"What happened to teamwork? You guys are overlooking people who are wide open and going for impossible shots. Don't you care about winning? Don't you want to hold your heads high when you walk out of here tonight? I'm ashamed of the way some of you have been playing." She held out her finger, shaking it at all of us. "And I'll tell you another thing, if you think I'll let any one of you play with Rebecca Lobo when you haven't been passing the ball to your teammates, you're dead wrong. MVP does not stand for Most Vanity Points. The MVP will be the most valuable player to the team, the girl whose performance makes the biggest difference to everyone on the court—and that includes rebounds, assists, communication, and leadership. Stop playing for yourselves and play for your team. Do you understand me?"
We all mumbled we did.
During the second half the whole team passed to each other like crazy. We narrowed Benson's lead, tied, and then lost in overtime.
I hated losing. I also hated that Josie was still the high scorer, with Ashley close behind.
I was in third place again. When I said I was done being number two, this was not what I had in mind.
Still, I hoped Coach Melbourne at least noticed the fact that I'd been passing the ball. I had the most assists of anyone on the team.
Only Mom came to this game because Benson was so far away. As we walked across the parking lot, she draped her arm across my shoulders. "You played well."
"Not as well as Josie."
"I thought you were playing against the other team, not against Josie."
I rolled my eyes at her. We reached our car, and Mom got behind the wheel while I climbed in the passenger side. "It isn't fair. I work harder, and she's still better."
Mom took her keys from her purse, inserted one into the ignition, and then pulled her seat belt across her lap. "If you concentrate on what you don't have, you'll never be happy."
"I don't want to be happy. I want to be better than Josie."
Mom shook her head at me while she edged the car out of the parking space. "And that sums up your problem."
Well, maybe, but that didn't tell me how to fix it. I was jealous and bitter, but I didn't want to feel that way. How do you make yourself not feel something when you already feel it?
I pulled my own seat belt on. "She never even said she was sorry."
"You can't rewrite the past, Cami. You can only write your future. Do you want to go through your whole future feeling angry about this?"
I didn't see that I really had a choice.
Josie
Coach Melbourne likes Cami better than me. They both think basketball is war, so they have more in common.
As our team left the court after the ending buzzer, Cami wiped tears away from her cheeks. In the locker room, Coach Melbourne put her arm around Cami and gave her a private pep talk. Probably reviewing battle plans. We'll head off the enemy next time. Keep your chin up, soldier.
I wonder if anyone who plays professional ball feels like I do about the game—that it's just a game—or whether all of them approach the sport like soldiers, ready to give their lives for the battle.
I'd like to ask Rebecca Lobo about this. Is basketball still fun in the WNBA, or does every lost game feel like a personal failure?
I've never cried after a basketball game, or—as I've seen some girls do—in the middle.
I don't want a job that involves crying on a regular basis.
The next day after practice, Coach Melbourne sat us all down and told us there had been a change of plans. Instead of Rebecca coming to one of our home games, she was inviting us to play an invitational game in Chandler with the Basha Bears.
"It will create more media coverage of the event," Coach Melbourne told us, "because it's easy to send a news van to Chandler, but Rebecca was having a hard time convincing the press to make a trip to Sanchez. Plus the Bears will charge a small fee for people to see the game and then donate the proceedings to programs that help underprivileged kids play sports."
Coach Melbourne said all of this in a cheerful, upbeat voice to let us know it was really a good thing, although I knew our parents were not likely to see a three-hour trip to Chandler and a door charge in the same light.
She picked up a stack of white papers and handed them to Ashley, who was sitting down in front of her. "Everyone's parents will need to fill out a parental permission slip for the trip. I want these back as soon as possible."
I folded my paper but didn't put it in my backpack. I wanted to hold on to it and read it over a few more times. Suddenly, with this piece of paper in my hands, Rebecca Lobo seemed very near. This was no longer something we were just talking about, this was something we were actually going to do.
I looked around at the other girls, all picking up their things, white papers fluttering as they headed to the door. Cami put her permission slip into the front section of her backpack, away from the rest of her books so it wouldn't get crumpled.
She'd probably be the first to turn in her slip. She'd most likely have her mom sign it in the parking lot and run it back in to Coach Melbourne.
Well, two could play that game. I'd have my mom sign my slip right now too. And if it would help me win most valuable player, I could even force a few tears after the next game. This was one time when basketball really was war.
Cami
I counted down the days, the hours, and then the minutes until Saturday, when Mom took me to the parking lot for our trip to Chandler. We were supposed to meet at 3:15. I made Mom drop me off at 3:00 because Coach Melbourne had given us a big lecture about how she was tired of people showing up late for away games, and she was instituting a zero-tolerance waiting policy. If you didn't show up on time, you didn't come. I was the first player there, but I didn't mind. I wanted Coach Melbourne to see that not only was I a dedicated player, I was punctual.
I went and stood by Coach Melbourne as she talked to the assistant coaches. At 3:10 the other girls began to arrive. Ashley and Erica came together and waited, leaning up against the hood of the Holts' car. Josie still hadn't shown up.
Coach Melbourne had told us at practice that we'd pull out of the parking lot at 3:30, but the bus was nowhere around. At 3:25 she called the transportation director on her mobile phone.
Josie still hadn't come. I didn't think Coach Melbourne would really leave any of the players behind, especially the best player on the team, but if Josie held all of us up, well, good-bye to Josie's chance of being chosen to play with Rebecca.
Three-thirty came. The bus didn't.
At 3:35 Mrs. Caraway drove into the parking lot and dropped Josie off. She carried her duffel bag in one hand and a large Rubbermaid container in the other. She must have been one of those who signed up for making cookies for the bus trip. They were probably Mrs. Caraway's famous double chocolate chip cookies—a blatant attempt to buy Coach Melbourne's favors. I wished I'd thought of that. I wished my mother could bake.
Mrs. Caraway waved good-bye, called out of the window, "We'll see you at the game!" and drove off. Coach Melbourne was so busy yelling at people on her mobile phone, she didn't even notice Josie had come after the deadline. Apparently not only balls but buses preferred Josie.
At 3:40 Coach Melbourne told us the bus had broken down, but they were sending another one over. At 3:55 the coach was back on her mobile phone, yelling at people from the transportation department because a bus still hadn't shown up.
Ashley's mom, Mrs. Holt, who was one of the parents waiting around in the parking lot to see us off, walked up to the coach. "The girls are missing out on their warm-up time. Why don't we just put them in cars and drive them up? Between the parents and the assistant coaches, we have enough cars here, and the parents will need to leave soon anyway if we want to get good seats."
Coach Melbourne let out a sigh, scanned the parking lot as though she might spot a bus tucked away somewhere if she looked hard enough, then nodded. "We don't want the girls to have to forfeit the game because they're late. Let's load everyone up an
d make sure we stick together, caravan-style. I don't want anyone lost in Chandler somewhere." Coach Melbourne let out one of her ear-piercing whistles and waved everyone to come over. "Change of plans. We're going in cars, and I want you all to listen up so we don't waste any more time." She turned to Ashley's mom. "How many girls can you take?"
"Four," Mrs. Holt said.
"Okay. Ashley, Erica, Cami, and Josie—you ride in the Holts' car."
Coach Melbourne then went on to list the other girls and where they would ride. I picked up my duffel bag and wandered over to the Holts' green Honda. Was Coach Melbourne mean or just clueless? Why in the world would she assign me to ride with the three people on the team who didn't like me?
Mrs. Holt opened up the trunk of her Honda, and I dropped my duffel bag into it. Then, without looking at any of the other girls, I climbed into the front seat. It was going to be one long, awkward drive.
Josie
Ashley and Erica sat beside me in the backseat, talking to each other and ignoring me. Cami sat in the front seat beside Mrs. Holt and also ignored me. And I was going to have to endure three hours of this. I wished I had brought a book. I wished I'd brought anything. Doing homework would have been preferable to staring out the car window at the expanse of dirt and sagebrush that spread out along the highway.
At first I'd felt lucky the bus was late. I'd been ready on time, but the cookies took longer to make than normal—probably because Jack tried to help and ended up tipping the first batch on the floor. The second batch didn't get out of the oven until 3:15. Then when we went to put them in a container, they were so hot they kept falling apart. I stood in the kitchen blowing on the cookie sheet until I was about to hyperventilate, while my mom waved an oven mitt over them, chanting, "Coach Melbourne won't really leave you. You're the star player."
I was so relieved when I pulled into the parking lot and found out the bus was late and Coach Melbourne wasn't enforcing her zero-tolerance waiting policy, but now I was stuck in a car with three people who were ignoring me, and I had no idea where my cookies were. I'd given them to Coach Melbourne as soon as she'd gotten off her mobile phone.
The road stretched out in a straight black line that cut through the land. I counted the seconds between the road mile signs. Whichever car had my cookies would probably eat them all, and I'd be starving by the time we reached Chandler.
I watched the spindly sagebrush and occasional cactus or ocotillo flash by the car. I checked the clock on the dashboard to see if the number really changed once a minute. It did.
Ashley and Erica talked about guys at school. They started out with Ethan. Ashley said in this patronizing voice that I knew was directed toward Cami or me, or maybe both of us, that she was thinking of breaking up with Ethan again because he was just too immature. She needed someone who acted like a man, not like a juvenile.
Right. Good luck finding one of those in the high school.
She continued with this topic for a few more minutes, I suppose to rub it in our faces that neither of us could get what she could casually throw away.
I wondered if Ethan knew how Ashley talked about him behind his back. It seemed pathetic that she had so little loyalty to him, and even more pathetic that Ethan put up with her. I mean, really, was it so important to have a gorgeous girlfriend that he was willing to completely overlook her personality?
Ashley and Erica next talked about Pete and Ted, only there wasn't a Pete or Ted at school, so either they were using code names for other guys or they'd completely lost their grip on reality and were now making up boyfriends.
Cami kept drumming her fingers against the armrest. She was probably busy making mental lists: Ten ways in which I can win over Ethan again. Five things I can do to flatter Coach Melbourne before she chooses who will play with Rebecca Lobo. One hundred excuses why nothing is ever my fault.
An hour and a half after we started, our car caravan turned off Interstate 8 at Gila Bend to buy gas and let people use the bathroom. Ashley and Erica got money from Ashley's mom and went inside the Chevron station to buy snacks. Cami stayed in her seat. Apparently she hadn't brought money with her either. I wondered if Ashley and Erica planned on sharing with us or whether we'd be stuck watching them eat potato chips just like we were stuck listening to them talk about how Pete and Ted were so funny and just said the cutest things.
Mrs. Holt filled up the car, washed the windshield, and then disappeared inside the gas station. Cami and I sat alone in the car.
I watched kids from the other cars going in and out of the gas station. Lucy Simmons was eating one of my cookies. At least I knew which car they were in. Ashley bounced up to the Honda carrying sodas and a bag of Doritos. "Coach says she wants everyone to use the restrooms here so we don't have to stop again until we get to Chandler."
"I don't need to use the bathroom," I said.
Ashley shrugged and slid into the car. "Fine. You don't have to do what the coach says if you don't want to. It's not like I'll tell her you blew her off." She ripped open the bag of chips and popped one into her mouth. "Your secret is safe with me."
I opened the car door and got out. Cami got out of the passenger side at the same time.
Lucy saw me emerging from the Holts' car and waved. "Hey, great cookies, Josie. I could live on these."
"Thanks. Save me one."
She popped the last of the cookie into her mouth. "They're going fast. You'd better come to our car and get one if you want one."
"After I'm done in the bathroom," I called to her.
Lucy walked back to her car, and Cami and I crossed the parking lot in silence. Cami loved my mom's cookies, but I knew she'd never bring herself to ask for one.
The restroom was around the side of the gas station, and as we walked to it we met Erica coming the other way. She carried a key attached to a large plastic triangle that read WOMEN.
"Are you guys going to use the bathroom?" She handed me the key without waiting for our answer. "Mikala is in there right now. I was just returning the key for her, so don't walk in on her. She might be awhile still. You know how long she takes."
I didn't. I'd never timed Mikala in the bathroom, but I nodded at Erica anyway.
Cami and I walked around the corner of the gas station and went and stood by the door. It was painted white but had dirty brown streaks across it and gray smudges around the handle.
I hated gas station restrooms.
We both stood and watched the door. I fingered the plastic rectangle and wondered how many people before me had touched this key chain and whether or not you could catch diseases that way. A minute went by. Then another. Apparently Erica was right about Mikala and the bathroom. The silence between Cami and I felt tense, like when you watch someone blow a balloon bigger and bigger and you know any moment it will pop.
I wanted to say something just so we had something to do besides staring at the closed door. "So how's your science project coming along?" I asked. "Find anyone with psychic powers?"
Cami gave me a cold look, which I thought was totally uncalled-for, since that was her science project. "Things are fine. How about you? You seem to be getting along really well with Frederick at school."
She said this nicely, but I knew it was an insult. I smiled back at her anyway. "Frederick takes some getting used to, but he's okay. He's the type of person that says whatever is on his mind, which isn't always kind, but at least you know he's always being honest with you."
Cami's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. I can tell how much honesty means to you, since you were so honest with Ethan about me."
"Just like you were so honest with me about Ethan."
"I never lied to you about Ethan. I just—" Cami's voice broke off, and she looked out across the grass embankment that separated the gas station from the road. "Isn't that the Holts' car leaving?"
I turned and watched a green Honda turn onto the road that left the gas station. The car headed toward the highway. "She wouldn't have left us. There must have been an
other Honda like the Holts' in the parking lot."
Cami took a step toward the embankment. "I think that's Lucy's mom's car following them."
I knocked on the bathroom door. "Come on, Mikala. We have to leave."
No answer.
We both watched as a stream of cars passed by on the road.
"They wouldn't have left the three of us. Someone would notice we were missing." I knocked on the door again. Still no answer.
Cami pointed up at the street. "Look, there goes Coach Melbourne's pickup, and she said she wanted to be the last one in the caravan."
There was no mistaking Coach Melbourne's cherry red Silverado or the Connecticut Sun sticker on the back of her truck. She had left.
We stood there dumbstruck while the Silverado zoomed across the road and disappeared out of view.
"You know," I said, "I think Coach Melbourne has taken that zero-tolerance waiting policy way too far."
Cami grabbed the key from me and inserted it into the bathroom lock. She turned the key and swung open the door. The bathroom was empty. Mikala had never been inside.
Cami let out an angry grunt. "Erica tricked us. She set us up to be left behind!"
"No, Mrs. Holt wouldn't have gone without us." For one second we looked at each other, and then both took off at a sprint around the gas station to the parking lot.
No green Honda. I didn't recognize any of the cars that were filling up.
Cami turned around, hands on her hips, panting. "I can't believe this. They really left us."
"Mrs. Holt will notice we're not in the car. She'll come back for us. Any moment we'll see her car rolling down the road in this direction." We both stood in the parking lot, staring at the empty road. A red compact drove by, then a white minivan. I didn't give up hope. "She'll feel so bad about leaving us, maybe she'll even make Ashley share her Doritos with us."
Cami turned and walked back to the curb in front of the gas station entrance. She sat down, elbows on her knees and chin in her hands, and watched the road.
Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Free Throws Page 11
