A Game Worth Watching (8 page)

Emma
snorted in protest, causing Riley to elbow her in the side again. She couldn’t
help it. She was a player, not a coach or a hand holder. No matter how much
talent Emma did or didn’t have, the girls on the team hated her. Even if she
did try to give them pointers, they’d never listen to her anyway.

“Will
you come back to the team?” Coach asked, the pleading evident in her tone.
“Please?”

“I—”

“Yes,”
Riley said, cutting her off. He plastered a huge smile on his face, like he’d
just been awarded a full-ride scholarship to play collegiate basketball.
“She’ll come back.”

Emma
slapped his stomach with the back of her hand. His smile widened, and he
wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I promise she’ll behave from now on.”

Yeah,
right, Emma thought, rolling her eyes as Coach Knowles laughed.

“You
do know you have to start with the basics, right?” Emma asked.

Coach
nodded.

“And
you’re going to have to lose your best-friends-forever attitude,” Emma said.
“We don’t need a friend. We need a coach.”

Coach
raised her eyebrows. “Does that mean I’ll see you at practice tomorrow?”

They
both waited for her to answer. Knowing she was outnumbered and Riley would
never forgive her if she said no, Emma closed her eyes and bit her lip before
saying, “Yes, I’ll be there.”

Riley
squeezed her to him and kissed the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”

Enough
with the kissing already!

Sure,
Emma had kissed his cheek in a moment of weakness when he’d given her new
shoes, but she’d been surrounded by hoards of girls and the air had been
poisoned by their irrational emotions. What was Riley’s excuse? She tried to
inch away from him and put distance between them, but his arm remained firm
around her shoulders.

“Okay,
then, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a wave of relief, Coach Knowles retreated to
her car.

Riley,
his anger forgotten, smirked at her.

“Stop
it,” Emma said, not in the mood for him to gloat.

If
she thought things would be easier because of her little chat with Coach, she
was wrong. They only got worse.

Gone
was Coach’s let’s-just-be-friends smile. Gone were the extended water breaks.
Gone was the complacency for tardiness, laziness, and passiveness. The solution
for girls who didn’t perform to standard during practice? Wind sprints. The
punishment for girls who talked out of turn? Wind sprints. The penalty for
anything Coach didn’t appreciate? Wind sprints.
About time
, Emma thought as her feet
thudded on the gym floor along with the rest of the team.

Two
short bursts sounded from Coach’s whistle, indicating an end to their sprints.
Then the fun began. They didn’t jump into scrimmaging or learning some
complicated play most of the girls wouldn’t understand. Instead, they learned
to dribble one bounce at a time in the auxiliary gym.

The
auxiliary gym was located in the back corner of the school and had been left
off the school’s renovation plan. Unlike the main gym with its new paint, new
wood floor, and new equipment, the auxiliary gym looked the same as it did
forty years ago. Instead of the traditional school colors of fire-engine red
and white—bold colors inspiring students to seize the day and live up to
their potential—the colors of the walls and floor had faded to red-orange
and yellow. The lights overhead cast an even duller yellow tinge on the space,
and the smell of sweat and old shoes choked the air. At least the gym had
hoops. Hoops with nets so old they looked like they would disintegrate with one
swishing three-pointer.

The
only thing the auxiliary gym was used for was to hide the school’s disgraces.
In other words, it was the perfect place to exile the girls’ basketball team so
no one had to see them, hear them, or think about them. They didn’t deserve
anything better until they won. While the boys’ basketball team practiced in
the main gym on the opposite side of campus, Emma was stuck with girls in the
secondhand gym. No quotes or posters promoted teamwork or inspired students to
dream and achieve. It was just aging bricks and mortar. What more did a losing
team of eight girls need?

Several
times during practice, Emma and Coach Knowles exchanged glances. Coach’s look
was always part apology for the lack of talent on the team, and part fear Emma
would bolt from practice again. She shouldn’t feel pity for the woman. Jen
Knowles had willingly applied for the position, but she had no idea how to
coach effectively. She tried hard—too hard—to make practice go
smoother, to make the girls learn faster, to make herself coach better. At
least Emma wasn’t the only one struggling.

Less
than twenty-four hours ago, Coach Knowles had stood on Emma’s neighborhood
court, begging her to come back to the team and do what she could to help.
Well, in Emma’s opinion, the team was beyond help. Or maybe she didn’t want to
waste the energy it would take to bring the girls up to par. Either way, she
remained silent and let Jen Knowles do the coaching. Sure, there were lots of
dropped passes, lots of missed shots, lots of out of control dribbles, but they
never moved past basketball basics: ball handling, passing, shooting, and
defense. Maybe Jen Knowles did a Google search on proper coaching techniques.
Who knew? Whatever she did, Coach Knowles had stopped making excuses and
started being a coach.

By
the end of practice, the girls actually seemed to know what the game of
basketball was all about. Maybe this team of girls was capable of progress
after all. Even if it did occur in slow motion.

***

Practice
finally ended, the weights of restriction lifting. The rest of the team
shuffled out of the gym, and Emma sighed in relief. Finally. Peace and quiet.
Without girls.

Standing
in the middle of the court with a ball under her arm, she took a deep breath
and closed her eyes. No feet thudded against the gym floor, no squeals pierced
the silence, and no complaining polluted the air. If she listened hard enough,
she could almost hear the distant notes of the pep band, the cheers from the
crowd, and the yells from Coach creating the soundtrack for Bradshaw’s battle
for victory against an opposing team. She could only imagine what it would be
like to play in a real game against a real team with an actual scorekeeper. In
little more than a week, she would know. Until then, she could only dream.

Opening
her eyes, she dribbled the ball and listened to it pound against the floor, the
sound echoing in the space around her. She had never had a gym to herself
before. She could dribble, shoot, and run around like a lunatic and no one
would be there to pass judgment on her.

So
that’s what she did.

Guarded
by invisible defenders, she jabbed and spun, guiding the ball from one end of
the court to the other. She split the defense and avoided traps, beating her
opponents with the double crossover, the two-step, the fake pump, and every
other move she knew. No matter where she shot from—from inside the key or
from the three-point line—the ball fell through the hoop with nothing but
the swish of the net in its wake. Family problems, girl drama, and all tension
melted away as basketball allowed her to escape from her world and find peace.

Sweat
poured down her face as she played. She loved competing with the guys and
feeling the sting on her hand when they high-fived her, standing firm when
their bodies slammed into hers, hearing their laughter and shouts when they
teased her. But here and now, in the solitude of a secondhand gym, no guy
impeded her movements. Here and now, with swift feet and a perfect shot, she
felt graceful.

She
took one final shot from the three-point line. Her wrist, snapped in
follow-through, hung in the air as she watched her shot drop. Nothing but net.

Emma
didn’t sprint after her ball. She didn’t pluck it from the ground and plop it
on the rack in haste. Instead, she scooped it from the floor, smoothed the worn
leather with her hands and smiled at it like it was an old friend.

Trusting
the ball would be there for her tomorrow, she set it on the rack. She turned to
walk across the gym and retrieve her bag from the bleachers, hoping to relish
in her newfound peace for at least five more minutes, but movement caught her
eye. Perched at the top of the bleachers was Ashley, her beady eyes fixated on
Emma. Emma’s smile vanished. Her peace? Gone.

This
is
so
not
happening.

The
little sneak! She’d been there the entire time, tucked into a corner of the
wooden bleachers, watching Emma act like an obsessed basketball loser. So much
for privacy. The kid better not be here under the delusion they were friends.
Aside from saving the freshman from Lauren’s wrath, Emma had given no
indication they should be friends, and she wasn’t about to start now. Deciding
it was best to ignore her unwanted gawker, Emma continued on her path across
the gym to the bottom bleacher where she pulled on a sweatshirt with super
speed.

The
kid scooted down the bleachers one at a time, inching her way toward Emma.
Emma’s skin crawled as Ashley continued to gawk at her.

Despite
a week of practices and Coach’s increased efforts, the freshman was still the
worst basketball player Emma had ever seen, but it wasn’t due to lack of
trying. Some people just had the talent, and some people didn’t. Ashley didn’t.

“You’re
an amazing basketball player,” Ashley said.

“If
you say so.”

“How
did you get to be so good?”

Unnecessary
awe radiated from Ashley’s voice, irritating Emma further. “It’s called
practice.” She zipped her bag and slung it over her shoulder. The faster she
could escape, the better.

Ashley
scurried down the remaining bleachers and hopped onto the floor, where she
tripped and fell in front of Emma. Emma shook her head and stepped over
Ashley’s sprawled body, heading for the door. She didn’t make it. The kid
jumped in front of her, blocking her exit route.

“Wait,”
Ashley gasped.

Emma
could pulverize the freshman with one swipe of her hand, but she refrained, not
wanting to have a mess to clean afterward.

“I
know I’m not very good at basketball,” Ashley said quickly, brushing strands of
hair away from her face. “Compared to you I’m probably the worst player in the
world. You make everything look so easy. I would give anything to have an ounce
of your talent. I watch you every day at practice and try to copy you, but I
always mess everything up. You’re way better than Lauren or any of the other
girls on the team, but I think we have a good shot at going all the way this
year with you on the team, and—”

Emma
rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She had a feeling this kid could and would go
on for hours. “Do you have a point to all this or are you just wasting my
time?”

Ashley
looked Emma in the eye, and with as much courage as her little body could
muster, she took a deep breath and said, “I want you to coach me.”

Well,
that was unexpected. Emma laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Why
not?”

“Because
I don’t know anything about coaching, that’s why.”

Ashley
plunged ahead, not caring about Emma’s lack of coaching credentials. “You don’t
have to teach me much, just a few things, so I’m not a complete failure in case
I ever get to play in a real game. I know, I know, that’s not likely going to
happen, but what if?” Her eyes glazed over and strayed from Emma’s, obviously
absorbed in some twisted what-if scenario. “What if for some reason I’m the
only one left on the bench and Coach puts me in?”

Then we’re doomed
,
Emma thought.

Ashley
snapped out of her trance. “I can’t lose the game for everyone.”

“Sorry,”
Emma said, without a shred of sympathy. “I don’t give private lessons.” She
sidestepped around Ashley and headed for the door.

“Please,”
Ashley begged. “I’ll pay you.”

Emma
whirled around. The mention of money was not a way to entice her. Just because
she was poor didn’t mean she could be bought. “Is this some kind of joke?” she
spit out. To think this freshman would stoop so low sickened her. It was the
type of thing Lauren would orchestrate to humiliate her.

“No,
no joke.” Ashley shook her head, her eyes widening. “I’ll do anything. Please.”

The
sincerity in Ashley’s voice was unmistakable, but Emma still wasn’t convinced.
“Why me? Don’t you get enough from practice?”

“Have
you seen me play? I need a lot more help than two hours a day.”

Emma
forced back a smile. She knew more than most how much more help Ashley needed.

“Please,”
Ashley whined. “I’m begging you.”

No
one could look as pitiful as Ashley did. It was just plain sad. The kid was all
knobby knees, bony arms, and milk-white skin. Her big brown eyes pleaded with
Emma. Innocence. When Emma looked into the kid’s eyes, all she saw was
innocence. Innocence Emma had long forgotten. Add that to the kid’s obvious
interest in learning Emma’s beloved sport, and her heart softened a little
around the edges. For some unknown, stupid sappy girl reason, Emma couldn’t
find the words to turn the kid down.

She
scolded herself silently then took a deep breath and tried to gain a clear
perspective of the situation. She didn’t know the first thing about coaching,
but maybe if she spent a couple hours with Ashley, the kid might be less of a
hazard on the court. She certainly couldn’t get any worse. Besides, Emma wouldn’t
be able to stand it if the kid cried because of her. The way her chin wobbled,
tears weren’t too far away. “Lauren or anyone else hasn’t put you up to this,
have they?”

Ashley
shook her head.

Emma
sighed, knowing she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life. “Okay,
fine. I’ll teach you a few things.”