I run down the court, everyone else sprinting to keep up with me. I pass to Ryan and run like hell. Before anyone else can get in position again, he’s passed back to me. I’m already in the paint, my feet pushing off the hard floor with everything inside me. I catch the ball in midair and dunk it. Hard.
The crowd erupts. I haven’t done that in a while, and it feels good.
I see a guy from the other team roll his eyes and jog back, and I can’t help but give a giant grin.
Before I can reach other side of the court, the buzzer goes off. A guy from the other team makes a wild shot from beyond half court. No luck. Not even the backboard.
The rest of the guys and I run towards the center of the court. We jump and cheer and holler.
“Yeah, baby. Don’t expect nothin’ less from the Bobcats,” one of the guys yells.
“Good work, guys,” I say, high-fiving everyone. “That’s how we start a season.” Then we run to the sidelines so we can say the usual “good game” to the other team. A few of them don’t even look my way, but I don’t care.
We head back to the bench and wait for Coach Rogers to speak up.
“Not a bad start, boys. Keep up the hard work. There are a few things we need to work on, though, so be ready to practice at a hundred and fifty percent on Monday.” He’s jotting several things down on his clipboard.
“Yes, sir,” most of us call out. I see a sophomore named Jason head over with a camera in his hand. He’s got the game footage we’ll watch on Monday.
Just as most of us get ready to head to the locker room, I see a guy come up to the coach. He’s dressed in khaki pants and a dark polo shirt. What catches my attention is that he glances my way a couple times before speaking to Coach Rogers. I take my time grabbing my water bottle from the bench so I can see what this is about.
He seems like a scout, and if he is, I need to make sure he knows who I am.
I’m debating internally if going over there to talk to him would be rude or what I should do instead when I hear my name called.
“Jimmy, get over here.” It’s Coach.
I jog over there, my water bottle still in my hand.
I look back and forth between them.
“Jimmy, this is Coach Blair. He’s a good friend of mine and looking to recruit some talent for the University of Georgia.”
We each hold out our hands and shake them. I look down at him. He’s old. Like fifties or sixties. I’m wondering if this is a good thing, not caring about the buzz still going on around us.
“Coach Blair here is interested in what you have to offer. He thinks you might be a good fit for the basketball program at the University of Georgia.”
“I happened to be in town and decided to come visit an old friend. I’m glad I did,” he says, kinda slow.
My eyes light up. UGA hadn’t really been on my radar, but they’re not bad at all. “I’d be happy to join the program, sir. How do I apply?”
“Hold your horses there, son,” Coach Rogers says with a chuckle. “It’s certainly a possibility, but there’s a process to go through. Coach Blair here encounters plenty of talent, and like I said, he has to make sure you’d be a good fit and what the program is looking for.”
“Exactly,” Coach Blair finally says. He seems like one of those people that never says much, but when they do talk, you’d better pay attention. I hang on to his every word.
“Tell me what I need to do,” I say.
“First, I’d like you submit a highlights video and your information to the NCAA website. There’s a fee you’ll need to pay.”
I nod.
“The video needs to have several minutes of footage from your games so I can evaluate if you’re providing what the program needs.”
I nod again. “Sure. When do you need it by? I’ll have it ready,” I say quickly.
“Coach Rogers has the details. You submit your information to the website. You just make sure you show me the best of your best, and we’ll go from there. Good job today, by the way.”
I have million and one questions, but before I can ask even one, he’s said good night to Coach Rogers and me, and he’s heading towards the door.
I stare after him, not believing this just happened.
I look back towards the coach. He has a glimmer in his eye, and my mouth is open. I’m speechless.
“He happened to be here tonight, and he liked how you play,” he says.
“You think I have a real chance then, Coach?”
He looks towards the door, even though the scout has already left. “I don’t know. I won’t sugarcoat it for you. Coach Blair is tough. He doesn’t just pick anyone. He’s known to turn down even some of the best players, but almost every single player he chooses eventually goes on to play professionally.”
I stare back towards the door too. If he likes how I play, then I must have a good chance of playing for the NBA someday, or at least in college.
“You go home and rest for now. On Monday, I’ll give you some information on how to create that highlight video he needs. Maybe in the meantime, you can look up some examples on the computer.”
“Yes. I definitely will.” Google and YouTube, here I come.
“Let’s head to the locker room and debrief,” he says and starts heading over there.
“I’ll be right there,” I call.
I finally turn around and look towards the bleachers to see if Mayra and my parents are waiting on me.
I’m surprised to see most of the team and even some cheerleaders watching us. I can see them talking. I don’t know if it’s out of excitement or jealousy because they’ve figured out I was talking to an actual scout. Right now, I’m not about to figure out which one it is.
I walk over to Mayra and my parents. I can’t wait to tell them, but not here, in front of everyone.
“I’ll be right back,” I say.
Mayra looks like she really wants to ask what just happened, but I run off anyway.
We walk in together as a team, and a few of the guys stare at me, but they don’t say anything, so neither do I. It almost feels when you’re supposed to make a wish on your birthday. If you tell someone what you wished for, it won’t come true.
I change out of my jersey and into a t-shirt and our basketball hoodie. As I’m stuffing everything into my bag, the coach starts talking.
“Good game tonight, boys. Like I said, definitely a good start. I saw several things we need to work on, because believe me,” he says, drawing that last part out, “we should have beaten that team by at least twenty, thirty points. They’re really not that good,” he finishes, using his hands to motion back towards the court.
Several of us nod. He’s right. We made some dumb mistakes, and we we’re still getting used to playing as a team, but from here, we can only improve.
“So this weekend, get some rest, practice, and I’ll see you at practice on Monday. I expect only the best from each of you.” I notice that his gaze falls on Ryan as he says this. “Good work.”
He walks out of the locker room, and the rest of us get back to what we were doing.
I pick up my duffel bag and remember that Ryan is riding with us again.
He’s grabbing his stuff too. Just about everyone is heading out already.
“Ready to go?” I ask. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“Actually, I’m riding home with someone else today,” he says, not looking at me.
“You sure?” I ask. “We don’t mind. You always come eat with us after games.” My voice drifts off. The excitement I had just felt is almost gone. I can’t shake the feeling that something is up with Ryan, and if it’s jealousy from him, I don’t know what I’ll do.
“Thanks, anyway. I’ll see you around.” And he walks out of the locker room without looking at me.
“Where’s Ryan?” Mayra asks. “I thought he was coming with us? You played really good, by the way.” She gives me a hug before waiting for answer.
“He s
aid he’s riding with someone else. And thanks.” My parents are waiting in the lobby for us. They’re talking to some lady.
“Hm,” Mayra says. “Who were you talking to? Is he a coach from another school or something?”
Some of the excitement returns as we walk together towards my parents.
“He was a scout,” I say, looking at her for her reaction. She immediately turns towards me.
“You’re kidding, right?” But she’s laughing and giving me another hug. “Is he interested in recruiting you? I knew it. I told you.”
She’s already out of breath, and I haven’t even explained the rest.
“He’s interested, but I have to submit a video first and register on the NCAA website.”
I can tell she doesn’t know what that is.
“It’s like the official college recruitment organization or whatever. Most colleges use it. So I have make a highlights video showing how I play and stuff so they can see if they really want to recruit me to play for UGA. Can you believe it? I have a real shot.”
“Wow. That was fast,” she says, glancing away. “And UGA? Who would have thought?”
I nod. “UGA’s not bad when it comes to men’s basketball. I mean, wouldn’t that be awesome? You, me, Ariana? At UGA?”
She gives a half nod and shrugs. I keep going.
“If this ends up going anywhere, I mean. I know what the statistics say.”
The gym is emptying, and the buzz that was so loud before is dying out as people head to their cars to go home or grab some food.
My stomach grumbles. The lady talking to my parents leaves, and they turn towards us.
My dad pats me on the back, and my mom gives me a hug.
“You played really well,” my mom says.
“Thanks.”
I check my phone as we walk out together. I have a text from Ariana.
So how’d you do??
I reply with a smile on myself.
I’ll tell you this one time, but next time you’ll have to come yourself and find out ;) We won!!!
I look at Mayra. “It’s Ariana. I’m telling her we won. She actually wanted to know.”
“Told you so,” she says with a wink. But while I’m glad that my sister is finally starting to come back into the picture, I’m worried that my best friend is leaving it.
That Monday, Ryan doesn’t show up to practice. Or school.
I decide to head to his house to figure out what’s going on. Not only is it what I should do as team captain, but as a best friend. Something is seriously going on, and the worry is gnawing at me non-stop by the end of practice that day.
As we finish up and discuss the upcoming game with the coach, he brings up Ryan’s absence. We’re all gathered around next to the bleachers in a circle. Coach Rogers is standing up, holding a basketball and his clipboard.
“Where the hell is Ryan?” he asks after we start talking about the starting lineup for tomorrow’s game. He looks around at all of us, but his eyes stop dead on me.
“I don’t know, Coach. He hasn’t been in class. I think he has some stuff going on at home. I’m gonna go check on him right after practice,” I say quickly. What I say also comes out as a sort of question.
I’m wondering if Coach is thinking of kicking him off the team. He’s pretty strict about that kind of thing. No one misses practice ever unless they’re so sick they can’t get out of bed. Last year, a junior had just started slacking. He’d missed two practices and been kicked off because he hadn’t had any kind of legitimate excuse.
Coach Rogers kind of squints his eyes. “You tell him he better show up tomorrow or he’s off the team.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. That’s better than nothing.
As he starts talking about the lineup and what plays he’s going to tweak against the team we’re going against tomorrow, my mind drifts off to what’s going on with Ryan.
I tap my foot outside the gym as I wait for Mayra to come pick me up from practice. She’s late.
She’s never late.
Why is she late?
I’ve already sent her a text. Nothing. I call her. Her phone doesn’t ring.
Great.
I call my parents. Five minutes later, nothing. They must be swamped at work. That or it’s suddenly the zombie apocalypse and everyone is being eaten.
This is why I need a car.
I give a frustrated sigh out loud. Just about everyone has left. I’ve been asking my parents about getting a car, but they said I’d have to wait a little longer.
I see one last car pull out of a parking spot and start to head towards the exit. I notice it’s Henry. He passes right by the gym, and I realize he’s slowing down and rolling down his window.
“Yer college girl late?” he asks with a chuckle. I force myself not to roll my eyes. I still get teased sometimes about having a girlfriend in college.
“Yeah,” is all I reply. Henry’s kind of funny, but I don’t hang out with him too much outside of basketball. Sometimes he takes his humor too far. I’m wondering if he’s just going to stand there and make jokes about how my girlfriend is the one who picks me up for dates or something, when he motions me over.
“Hop in,” he says.
I hesitate. “You sure?” I’m not sure whether to pick up my gym bag or not.
“Yeah. You live in Cinderwood, right? It’s on my way.”
I nod and finally pick up my stuff and head over there.
I go around and open the back passenger door so I can throw all my stuff in the back. Once I do, I get in the front and put on my seat belt as he heads towards my house.
“So what’s up with Ryan?” Henry asks. “Does he not want to be on the team anymore? Because, I mean, we just started the season.” He gives another chuckle as he turns onto the main road.
“I’m actually not sure,” I say. I don’t like that I had to share some of his business at practice in front of everyone, even if I wasn’t specific. “I’m actually wanting to head to his house right now and check.”
He nods. “Knowing Ryan, he’s probably just been high the past couple days, doesn’t even know which way school is.” He laughs this time, and I glare at him.
“Ryan doesn’t do drugs,” I say. My voice is hard, and I don’t care if he hears the anger in my voice. He can make me get out of his car right now if he wants. I don’t care. In fact, the faster he can get me to Ryan’s house, the better.
“That’s not what I heard,” Henry says a little more seriously. “I like Ryan and everything, but I heard he’s been hanging out with a lotta potheads.”
“Ryan would never do that,” I say, and I make myself stop right there. Henry doesn’t need to know that Ryan’s parents do drugs and that he detests the stuff. He can’t stand anything to do with them or alcohol. Anytime he’s offered either one, he immediately says no.
Henry just shrugs. “If you say so. Either way, if he doesn’t show up to practice tomorrow, he’s done.” He hasn’t even bothered to look over at me. The dude may be good at basketball, but he doesn’t know when to stop talking.
I grit my teeth and force myself to look forward. We’re just a minute or two away from my neighborhood. I cannot wait to get out of this damn car. That reminds me. I check my phone one more time even though I haven’t heard it vibrate. Still nothing from Mayra or my parents.
I text both of them real quick anyways, saying I caught a ride with someone else.
I look back up, and we’re entering my neighborhood soon after that.
“Right here,” I say. I nod towards Ryan’s house.
I sigh as he pulls up to his house. “Thanks,” I say without bothering to look at him or sound friendly. I grab my stuff from his car and head up Ryan’s driveway without looking back. I only turn around when I finally hear his car pull away.
I shake my head as I see his car disappear, and I finish walking up to Ryan’s house. His mom’s car is here. Who knows where his dad is.
I tentatively knock on the door
a few times, shifting my gym bag on my shoulder.
I wait a few seconds. I knock again. I’m starting to think about just walking home when the door finally opens. I’m mentally preparing myself to talk to his mom when I see that’s it’s Ryan who answered. I haven’t seen his mom in years, not since the last time my mom and dad let me come over and play when I was in sixth grade, maybe. I had been able to smell the pot all over the house and mentioned the smell to my parents. From then on, he had always come over to our house. But I what I won’t forget more than the smell was his mom’s eyes. Red, bloodshot, with dark bags under her eyes. And a glazed look that made it obvious she wasn’t all the way there.
That’s what freaks me out as I stare at Ryan now. He has the same eyes.
My mouth opens to say something, but I can’t. I don’t even know what to say.
Henry was right.
“Hey,” is all Ryan says.
I still can’t say anything. I mindlessly take off my book bag and gym bag and set them down beside me.
Ryan laughs. “You just gonna stand there?”
I shake my head again. “I never—I never thought I’d see the day where I saw you stoop to your parents’ level and do drugs,” I say quietly.
All Ryan does is smile. He’s not even looking me in the face, just everywhere else but my face.
“What can I say? They were right. It just helps you forget.”
We’re still standing at his door, and I remember why I’m there.
“Coa—I want to know if you’re still going to be on the team. If you’re coming to practice tomorrow. Or school.”
He shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet.”
“Ryan, we’ve been playing since freshman year—”
“Wrong,” he says, and this time there’s anger in his face. Raw, pent-up anger. “You’ve been playing since freshman year.”
“You know what I mean. This is your third and last year, and you’re just going to throw it away?” I’m no longer whispering. I’m yelling, and I’m forcing the lump in my throat down and the heat crawling up my neck as I stare into the face of this person who used to be my best friend. The person who swore he’d never touch drugs.
All In (Changing Hearts Book 2) Page 4
