Jump Shot

by Sierra Hill

  The truth is, my parents know they can’t make me marry Alberto. I know it. Alberto knows it. They can continue to shove Alberto in my face at every family gettogether, but it’s not enough to change my mind. Or my heart.

  Because there isn’t anything in the world that could make me change my mind about Lance.

  After leaving my parents, I drive over to Ainsley and Cade’s apartment. He’s apparently out of town in New York at a business conference, so Ainsley invited me to come over and hang a little bit. Plus, I know she’s been dying to talk about wedding plans. She only has her younger sister and Cade’s mom and sisters, so she’s eager to have someone listen to her instead of bombarding her with ideas and suggestions.

  I knock on the door of her house and it swings open, Ainsley’s bright smile lighting up her face. When I first met her, she kept that smile to herself most of the time and it took a good six months for her to finally open up to me. But from there, our friendship blossomed and she’s one of the most loving, caring and supportive friends I’ve ever had in my life.

  “Hey, you,” she greets, opening the door wider so I can step in. “Come on in and take a load off.”

  “Mmm, it smells good in here. Are you baking?”

  She moves around me and into the kitchen, which is a bit outdated, but clean and bright, and she checks the timer on the oven.

  “Yeah. I’m making cookies for Cade when he gets back to town tomorrow night. Is that too domestic and pathetic?” she asks, scrunching her nose.

  I chuckle.

  “I think it’s romantic. And sweet. And I bet it will score you lots of points in bed.”

  We laugh, and she opens the fridge door. “What can I get you to drink? Coke? Tea?”

  “Just water is fine. How’s it been without Cade this week?”

  She sets down the water in front of me and sticks out her lower lip in a pout.

  “God, I’ve missed him so much. I never thought I could miss anyone like I do. Although Anika’s been around, it’s just not the same. Plus, she’s a surly teenage girl and has her nose stuck in her phone all the time.”

  She mentions her teenage sister, now a sophomore in high school and I look around to see if there’s evidence of her at home.

  “Is she here? I haven’t seen her in months.”

  Ainsley shakes her head, pulling out a piping hot batch of cookies from the oven, placing them on the wire cooling rack on the counter. I sniff the air and sigh. They smell yummy and full of gooey goodness.

  “No, she’s over at her boyfriend’s house.”

  My ears perk up and my eyes go wide. It was only a matter of time before Anika started dating. She’s just a younger version of Ainsley – which means she’s beautiful – dark raven hair and azure colored eyes.

  “Boyfriend? Since when?” I slide a cookie off the pan and into my waiting hand. It’s hot and soft and I think I’ll be in heaven the minute I bite down.

  “She and Jordan have been together now for six weeks. In fact, he asked her to the homecoming dance a week after they first went out. Now they’re practically inseparable. And I’m a nervous wreck, nagging her all the time about using protection and safe sex and the statistics on teen pregnancy. I’d hoped I wouldn’t be ‘that parent,’ you know?”

  The cookie melts in my mouth and I groan at its deliciousness. Wiping off the corner of my mouth, I tilt my head in question.

  “Do you think they’ve already done it?”

  Anika is fifteen, just five and a half years younger than I am, yet it still seems crazy to think that little Ani would be at that point in her life already.

  “She says they haven’t gone all the way yet…but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. They try not to be all touchy-feely around me and Cade when they’re over here, but I’ve walked by her open bedroom door when they were making out and, ahem, I’ve had to request they dial it down a notch. So yeah, I’d say they’re pretty serious. Speaking of which…what’s new with you and Lance? Where is he tonight?”

  I tell her everything that’s been going on between us – the good and the bad – the angst I feel about my family’s displeasure over him, and the fight he was in with his dad, and even the concerns I have about his behavior as of late. I feel ridiculous about even bringing that up, but I need to tell someone.

  There’s also the fact that he’s been late a lot recently to pick me up, has ditched classes more than usual, and one night he didn’t come over or even call me, saying the next day that he’d fallen asleep and didn’t wake up until that next morning.

  Ainsley thinks carefully on her response.

  “Honestly? I think that’s just Lance being Lance. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s been a bit of a wildcard. I know the guys adore him, but I also think they worry that he has these periods where he comes off the rails a little.”

  “Do you think I should be worried? Do you…” my voice cracks a little with the weight of this question. “Do you think he’s sleeping around on me?”

  .

  Ainsley grabs my hand. “No. Mica, I’ve seen the way he looks at you and how he acts when you’re around. He’s in deep for you. I think you just need to give him some space when he’s like this. You’re the first relationship he’s had, as far as I know. He’s probably just trying to figure out the ropes.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m just overreacting. And now that basketball is about to start and consume his life, I’m sure it’ll take some time for him to get in groove again. Just forget I said anything.”

  I wave my hand as if to wipe the thought away and swipe another cookie, enjoying the sugary texture melting in my mouth and filling me with bliss.

  “But, I think you should talk to him about your concerns. Communication is key in any relationship.”

  Nodding my head in agreement, I consider eating another cookie, but then remember I have a bridesmaid dress to fit into in the next year.

  “Let’s talk about happier stuff, shall we? How’s the wedding plans coming?”

  And with that, we get down to business and I get to live vicariously through Ainsley’s perfect new life and love as we work on the details of her future wedding.

  23

  Lance

  “Am I just old or are these workouts tougher than they were last year?”

  I throw my wet towel in the bin next to the locker doors and pull on some briefs, nodding my head in agreement at my teammate Christian Lancaster’s question.

  We’re a week into the season, workouts in the athletic department weight room in the mornings and full two-hour daily practices during the week. Once we begin games in early November, it’s about twenty-to-thirty-hour a week practices. And my body is mad as a motherfucker right now from the intrusions on my daily nap routine.

  I don’t seem to recall it being so difficult to get back into the swing of things the last few years when we transitioned back into play. Then again, I spent those summers keeping myself in shape, where this summer I spent time drinking and fucking. Both activities that were A-OK with me.

  Even Christian and my trainer commented last week on the little Buddha belly I’d apparently developed. Their jabs and sarcastic shit are just part of our typical smack talk and locker room talk. I know I’m still in better shape than any normal college senior. And Mica certainly doesn’t complain when her hands are all over my body.

  As if reading my mind, Christian smacks my ass with the end of his wet towel.

  “I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re coming out with the new recruits this Friday ‘cause you ain’t looking for chicks anymore, are ya?”

  He smirks at me with a knowing cock of an eyebrow.

  In the past I’d push his buttons or quip about my skills in the ladies’ department, but in this point in my relationship with Mica, there’s no use. I have no desire to seek out the company of other girls because she’s the only one I want.

  “What can I say, bro? My girl is fine as fuck and I’m a lucky bastard. But h
ey…maybe without me there to steal all the chicks, you’ll finally get a chance to score.”

  Christian laughs good naturedly and is about to say something else wholly inappropriate, I’m sure, when we’re interrupted by the new assistant coach, Coach Parker.

  “Hey Britton, can I speak to you for a minute before you head out?”

  My instincts tell me this is not a conversation about my thoughts on the lower classman and new recruits, but about how I need to show up a little more out on the court. Because I know, just as much as he does, that I’ve been sucking wind.

  I finish getting dressed and stuff my dirty laundry in my gym bag, zipping it closed and turn around to face him.

  “Sure Coach. Whatever you need.”

  Coach Parker pats me on the shoulder and turns to walk toward the bank of offices outside of the locker rooms.

  Glancing back at Christian, I notice his expression is one of solidarity, but lacks assurance.

  “Good luck, fucker,” he croons, making the sign of the cross. “Hope I see you tomorrow at practice.”

  “Thanks, asshole.”

  And without a backwards glance, I follow in the direction of Coach Parker as I head into his office situated at the end of the hallway.

  “Take a seat, Lance,” he says, moving around the corner of the desk and finding his own seat.

  I do as he says, but not before I get a chance to scan the contents of his office. There are boxes lined up against the far wall and a few pictures hung up, as well as one on his desk of a cute kid. Otherwise his office is pretty barren. Likely because he’s a new addition to the staff and just started coaching for the team, one of the youngest assistant coaches here. I think he’s pushing late twenties, maybe thirty.

  We’ve heard rumors about Garrett Parker. He drafted to the pros after his first year of college; played a few years, was traded around as a free agent. Got married and had a kid, and then last year his wife and kid were in an accident, leaving the wife dead and the kid with some sort of disability.

  It’s crazy to think that a guy who seemingly had it all got such a shit break like that. What hasn’t ever been explained, and what we all wonder about, is why Garrett left the big payday of the pros and decided to take an assistant coaching job. But I’m not about to ask him. I’m keeping my mouth shut unless I need to answer his questions.

  I sit uncomfortably in my chair across from him watching his expression change as he looks down at his notes from the last week of practices.

  There’s a few beats of silence and then he says, “You need to step up this year, Britton. Be a leader.”

  Um, okaaaay. Not sure what he means by that.

  He continues, seemingly aware of my inner dialogue. “As a fifth-year, you have the most experience on this team. You know what it takes to get to the championship. You know the amount of hard work and teamwork that’s involved. This game isn’t about just one single guy or even a few. It’s about the entire team. But one guy can make it or break it. If we want another chance at the Big Dance this year, I need you to step things up.”

  Sounds reasonable. I couldn’t agree more. I nod my head but don’t respond otherwise, uncertain of what he’s looking for. But he seems to have more to say.

  “Britton, I’m disappointed. From what I’ve observed in this short period of time, you haven’t bothered showing up. Your ass is dragging. I don’t see any energy or even motivation being demonstrated out there on the court.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up his palm, shutting off my response.

  “We don’t know each other well. I’m new and that makes me the outsider; I get that. But let me explain what I see from my perspective. There’s something going on with you. All I have to do is watch footage from last year and I see it.

  “It’s clear you’re struggling, and I need to know what’s going on in order to help you. That’s my job and I take it seriously. Because your teammates depend on you. If something’s weighing you down, it weighs our entire club down. You feel me?”

  I grip the armrest of the chair, holding my tongue so I don’t say something stupid. Like open up to this guy. I want to lash out. Defend myself. I feel cornered and I’m ready to fight. Fight against the reality. He doesn’t even know me and already he sees the truth.

  My posture turns stiff as my facial expression turns cold.

  Deny.

  Deny.

  Deny.

  “Nothing’s going on, Coach. Everything’s cool. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  Coach Parker just stares at me for a few moments, dissecting me with his eyes like I’m a puzzle piece that he’s trying to make fit. Analyzing my words and my tone to determine my sincerity and honesty. Little does he know, I’m lying through my teeth.

  After a minute or so, he sighs and then throws me for a loop.

  “Lance, I see from your file that you lost your mother last year and that fucking blows. I lost someone I loved very much, too, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. There’s this hole in your stomach that won’t go away. A rage that simmers on the back burner ready to explode at any given minute. We can’t get back what we lost, or go back in time to do things differently, but we can do something to help ourselves. I’ve found talking with someone helps. I’ve been going to a counselor for the past six months to help me cope,” he blinks, running a hand through his short, light hair.

  “I’ve made some bad decisions in my life, but I’m working to get back in the driver’s seat. So, if you need someone, Lance, you let me know. You don’t have to go it alone.”

  There’s a lump in my throat that feels like a boulder, stuck there and choking me. My eyes sting with unshed tears that lodge in the creases. Half of me wants to break down; open up; cry like a motherfucking baby and shed this layer of self-hatred and loathing.

  And the other half wants to tell him to ‘fuck off’ and worry about his own life. Go blabber to his psychologist, not me. Don’t pull me into your ‘woe is me’ mind fuck party. I can handle this. I am handling this. I don’t need him, or anyone else for that matter, to tell me what to do or how to think or how to act.

  I don’t need to say shit to Coach Parker. Like he said, he hasn’t earned my trust and for all I know, he’s just a washed up, has-been retired basketball pro now turned assistant coach. He’s not my spiritual advisor or guidance counselor.

  On the other hand, I can’t disrespect him because he’s my coach. He calls the shots. He could easily suspend me, bench me, or even worse, drop me from the roster. It takes everything I have to take the high road, but I straighten my spine, man-up and offer my gratitude, telling him what he wants to hear. Because the last thing I need for him to do is start digging. Uncover the seedy underbelly of my life.

  “Thanks Coach. I appreciate your concern. Yeah, this year has been tough. My old friends are gone and the team is different now. Maybe I have been slacking a little, but don’t worry. I’m good. I’ll start putting in more effort. I won’t let you down.”

  Even as the words come tumbling out and hang in the air between us, I feel that lie burn in the back of my throat; the smoke trapped inside, trying to escape, but instead charring my soul.

  Because I know the truth of who I am.

  I know what eats me up inside and torments me day and night.

  The truth is, I always let those I love and respect down.

  I’m sure at some point I’ll end up doing it to him, just as I did it to my brother and my parents.

  And sooner or later, I’ll probably do it to Mica.

  Because lies don’t stay hidden forever. They fester and grow, like a cancer, eating me up alive.

  24

  Mica

  It’s been three days since I’ve seen or even heard from Lance.

  Our schedules haven’t meshed well since he started back at practices. I knew it would be difficult, and of course I don’t begrudge him for his crazy schedule, but it feels like it’s something more than that. Like
he’s ignoring me on purpose. Until now, he’s never not texted me – even when he’s been busy, he’s always responded to me.

  Things between us were going so well over the summer and into fall. It’s the longest either one of us had ever been in a relationship and it just felt right. Although I told myself not to, I fell in love with him. Maybe I’d been in love with him all along, since our very first conversation when he nicknamed me Georgie.

  I promised myself I wouldn’t become a nagging girlfriend, so I’ve kept quiet about it. But my intuition tells me something is off with him.

  It bothers me and makes me angry with myself that I have this inkling of distrust. Part of me chalks it up to my mother and sister constantly making negative comments about Lance.

  “He’s not like us, hermana,” my sister had said.

  “You deserve someone so much better, hija,” said my mother.

  I’m always defending him. Defending what we have together. After not hearing from him for days, I wonder if they’re right after all. I question whether what we have is strong enough to last.

  Maybe I was just a summer fling to him and now that he’s back to the life he has led for the last four years, he doesn’t want me anymore. Maybe the constant supply of hoops hunnies have made him reconsider things between us.

  Gah. Why am I suddenly so insecure? My jealousy is driving me crazy and turning me into a nervous nelly.

  All these negative thoughts swirl around in my head as I play with my niece and nephews in the backyard of my parents’ house. I’ve been in a nasty mood all day, pining over Lance and wondering what I did to cause this riff. My mood is so nasty I’ll probably bite the head off the next person that talks to me.

  “Hola, Micaela.”

  My back stiffens slightly when I hear the voice I’m so very familiar with, yet dread hearing.

  Turning slowly, I paste on a friendly smile and look up at Alberto Silva who has come up behind me.

  “Hola, Alberto.”

  The kids chase each other around in circles and I have to corral little AJ who is eager to toddle over to the older kids. Picking him up, I nestle him into my chest, using him as a form of protection. He happily sucks his thumb and wraps his other chubby little arm around my neck, unaware of my ploy to use him as a diversion tactic.