugly?"

  "I would have said something like—" Josie shrugged. " 'Judging by your looks, she's obviously not as ugly as your mom.' " She bounced the ball twice. "Ashley is just trying to psyche you out so you won't play well."

  Ashley disappeared into the locker room, but I still stared after her. "She's rude and obnoxious, and if I'm not high scorer, and Ashley is, I want you to forget about our deal and do everything you can to beat her."

  Josie laughed and dribbled the ball from hand to hand. "Come on, let's run some passing drills before they kick us out of the gym."

  We ran back and forth across the court twice, and I tried to be the ball, instead of being a wad of anger, but it was hard. I kept reliving the conversation with Ashley, wishing I had come up with Josie's retort, and wondering why she didn't say it to Ashley for me.

  After the passing drill, we both took a few free throws. Josie's went in, while mine ricocheted off the rim and sailed across the gym with more force than I thought I'd put in them. She was obviously not brooding about the Ashley incident, but then Josie didn't know the whole truth about Ashley.

  Ashley and I had become friends in the third grade, when we were the only girls on our parks and rec basketball team. We played together every recess, pretending we were pros.

  Then in sixth grade, Ashley decided she wanted to be popular, and Josie and I were holding her down. Especially Josie. Back then I had glasses and braces, and Josie never combed her hair or worried about wearing designer clothes, stylish clothes, or even clean clothes.

  I admit we were geeks, but after all, it was sixth grade, and who really cared?

  One day during a basketball game Ashley told me, "I think you'd have more friends if you stopped hanging around Josie."

  "I don't want to stop hanging around her," I said. "She's nice."

  Ashley just shrugged. "Well, I don't want to hang around with her anymore. So you'll have to choose who's your best friend."

  The next day at recess I taught Josie how to play basketball. I hoped Ashley would join us, but she didn't. She hardly talked to either of us after that, unless it was to make fun o
f us.

  Josie and I have both improved since then. I now have straight teeth and contacts. Josie combs her hair and wears—well, she still wears jeans and T-shirts most of the time, but they're clean. And Ashley is still a snob.

  On the car ride home, after I made a list of my homework assignments, I made a list of the reasons Josie and I are not clones.

  1. Josie's hair is long brown, and mine is shoulder-length blond. If Ashley and Erica can't tell the difference between these hairstyles, they are more clueless than I thought.

  2. Josie is two inches taller than me, which is just one of those unfairnesses of life, since I like basketball more, so therefore I should be taller.

  3. Josie knows everything about Ethan, and I—well, I know everything about Ethan too, but that's mostly because she's told me. She has his locker combin-nation, his phone number, and his address memorized. I only have his locker combination memorized—and that's because his locker is next to mine. I mean, how could I help but notice his combination?

  4. Her room looks like a garbage truck capsized somewhere in the middle of it; mine is clean.

  5. She laughs a lot, sometimes for no rational reason, like when she misses a basketball shot.

  6. She thinks I'm cynical just because I don't believe everything everyone tells me. I'm not cynical. I'm just realistic about life.

  Four

  Joste

  On the way home from practice Cami made a list of reasons why she and I are different. I know that's what she wrote because she wouldn't let me see it, and because she got all upset when Ashley called us clones and afterward kept saying things like, "We're different in a ton of ways. No one would really get us confused for one another."

  We are different, but not in a ton of ways. We're so alike I can switch topics mid-conversation, and Cami still knows what I'm talking about. Sometimes we finish sentences for each other. I can see a shirt in a store and know whether Cami will like it or not. But there are differences. Cami is compulsively organized. She has color-coded her closet. The only thing that's ever on her floor is carpet, and the top of her dresser is dusted and polished. I don't worry about dusting my dresser, because the top of my dresser isn't visible. It's covered with books, pictures, pencils, makeup, dishes, and whatever I left in the family room that my mom threw on my bed while she was cleaning, and I then put on my dresser when I went to sleep.