9781250209153

One face sticks out to me: Dr. Abraham, standing next to Irene’s dad
with Mathew on her other side. She’s beaming with pride, with a mother’s
love, clapping along to her daughter’s perfectly orchestrated cheer routines.
My throat is suddenly thick.
When halftime is over, Irene takes my hand and leads me toward the
locker room. She pushes me toward the door and says, “Get your uniform
on. You are not sitting out for the second half of this game.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice.
It really doesn’t matter to me how this game ends. I’m so euphoric that I’m
playing like a little kid, purely for the fun of it, practically oblivious to the
competition. I assist Danielle with three different jump shots; she assists me
with a steal that turns into a layup. It’s easily the best time we’ve ever had
playing together. Even when I shoot an air ball in the third quarter, I merely
laugh and keep playing.
One moment stands out to me: Tally getting fouled in the fourth quarter.
She trips over Googy in the midst of a desperate drive to the basket. When
she hits the floor and begins to cry, I don’t hesitate to run over to her. I
crouch next to her, offering my hand. She refuses to take it.
“I don’t understand,” she cries, wiping tears away.
The words that come out of my mouth aren’t planned. “It’s just a game,
Tal. Shake it off.”
I shrug and run off, leaving her gawking on the floor. The game doesn’t
resume until the Candlehawk coach subs her out.
In the final few minutes of the game, we’re neck and neck with
Candlehawk. My competitive drive overtakes me again. Stress is rolling off
Danielle in waves. The tension in the gym is palpable.
“We have to stop their point guard,” Danielle pants during time-out.
“She’s their biggest scorer. I can’t keep up with her.”
“She’s not great with free throws,” I say. “We have to keep fouling her.”
“That means Danielle would foul out,” Googy says. “You’ve got four
already, Danielle. One more and you’re out of the game.”
“I know,” Danielle huffs. “I’m trying to figure it out.”