All In (Changing Hearts Book 2)

by Yesenia Vargas

  It’s almost ten.

  I still hear my parents moving around. I need to wait.

  I leave the TV on low volume and mindlessly play on my phone for an hour until I finally hear them turn in for the night.

  Now’s my chance. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth, making sure they hear my usual nightly routine. I turn off the lights and head back to my room.

  I wait a few more minutes with the TV on until I see the hallway go dark from under my bedroom door. Then I wait ten more minutes to be sure. I should wait at least twenty more minutes to be safe, but I’m already itching with impatience. I need to see Mayra.

  I slowly get out of bed, making sure I don’t make noise. I go to my dresser and pull out a thick hoodie, not bothering to put on a shirt first. The walk is short anyhow. Then I pull on my socks and basketball shoes. I turn off the TV.

  I carefully push up my bedroom window. I haven’t bothered to lock it in a long time. Thankfully, my dad hasn’t realized that or I’d be grounded so bad.

  I’m immediately hit by the cold air. It’s the end of February, and somehow, the weather’s gotten colder. I take a deep breath and wish I was wearing gloves. I step outside and pull the window back down until there’s only the smallest of cracks between it and the sill.

  I turn around and start walking to Mayra’s house, a new determination inside me.

  Two minutes later, I’m outside of Mayra’s window, behind a bush. It’s poking at me, and I remind myself to tell my dad to trim their prickly bushes again. For my sake.

  Mayra’s car is in the driveway. So is her mom’s. She must have the night off. I can’t risk getting caught. Not again. My parents will kill me.

  But I need to talk to Mayra and see how mad she is at me. And what I need to do to fix things. I knock quietly at her window and try to look inside. But I can’t see anything, and she’s not coming to the window to let me in.

  I don’t think she’s even in her room. I try to use the flashlight on my phone to see inside, but it doesn’t help much.

  I sigh and knock one more time, a little louder this time.

  Then I hear them talking. The living room is just one room over.

  I go over to the living room window, feeling like the world’s biggest stalker.

  The curtains are drawn so they can’t see me, but I can see inside from the slivers of light in between the curtains.

  I think I see Mayra at the dining room table. Her mom walks by. They’re laughing about something, I think.

  I stare at her for a few seconds, wondering how I can get her attention.

  Duh. I take out my phone and type out a text, trying not to shiver.

  Hey. Can I see you for a minute? I miss you.

  I think about mentioning that I’m right outside, but that’s creepy even to me.

  I hit send and wait for her to see my message.

  A second later, I see her pick up her phone and look at the screen.

  The smile is gone from her face. She puts the phone back down, screen down, and goes back to typing something on her computer.

  I’m not stupid. I can tell when I’m not wanted. I look at her one more time before going back home.

  Maybe I can come see her tomorrow, right after practice. Maybe we can talk about this and I can clear things up. Go back to the way we were.

  Or maybe I’m too late.

  Nine

  The state basketball championships start today.

  This is it. Now or never.

  People, including college recruiters, will be watching. And I may be getting an offer, finally, within the next few days. Or maybe I won’t. It just depends on how I play.

  It’s all I can do to keep my heart and my mind on the court today. My mind keeps going back to Mayra. And Ryan. And Mayra.

  Ryan called me earlier this week to ask me to pick him up from some guy’s place in town. He isn’t doing much better, but at least we’re on talking terms again.

  But any time I try to mention going back to school or even just not hanging out with those losers, he shuts me back out.

  “Those losers? They’re just like me. We’re all the same,” he said.

  “No, you’re not,” I replied. “You’re a good person, and you know where all of this is headed,” I said motioning at him.

  You’re killing yourself. Slowly. Just like your parents.

  I wanted to say it so badly, but I didn’t. Because he probably would have never talked to me again after that. And I needed him at least talking to me. Because I’m not giving up on him.

  And Mayra. She isn’t talking to me at all.

  If I thought things with Ryan are bad, things with her are worse.

  I went over to her house the day after being at her window, and she didn’t even open the door for me.

  I had called her and texted her while ringing her doorbell and knocking on her door. Her car was there, so I knew she was there.

  She’d finally texted me to leave her alone.

  Does this mean we’re done? I’d finally texted her.

  She hadn’t replied, and I’d finally gotten the hint and walked back home. I’ve never felt so crappy in my life.

  Now I bounce the ball to the guy in front of me. Our first game is in ten minutes, and we’re warming up.

  “I need a hundred and ten percent from every single one of you,” Coach Rogers says. I notice he looks at me when he says that. He can tell I’m not all in anymore. I’d never quit the team, never give up on playing college ball. I just always thought Ryan and Mayra would be with me, whatever happened. I only have my parents now—and Ariana, who’s an hour and a half away.

  A few minutes later, both teams are on the court, and we’re getting ready to start. We’re playing at White County’s home tonight.

  If we lose a game, we’re out for good. We can’t afford to lose. Everyone has to give their all tonight. Only one team out of thirty-two will finish the championships with the first place trophy.

  I step from foot to foot, testing my ankle. I feel good. My body does anyway.

  I glance at the stands.

  White County’s decent, but there’s no excuse to lose against them. We’ve beat them the last few years consistently.

  I get ready at the middle of the court with everyone else for the jump ball. Damien’s jumping. My heart is racing. I’m trying not to let my head take over this game, not think too much about what I need to do and everything else that’s going on. I just need to let my instincts take over. My body, my muscles, they know what to do. I need to trust that.

  I need to leave everything behind and help us win this.

  We win the first game by almost twenty points. 64-46. I’m the lead scorer again for this game. I need to keep this up. I walk off the court elated, like I’m on a high. For a split second, I hate that thought. High. Like being on drugs. That’s not what this is. It’s better. And it doesn’t ruin your life and the lives of everyone you love most.

  Basketball is different, pure.

  I take a Gatorade and swig some down with the rest of the guys.

  I try not to think about the fact that Ryan should be here. He’s been with us for over two years. He deserves to be here. But he chose not to be.

  We grab our stuff from the bench as we get off the court and head to the bus. Our next game is in three days. Coach hasn’t heard who we’re playing yet. For now, though, we rest. And practice.

  The coach looks happy, and so do the rest of the guys. I shake off the stress I’ve been feeling, and try to keep having fun. I grab the small towel my mom packed for me, and I wipe my face off with it as we walk down the school hallway.

  I finally have time to check my phone. Most of us are doing the same.

  I text Mayra but don’t know what to say except I love you. I don’t expect a reply so I go to my messages with Ryan. He knows the finals start today. I had told him about it the other day, and he just shrugged, but I’ve known Ryan since elementary school. He wishes he were here.
/>   I wish they were both here. My parents couldn’t be here because of work, but Mayra should be here, cheering me on from the stands. So I can take her out somewhere after and make her feel special for all the times I couldn’t be with her throughout the season. The past couple of years have been hard too, but not like this year, with college on the horizon and trying to get recruited. Getting injured and having to build myself back up.

  The coach walks with me. “You’re off to a great start,” he says.

  “Thanks, Coach.” I glance at him but keep staring ahead.

  “Keep up the good work, and not only will Blair have no choice but to make you an offer, but these other schools are going to have to pay attention too.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I stare at him.

  “These past few weeks, it’s like there’s been a fire lit inside of ya, and I’m seeing you play like you never have before, like I only see a handful of young men play in my entire career as a high school basketball coach.”

  Now I look at him. And around us. Most of the guys are far enough away that they can’t really hear us. The year before my freshman year, the first year I was on the varsity team, a senior was recruited by one of the best teams in the nation. I was in eighth grade then, with dreams of making the high school team the following year, and it was the talk of our town. We saw him on TV signing and everything. He was a pretty big deal, and lots of schools fought over him. Even the NBA had their eye on him, but they weren’t able to recruit high school players anymore because of the new regulations.

  His picture is still up in Coach’s office. I want my picture there. For him to say I was one of the best players he’d ever had. I’m probably not as good as that guy, but I must be good if Coach is saying I have potential. That I still have a chance at this dream.

  I realize I’m staring at the ground. I look back at the coach. He looks back at me. “You can do great things, Jimmy. With basketball. With anything you choose. You have that drive that I so rarely see in people your age.”

  I smile at him and think of Ryan. Had anyone ever told him he could reach his dreams? His wildest goals?

  Probably not. My smile falters, but Coach Rogers is already pushing open the double doors and walking towards the bus across the lot.

  “I just heard Jefferson beat Laney tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll start preparing.”

  I nod. I’m ready.

  I pull my gym bag in front of me as I step onto the bus behind coach.

  “We’re playing against Jefferson next,” I tell the guys as I take a seat.

  “They’re good,” I hear one of the guys mutter. I nod in agreement.

  “We’ll beat ‘em,” I say.

  We do beat Jefferson. 86-59. The game goes a lot like our first, and before we know it, we’re moving on and playing our third.

  This time, we’re playing Morgan County at home, and I have a feeling it’s not gonna be as easy.

  Things haven’t been easy with Mayra either. We still aren’t talking, but I’ve decided to finish the state championships first and then focus on her.

  But I can’t seem to focus right now. The game starts in a few minutes. One of my warm-up shots misses, and one of the guys grabs the ball. I go off to the sidelines and stretch my legs, my arms. I jog in place and watch everyone else practice for a minute. Then I turn my attention towards the other team on the other half of the court. I try to see who their shooters are and what kind of shooters they are.

  One guy, number thirty-three, is already off to the side, practicing his threes. They’re going in. We’ll have to keep an eye on him.

  The rest of the guys are decent, but it looks like number thirty-three will have to be our main priority. They won their last game mostly because of him. The coach hadn’t subbed him out at all. I’m hoping we can tire him out tonight.

  A few minutes later, I’m getting ready for the jump ball, in case the ball comes my way.

  Damien stares the other guy in the face. The other guy’s a couple of inches taller, but from what I’ve seen, he doesn’t have much of a vertical.

  My grandma could jump higher than him.

  The referee blows the whistle and then the ball is in the air, and they’re both jumping.

  Damien taps it away, but someone from their team manages to grab it first.

  We’re already on defense, running back to our end of the court.

  They get the ball to number thirty-three, but I’m on him. He’s in my area. He passes it back to someone else. It’s just the beginning, but we’re already going a million miles an hour. We need to slow the pace down or we’re all going to be tired soon.

  The other team seems to be thinking the same thing, and the guy with the ball slows down his dribble while being guarded as he looks around for someone to pass to. I can hear both of our coaches in the background. Their coach is already yelling. Ours is making sure we’re all in place. We are.

  But the pace speeds up again as their point guard finds a chink in our armor. Number thirty-three moves to the other side while another guy moves into my zone. I stay with the new guy while I look to see if Henry is covering thirty-three. He doesn’t see him.

  “Henry!” I yell, but it’s too late.

  He’s shooting. A three.

  We run to the other side of the court as our two point guards dribble the ball. Our turn.

  This might be harder than we thought.

  By the third quarter, we’re five points behind, and we can’t seem to take the lead, no matter what we do. For every basket we put in, they manage to answer right back with one of their own.

  Henry’s one foul away from being kicked out of the game, so the coach has him on the bench. As much as I don’t like Henry sometimes, we need him out here.

  All of us have to pull extra weight without him on the court. He could just as easily be the one being recruited next year.

  I look at the clock. Three minutes left in the quarter. I make calculations as I guard the guy behind me. Then eight minutes after that for the fourth quarter. Eleven minutes to take this game back and win. It’s not impossible, but short of half of the other team suddenly falling dead on the floor, it won’t be easy.

  I glance at Coach Rogers as Nate, the sophomore, steals the ball and we run back. He keeps looking at the clock.

  Nate passes to Philip.

  I take a deep breath. I need to get open for a pass. I’m breathing quickly as I run this way and that, but this defender is making it hard.

  I finally run one way then break the other way out of nowhere, and I get a pass. I see a gap, a way into the basket. I drive in. I jump and another guy’s hand connects with my arm as the ball leaves my hands.

  The whistle.

  Foul.

  My eyes stay on the ball, but it doesn’t go in. The referee holds up two fingers, like a peace sign. I get two free throws. Nate grabs the ball and throws it to the ref. Everyone lines up as I go to the free throw line. The ref waits until everyone is in place.

  Then he tosses me the ball and blows the whistle.

  But I’m taking my time. Not too much, though, or we’ll run out of it. We have just over a minute left in this quarter.

  I dribble twice and bounce on my knees a little, locking in the basket. I dribble one more time and then release. For a split second, I think the ball is gonna fall out after bouncing off the rim, but I’m in luck. It goes in.

  The ball goes to the ref again. The other team puts in subs. Then the ref bounce passes the ball back to me and blows the whistle again.

  Every point counts.

  Every point counts.

  Gotta make this.

  I dribble the ball again, not tearing my eyes away from the basket. There’s noise all around, but I shut it out.

  Less than a minute left.

  Four points down.

  The sound of the rubber ball bouncing off the floor reaches my ears. In the corners of my vision, I can already see the players closest to the basket pushing each other t
o make sure they get the ball first if I miss.

  I push off the floor and send the ball through the air. Damn. I closed my eyes at the last second. Why did I freakin’ close my eyes?

  The ball goes through the air.

  I can see the path it’s gonna take a second before it actually does. It’s not going in. I’m already running towards the basket. It’s gonna hit the left side of the rim and bounce off.

  I hear it, see it. I’m jumping but so is everyone else, and they’re much closer.

  Damien grabs it and puts it in.

  Yes. Good ole Damien.

  Only down two points now.

  I glance at the clock as I run to my spot on the other side of the court.

  I’m wondering if we can tie this up before the end of the third quarter. We might just be able to.

  As I get to my spot, I turn around. The other team is taking their time. They’re tired. They want to keep their lead. But they also want to increase their lead. I see one of their guys open. Number thirty-three, again. He’s behind the three-point line. Ahead of me. One of the point guards is supposed to be on him.

  He shoots. I run to the hoop. It bounces off the rim and towards me. I jump and grab it.

  I immediately turn around and run like hell back to the other side of the court. Just about everyone else is behind me. Except Philip. He’s running with me, just on the other side of the court.

  And a defender. He’s coming up beside me. I pass to Philip. The defender leaves me and goes to cover him. Everyone else is a second behind us. Philip passes right back to me, but it’s high, and I’m jumping. Alley-oop.

  I grab the ball in midair. The hoop is right in front of me and to my left.

  I sink the ball and hold onto the rim for a second after before dropping back down to the floor. I can hear the coach yelling his approval.

  I look at the clock. Less than thirty seconds left. We can still win this.

  All I can think about is how tired I am. My muscles are aching. I’m actually out of breath. I’ll probably be sore tomorrow.