Jump Shot

by Sierra Hill

  It was that winter when he died. When my annoyance and neglect killed him.

  I return the picture to its place on my nightstand and head back into the kitchen, where I grab my beer and take another drink. Finishing it off, I toss the empty bottle into the recycle bin where it lands with a loud crack against the other six bottles I’ve had. Enough beer to make me feel a warm glow through my body, but not enough to take the edge off or help me forget.

  The sound reverberates off the painted walls, where the only other sound is silence. My two new roommates, also ball players, won’t move in until the fall. Until then, I live alone. Which is both a blessing and a curse. It leaves me with my own space to do whatever I want, whenever I want, but I’ve come to realize that I’m not very good with alone time.

  The silence gives me too much time to wallow in my thoughts and sink deep within the memories of happier times.

  Opening the fridge, I grab another beer, twisting off the cap with a quick snap, throwing it in the garbage. Fuck the thoughts about my dead brother and all the shit I can never do anything about.

  Finishing the beer in four big gulps, I decide to start the dinner I promised Mica I’d make for her. She laughed at me the first time I had her over for dinner. I’d attempted spaghetti, but it ended up in gluey-clumps of plastic-y pasta, which she ate between fits of hysterics.

  So now I don’t even bother with anything fancy or anything that requires a pot of boiling water. It’s either frozen pizza or frozen burritos or takeout from Chin’s down the street.

  Tonight, it’s pizza. I turn on the oven and let it warm up while I sit down and finish my beer. on the clock says it’s six thirty p.m. and she said she’d try to be here by seven. My head begins to feel the shimmery effects of the booze and I’m growing sleepy from the day’s events. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to pop in the pizza and lay down while I wait, I finish off my beer, set the timer and head to the couch.

  Closing my eyes, the pull of sleep is too much for me to resist, and I let unconsciousness take me.

  “Throw it here, Lance! I’m open.”

  My little brother, Landon, runs down the court, skirting around the other kids we’re playing ball with, but I ignore him. I have the ball and I’m going to take it to the basket myself. I’m a fricking selfish prick.

  My friend Curtis is defending me in our three-on-three game at the park across the street from our house. It’s the start of summer and all we do from sun-up to dusk is play basketball. It’s what we live and breathe. Plus, it gets me out of the house and away from my arguing parents.

  My skills on the court have improved since I began playing under Coach Lawson this past year in middle school. He helped me develop my hook shot, pull up jumper and turn-around jumper, which I do with a fake pump, pivot then jump. The ball arcs over Curtis’s extended arms and hits the net.

  “Yes! Suck it, C,” I preen, strutting past my buddy with an arrogant swagger.

  Landon and Russ, the other guy playing in our threesome, give me a high fives.

  “Nice shot, Britton.”

  I nod my chin and get into position to guard my friend JC, who has the ball and is working to give an inbound pass. However, just before he has a chance, his mother calls him from down the street.

  “James Cameron Willson, you need to get your butt home right this minute. It’s dinner time!”

  We all give a collective groan.

  “Dammit,” Russ complains. “Just when things were getting good.”

  JC grumbles loudly and slaps the ball onto the ground, with a “sorry guys” apology as he leaves. The ball bounces high above our heads and Landon is quick to rush for it, but I yank it out of his hands.

  “Laaaance…you’re a douchewad.”

  That’s a pretty good insult coming from my little brother, but I laugh at him as I hold my hand against his forehead as he scrambles to try to get at the ball from my other hand.

  Russ laughs from behind us. “I gotta go, too, guys. I’ll check ya later.”

  The rest of the guys pack up and leave but Landon and I decide to play a little longer. He’s two and half years younger than me and about four inches shorter. My mom said I sprouted this spring and I’m constantly growing out of my clothes. My brother is a midget compared to my lanky almost thirteen-year-old body.

  Although he annoys the shit out of me just like all younger brothers do. I know he looks up to me and only wants to copy what I do. So, giving him some of my time isn’t the end of the world. I know it makes him happy, and he’s a good kid, even though my dad is unnecessarily cruel to him.

  We play for about fifteen minutes until I see Carrie and Dana walking by the court wearing their tiny denim shorts and tank tops. I make a few more shots and strut around. Because I know they’re watching, I put on a show with my stud act, making shots left and right while Landon complains and whines, running around trying to get the ball from me.

  I finally give into the desire to talk to them and walk over to where Carrie and Dana sit.

  Landon is not happy with this development because I still have the ball in my hands.

  “Hey, you jerk! What the hell are you doing? We were playing here!” he yells at me, but I don’t pay him any attention.

  Instead, I stop in front of the girls with a sly smirk on my face and they giggle to themselves over my presence.

  “Hey girls. You’re both looking sick.” That’s about as far as my skills in compliments take me.

  I hear Landon in the background scoff and gripe about wanting to play. In order to stop his bellyaching so I can have some alone time with Carrie, who I’ve crushed on all year, I turn and throw the ball as far as I can. Landon stares as we both watch the ball roll off the court, down a small hill and into the street.

  “Go get it, numb nuts,” I call after him, returning my attention back to the girls.

  I didn’t see it happen right away. But I see it reflected in the wordless scream that penetrates the air and washes over Carrie’s face. It registers shock and terror and when I realize she’s looking behind me, I turn around.

  It’s then that I see the truck…and an object flying through the air down the block. At first, it appears to be the basketball. But it’s too big and not the right shape.

  I blink several times and then begin running, the sounds of my heartbeat thumping loudly and drowning out all the screams and yells from around me.

  “Landon!” I cry, rushing past the open doors of the truck, as the driver and passenger both jump out and begin moving toward my brother.

  I take off down the hill, the slope of the ground causing me to skid, as I land on my hip and slide the rest of the way until I hit the road and jump back up to my feet. The lump in the street isn’t moving. But I know it’s him. He’s upside down on his stomach, one arm is outstretched over his head and the other…it’s mangled at his side in an unnatural position.

  “Oh, fuck me,” I hear some voice behind me say. But I don’t look back.

  My feet propel me forward until they are next to my brother’s awkwardly sprawled out body. His face is smashed into the ground, his light brown hair now sticky with blood.

  So much fucking blood.

  “Landon…” I whisper, but I don’t even think it comes out of my mouth. It’s garbled and broken just like my brother’s mangled body.

  Kneeling in my brother’s bodily fluids, I reach underneath him and pull him into my lap.

  And then I hear sirens and that’s the last thing I remember until the hospital.

  The high-pitched noise that was sirens in my dream now shakes me awake, as does the distinct odor of burning pizza.

  It takes me a few moments to remember where I am and when it dawns on me, I jump off the couch and run into the kitchen which is thick with clouds of smoke.

  “Shit.”

  Swinging open the kitchen door and windows, I grab a potholder and yank open the oven, which only serves to flood more smoke into the tiny apartment kitchen. But the smoke alarm
finally dies off and my frantic waving of the towel in the air has increased the visibility a little.

  Just my luck. Could this day get any worse?

  My head throbs with a tension headache and I’m now out of beer with no food to feed Mica.

  FML.

  Dropping the blackened round disk into the sink, I flush it with water, turning on the disposal to get rid of the evidence of my failure.

  Fail. That’s what you are. You’re a failure. A screw up. A no good, fucking bastard.

  The bitter hate-filled insults from my father haunt me as I walk back down the hallway to my bedroom, pulling open my top dresser drawer and locating the bottle of Oxy from the rolled-up sock in the back.

  It’s my prescription, one that I got after an injury last year, so it’s legal and all, but I keep it hidden away so I’m not tempted to finish it off. Most days I can fend off those thoughts with workout sessions, basketball training or booze. But right now, after that fucking nightmare and the drama with Mica’s nephew earlier today, I just can’t deal.

  I open the bottle and shake out two pills in my hand, staring at the white tablets like they hold all the answers to all my problems.

  My fist opens and closes several times as I head back to the kitchen to grab some water. I take my time on this decision. Because fuck all, I know they’ll make me feel good. And I’ll want more. They’ll dull the pain that lives inside me caused by years of my father’s abuse and the emptiness I feel every day of my life from missing my brother.

  For causing his death.

  Throwing the pills into the back of my mouth, I tip the glass of water to my lips and take a long drink. They go down without a problem.

  I close my eyes and wait.

  Wait for the calm that will eventually snake through my veins. Will unbundle the nerves that are jumbled up in knots in my stomach. Will quiet the ever-present bitter words that cut me to the core from my own self-loathing.

  And once that happens, I’ll be back to my old self again.

  I’ll be fun Lance – the one everyone finds so funny and amusing.

  The guy that can make people laugh, but inside holds nothing but pain and darkness.

  12

  Mica

  “We heard on the news about Alvie. Oh my God, Micaela. Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve been there for you.”

  Ainsley called me just as I was getting ready to head out the door to Lance’s. I’d spent all afternoon at the hospital with my family, as well as talking to the police regarding the incident, and finally had to leave. I couldn’t take it anymore. The looks from my family.

  After leaving the hospital, I came home, showered and gathered up my books to bring over to Lance’s. Sadly, though, I’m not sure I’m in any frame of mind to study tonight.

  And after that kiss in the hospital parking lot, I’d prefer doing something else tonight that doesn’t require books at all.

  I appreciate that Ainsley’s worried about me and my family. She’s my best friend and we’re both slogging through our nursing program together. She’s had her own family drama to deal with in life, so I know she’d understand what I’m going through.

  But in all honestly, I don’t know what to say. I’m still numb – from the near drowning accident, all the aftermath and then the scene between my mother and Lance. That kiss in the parking lot that made me forget everything – even my surroundings – and turned me into a puta. A slut.

  At least, that’s what my mother’s look of disgrace said to me when she read me the riot act.

  “I’m so sorry, Ainsley. It was just so crazy…I’m still in shock.”

  “Oh honey, do you want me to come over? I can be there as soon as my shift is over.”

  When Ainsley and I first met, I had no idea that we were so much alike or had such similar situations. You’d give one look at the beautiful face and body of Ainsley Locker and you’d think she had it all going for her. But she has had to work just as hard – if not harder – than me to get through life. She works two jobs, cares for her teen sister, and does all of that without the support of her mentally ill mother.

  “No, mi amiga. You have enough going on. You need to spend time with Cade and Anika,” I persuade. Because it’s the truth. She never has enough alone time with her fiancé or younger sister. “And anyway, I’m heading over to Lance’s.”

  She pauses. “We saw him on TV being interviewed on the local news station. They’re calling him a hero. He saved Alvaro?”

  My smile, although weary, turns upward at the corner of my lips. “Yes. He’s my hero.”

  My Knight in Shining Armor.

  “Wow, that’s incredible. I’d never guess he had it in him to do that.”

  “He was amazing, Ains. He remained so calm during the entire thing. And I’m the one who is supposed to know what to do in times of crisis, but I just cried the whole time. I broke down and was a mess. Thank God he was there with us.”

  So much of the memory of how it all transpired is blocked from the shock I was in today, but I do remember watching Lance’s face as he performed CPR. He was so purposeful and self-assured. Confident. Like he’d done it a hundred times and was practiced in the art of saving people. I was in awe and plan to make sure he knows it tonight.

  “Mica, I need to ask…is he…are you two together now? I mean, is something going on between you two?”

  I laugh. She has no idea. And I don’t either, really. I don’t even know how to explain it to myself, much less my friend. How do I put into words how I feel about Lance?

  “Don’t worry, mamacita. If anything happens between us, you’ll be the first to know.”

  She sighs. “Okay. I love you both to bits, but I worry about Lance, you know. Sometimes he’s…”

  “Unpredictable. Si, I know.”

  She laughs, but it’s laced with concern. “That boy has the biggest heart and has been such a good friend to Cade and me. You remember when he intervened and worked to get us back together, right?”

  “Yeah. That day out in the quad. I remember.”

  And boy, do I.

  That was the first time I felt weak in the knees over a guy. He towered over us, his conditioned body tan and fit, his hair still a little wet from his recent post-workout shower, and he smelled so good. A soapy mixture smelling faintly of leather and man.

  He’d been talking to Ainsley, trying to convince her to give Cade another chance after they’d briefly split up. And while he spoke, I stared at him with a dreamy contentment. The way a fangirl worships the guys of One Direction or Shawn Mendez.

  Like they are the only stars in their personal universe.

  Lance had openly flirted with me that day and I acted like a shy, smitten teenager. Because I was. He was this untouchable basketball player who had swarms of groupies. And I was just…the daughter of a Mexican immigrant who had a crush on a unicorn of a man that she could never have.

  But when he left us standing there to return to his group of friends, the way he said goodbye to me…the way our eyes connected and how his smile made my heart ricochet in my chest. Well, I knew he was special. There was something beautiful inside Lance that spoke to me.

  “But he can also be careless with girls. I hate to speak poorly of him, because he’s my friend, but I don’t want you to get hurt. I love you, girly.”

  Ainsley’s fears are not unfounded, because Lance does go through scores of girls and he presents himself like a player to everyone around him. But that’s the way he appears on the outside – what he projects to people who don’t take the time to understand him. I know him better than most.

  After all the time we’ve spent together these last few months, I know he’s just not accustomed to having love returned, so he pretends to act like he doesn’t care – even when I know he does. And I know he cares about me.

  “Love you too. I gotta get going, though. I’ll talk to you later this week, k?”

  We hang up and I jump into my car, which I’m borrowing back fr
om my brother tonight. It’s a short drive to Lance’s apartment complex, but during the drive I get to thinking about all the sweet things Lance has done for me over the past year.

  And while some of it might have originally been to get inside my pants, he’s turned more sentimental and maybe even romantic without even knowing it.

  That’s the Lance I’ve fallen for. The guy who cooks me dinners every Sunday night (even though it’s mostly takeout), or stays late after a class to drive me home from school, or quizzes me the night before I have a big test in my Nursing Theories class.

  Or the guy who respects me enough to stop when I tell him “no” – which has been every time –and doesn’t let it affect our friendship. He still hangs with me even though I’ve turned him down time and time again.

  I’m tired of saying no, when what I really want to do is say yes. Tonight, I’m going to make sure it happens between us. I’m planning on saying yes, damn the consequences.

  Forget the potential that this could go bad for me in the long run. Or could possibly ruin our friendship. Or alienate my family.

  All of those fears aside, being with Lancet could also be a starting point of something really, really good.

  Lance lives in a four-plex apartment quad just outside of campus. It used to be overflow units for the dorms and is now more like upperclassman housing. What’s nice about the place is that they aren’t typical apartments and have small balconies and a courtyard below each one.

  When I get to the door I notice it’s cracked open and there’s a heavy residue of smoke wafting outside.

  I tap on the door and poke my head in.

  “Lance? You here?”

  I’m treated to silence, so I step inside and cock my head to the side – like that will give me super hearing powers or something. Walking into the kitchen, I notice the mess on the counter and the source of what caused the burning smell.