A Game Worth Watching (5 page)

Without
answering her question, Riley apologized to Coach Knowles and pulled Emma aside.
“Here.” He handed her a box—a shoe box.

“What’s—”
Comprehension dawned on Emma, and she shoved the box back into his hands. “No,
I can’t take these.”

“They’re
from my parents.”

She
threw him a look, not believing his lie.

Riley
rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, they’re from me, but they wanted to help.”

“I
still can’t take them.” It was one thing to ask her dad for money to buy a pair
of low-end shoes but completely different when her best friend and his parents
bought them for her as an act of pity. Especially considering they’d never
bought anything low-end in their lives and probably hadn’t started with her.
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”

“Emma.”
The force behind his voice silenced her. “No, is not an option. You take these,
you wear them, and you remember what I said the other day. Seize this
opportunity. Hold nothing back.”

She
continued to stare at him. Accepting the shoes went against everything she’d
ever promised herself regarding their friendship. She didn’t want to be a
nuisance or a charity case. Sure, she snatched fries from his plate at lunch
sometimes and accepted small presents from him at Christmas, but a pair of
brand-new shoes took things to a whole new level. No matter how desperate she
was, it just didn’t feel right.

He
took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, his patience wearing thin.
“Fine. We’ll figure out a way for you to pay us back through slave labor.
Satisfied?”

“I
guess.” It wasn’t a perfect solution, but she knew she needed shoes and so far
it was the only option she had. She accepted the box from Riley and opened it.
Her first pair of brand-new shoes. Ever.

“I
thought about getting you the pink ones,” he said with a laugh, “but I figured
you’d kill me, so I went with these instead.”

Black
was definitely better than pink and he was right, she would’ve killed him. The
opportunity to thank him was interrupted by Lauren’s screeching voice. “How
sweet! Riley gave his charity case a new pair of shoes.”

Riley,
unfazed by Lauren’s insult, kept his eyes on Emma and fought back a smile.
“You’re going to have your hands full.”

Emma
glared at him. She’d already had more of Lauren than she could endure and
practice hadn’t even started yet. “Just remember, you forced me into this.”

“Don’t
hate me for too long.” He squeezed her into a hug. “You’ve got this.”

Overcome
with appreciation for his friendship, Emma did something she’d never done
before. Rising on her toes, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

What was that?
She screamed at herself. Never in her life had she kissed him in any way,
shape, or form, nor would she have if she’d put an ounce of thought behind her
action. Sure, a sign of gratitude was required for his generosity, but how
about a handshake, a punch on the arm, a head nod, a grunt? Not a kiss! It was
such a girl thing to do. She almost died right then, wondering if Riley was two
seconds away from calling off their entire friendship over a stupid kiss.

Riley’s
face turned red, and he cleared his throat. “I…uh…better get to practice.”

Grrr.
He was disgusted. She knew it. They were friends, yes, but not the kissing on
the cheek kind. “Me, too,” she muttered. It must have been the atmosphere.
Outnumbered by girls high on emotions. Stupid girl behavior must be contagious.

She
turned away to join the herd of girls, so she wouldn’t have to watch Riley flee
from the scene—flee from her.

“And
Em?”

She
spun back around, hoping he’d give her another chance to never gush with girly
gratitude toward him again. “Yeah?”

He
gave her a lopsided grin. “Try to be nice to the girls. Don’t hurt any of them
on your first day.”

Boys
had tryouts.

Girls
had practice.

During
the first hour of practice, Emma gained a deeper understanding of what that
meant. The losing history of the girls’ team was not an incentive to spend
every evening during the winter to be all you could be on the basketball court
surrounded by girls who disgraced the name of the game with their lack of
talent. And people wondered why Emma was so opposed to school athletics, especially
girls’ athletics.

She
didn’t know why she despised girls so much. Maybe it was because she had four
brothers and didn’t know any better. Maybe it was because she’d accidentally
smacked Lauren in the head with a soccer ball during fourth grade PE class, and
the girl and all her friends had hated her ever since. Or maybe her mom’s
abandonment had taught her to never trust the female population. Staring at the
group in front of her failed to give Emma the boost of confidence she needed to
even think about befriending these girls.

Coach
Knowles waved her hands in the air. “Gather around everyone.”

Eight
girls. Final count. Barely enough for a complete team. If she hadn’t promised Riley,
Emma would have run out the door and never looked back. She pulled her eyes
away from the exit sign and focused on Coach.

Coach
Knowles looked barely old enough to have graduated from college with her big
brown eyes, bobbing ponytail, and a smile that seemed to say the world was a
super happy place 24-7! Talk about repulsive. The woman had no idea what she
was getting herself into. Even a newbie could tell Jen Knowles had no real
coaching credentials to her name. She didn’t take charge, her presence did not
demand respect, and it was questionable whether or not she would last an entire
season.

Emma
wasn’t the only one who sensed Coach’s let’s-all-be-best-friends-forever
attitude. Lauren and Madison did simultaneous eye rolls every five seconds as
Coach droned on about how happy she was to be here and how great the season
would be and how teamwork was the most important aspect of basketball. The
Bradshaw girls’ basketball team had eaten through more than their fair share of
coaches over the years, and Jen Knowles was just one more coach passing through
their school. The woman needed to wipe the smile off her face. Ten years of
losing would not change just by her standing in front of them.

“Why
don’t we start off with some introductions?” Coach Knowles clapped her hands
and turned to Emma with eyebrows raised, looking way too eager and way too
clueless for the first day of practice.

Emma
bowed her head, hating the way everyone thought saying your name in front of a
group of people was the easiest task in the world. “I’m Emma,” she mumbled.

“Poverty
child,” Lauren muttered.

Like
Emma hadn’t heard that one a million times before. At Bradshaw High School,
ninety percent of the kids believed if your parents didn’t earn triple digit
salaries, you lived in extreme poverty and weren’t worthy of attention. If she
attended any other school, she may have had a shot at being normal, but with
the whole single parent, hand-me-downs, hate-girls mentality, normal was out of
the question.

Lauren’s
words were meant for everyone to hear and a few of the girls laughed as Lauren
and Madison high-fived. Emma ignored them and waited for the attention to move
to the next girl. Aside from Lauren and Madison, Emma didn’t know any of their
names, nor did she exert the effort to try to learn them. Poverty child. Loser.
Poor girl. Tomboy. That’s what they all knew of her. They were all label
believers. Good. It was better that way. Less personal, more basketball. The
last thing she wanted was to bond with any of them.

Warm
up laps and stretches could be better defined as clique social time. Emma held
back to gauge the rest of the girls, but considering she could walk faster than
half of them ran, it wasn’t long before she pulled in front of the pack without
even trying. After the first lap, half the girls started walking. Walking! Like
they were in some first grade PE class.

Dribbling
drills came next. The object of the first drill was to dribble the ball from
one end of the court to the other and back, remaining in control at all times.
Bored already, she grabbed a ball from the rack and took her place in line. The
first girl took off from the baseline. Emma had never played on an actual
basketball team before, but she was pretty sure slapping at the ball wasn’t
considered dribbling, and if a person couldn’t dribble without taking her eyes
off the ball long enough to look for an open player, then it would be a long
season for all of them.

Lauren
and Madison fixated their destructive criticisms on the runt of the group. The
runt could pass for a twelve-year-old kid. Maybe. The kid had yet to grow into
her body and it showed. Trying to figure out how not to trip over her mammoth
feet, the kid hit the ball off her foot after the second dribble and raced
after it as it rolled the length of the gym. The girl tripped at the opposite
baseline, and the ball, having bounced off the wall, rolled into her head. No
wonder she was Lauren’s pick of the litter.

Coach
Knowles clapped her hands for each girl, shouting encouragement while the rest
of the girls clustered in groups of two to continue their conversations from
warm ups. Even if Emma had the urge to attempt civilized conversation with any
of them, she knew she would get shot down faster than a hunted duck. Why were
guys so much easier to be friends with? Forget friends, they were easier to
associate with in general. Less judgmental, less critical, less evil. Sure,
guys had a tendency to be cocky, conceited, and rude, but Emma still preferred
them to girls any day.

Emma
shook her head. Kill me now, she thought.

Basketball
had never been something she could do halfway. It was all or nothing—for
better or worse. She stepped to the line to take her turn and took off at a
sprint, dribbling the ball with her right hand and then switching to her left
on the return trip. She wasn’t even breathing hard when she crossed the line.

The
side conversations had ceased, and eight sets of eyes stared at her like she
was a freak show at the circus. “What?” she asked.

“Showoff,”
Lauren muttered.

“Slacker,”
Emma shot back.

The
next thing Emma knew, she was Jen Knowles’ new coaching tool. For the rest of
practice, Coach started every drill with, “Watch Emma.”

“Watch
Emma dribble.”

“Watch
Emma shoot.”

“Watch
Emma pass.”

Watch
Emma scream!

Being
put on display like some prized honor student wasn’t her idea of productive
practice time, and it certainly wasn’t the way to build team unity. Seriously,
did the woman know anything about coaching? These girls wouldn’t improve by
watching Emma demo everything and then replicating her. They needed skills
broken down and explained in detail at the kindergarten level. They needed
individualized instruction, repetition, and discipline. No wonder Bradshaw was
the worst team in the league.

The
girls watched her execute every drill to perfection, but they proceeded to air
ball half their shots, throw passes out of bounds, and trip over their own
feet. Coach tried to give pointers to each girl, but they were all so
incompetent, one comment did more harm than good.

By
the time Coach put an end to her humiliation, Emma was ready to quit. She felt
the resentment of every girl in the room and if they hadn’t hated her at the
beginning of practice, they sure did now. Nothing was worse than a know-it-all.

Emma
wouldn’t last the week. Basketball she could handle. Guys she could handle. She
could even handle her own family, but girls would destroy her.

Practice
ended with a few harmless wind sprints. She thought half the girls were dying
by the way they clutched their sides and groaned in pain every time down the
court. Emma shook her head and laughed. She’d never heard anyone wheeze so loud
before. Didn’t they know ninety percent of basketball was running? It was day
one of basketball practice. How would these girls survive the season?

The
runt of the group was the quickest, but she tripped over her feet twice and
face-planted both times. She almost fell a third time, but she grabbed at Emma
for balance and saved herself. The same could not be said for Emma who sprawled
across the floor, receiving floor burns on both elbows and knees.

“Sorry,”
the kid squeaked.

Emma
growled in response. Pushing her body off the floor, she attempted to stand
when something slammed into her from behind, sending her sprawling onto the
floor again.

“Stay
down, loser.”

The
voice was unmistakably Lauren’s, as were the hands that had shoved her. She
jumped to her feet, ready to charge after Lauren and settle the score, but the
freshman leaped in front of her.

“Don’t
do it.” The kid’s forehead scrunched with worry, her eyes wide with fear.
“She’s not worth it.”

Emma’s
hands balled into fists and her body shook from the effort to cage her anger.
If it weren’t for the kid’s voice reminding her of Riley’s order not to hurt
any of the girls on her first day, she wouldn’t have thought twice about taking
action.

She
took a deep breath and exhaled loudly as she looked down at the kid staring up
at her.

“I’m
Ashley,” the kid said, offering her hand to Emma.

“Stay
out of my way.” Emma pushed the kid aside without a handshake and resumed her
sprints, staying clear of Lauren and the rest of the girls.

The
whistle ending practice couldn’t have come soon enough. Five minutes longer and
Emma would have punched something. Or someone. Spending so much time with girls
was hazardous to her sanity. It had to be. Gritting her teeth, she snatched her
bag from the sideline and bolted for the exit.

The
day had already surrendered to night, so the only light in the parking lot came
from two lone streetlights. All she wanted was to get as far away from the
girls as possible. She bowed her head against the wind and headed for home. A
car horn honked twice before she looked up to place it. Riley’s jeep was parked
at the curb, his face lit by the interior dome light.