Kickoff

Prologue

I think you are pretty. For a girl

Wiping the sweat along my hairline with my sleeve, I watched the moving truck as it parked in front of the house next door.

A man about Dad’s age climbed out, followed by an older boy, probably in high school, who looked just like him.

No doubt father and son. Both stood with their fists on their hips, observing the house after the boy removed the Just Sold sign from the front lawn.

I wondered if they were the new owners.

Mom had told me there would be a kid about my age moving next door, and I’d been shooting hoops all day, trying to catch sight of him. I couldn’t wait to have a new best friend since most kids in our street were either babies or teenagers.

Craig, my older brother, said earlier I looked like a creep, but I didn’t care.

Since Lee, my old best friend, moved away last month, I had been wondering what his replacement would look like.

The father-son duo rounded the box truck, opened the rear roll-up door, and entered the cargo area only to come out with their arms full of boxes seconds later.

The man spotted me and offered a warm smile. “Hi there.”

I returned his greeting with a wave.

Maybe I really did look like a creep after all. Not wanting them to think I was being weird, I focused on the ball in my hand.

From the time I was old enough to throw, I’d been obsessed with balls. Footballs. Basketballs. Baseballs. Anything I could toss, dribble, or hit. Passing a ball was my special power as Mom called it.

According to Dad, I had what he called one heck of an arm.

I could throw with precision and barely ever tired out.

Last summer, my parents had enrolled me in baseball and football camps.

Since then, the latter had become my sport of choice.

I loved everything about throwing a pigskin across a field in a perfect arc and watching the receiver catch it mid-air.

Each time, it filled me with pride. It helped that my brother’s sport of choice was also football.

While my special power was throwing, his was catching.

And we worked great together. Like a well-oiled machine, Dad often said. Yep, Craig always anticipated my moves as I did his.

Right now, I was alone and couldn’t play catch, so basketball was my only option to blow off some steam and busy myself.

Handling the ball with ease, I shot from the sidewalk into the basket.

“He shoots and scores.” Pivoting on my feet, I dribbled some more, pretending I had some fierce opponents hot on my heels.

“Mason Pierce is the player to watch this season, ladies and gentlemen. No wonder he’s going pro next year.

” Craig always made fun of me when I faked being a commentator, describing my own plays, but I didn’t care.

I had to get used to it because playing for the big league was my future—and my dream.

I feinted a spin to the right, only to go left and shoot a three-point hoop from an imaginary top of the key. The ball slid smoothly through the rim fixed above the garage door. Pride coursed through my blood, and I pumped my fist.

“Wow, you’re good.”

I jumped around at the sound of a small voice behind me. A girl with long, wavy brown hair and turquoise eyes that glimmered with curiosity under a hitched brow stood a few feet from me. For a second, I lost myself in the pool of her eyes because they looked like the ocean on a sunny day.

“Who are you?” I asked with a sigh, scanning the length of her, wondering if my wishes had gotten mixed up because I seemed to have landed a girl-neighbor instead of a boy-neighbor.

“Melinda Shepard. I guess I live next door now. We’re moving in today.”

“Oh.” My shoulders dropped. She was not a boy-neighbor. I wanted to say something else, but my words were stuck in my throat, and I had no idea how to get them out. This kinda sucked. Big time.

The forgotten ball rolled between my feet down the pavement, and I bent forward to retrieve it before it reached the street.

“Are you a student at Elk River Middle School?” she asked.

“Yes, I’ll be in seventh grade. Going to be twelve soon.”

“I’ll be in seventh grade too. I turned twelve at the beginning of the summer.”

“We’re the same age? Wow, you’re tall. Like tenth-grade tall.”

She shrugged. “Mom too said that the other day when we went shopping. Will you be on the school basketball team? You’re pretty good. You should try out.”

“No. I play football. I’ll be on that team. I only play basketball when I’m alone and have nothing fun to do. Mom doesn’t want Craig and me to play video games so—”

“My mom doesn’t even want me to watch TV other than on Saturdays when we have a family movie night.” She shrugged. “How old is your brother?”

“You ask a lot of questions. How old is your brother?”

“He’s my half-brother, and he’s seventeen.

We’re not super close. He’s into music and hates everyone.

His mom died when he was little, and he’s still angry about it.

Dad says he’ll learn to live with it eventually.

Not sure therapy helps him, though. He wants to move out and be an adult and record an album. ”

“Oh. My brother’s name is Craig. He’s my best friend…most of the time. He plays football with me. He’ll be in seventh grade too. You’ll meet him.”

Her eyes rounded. “You guys are twins? Cool.”

I shook my head. “Nah. We were born ten months apart. People always assume we’re twins.

I skipped fourth grade, so we’re in the same grade now.

” I sighed. “My parents treat me like a baby even though we have the same birth year. Mom sometimes says we were twins who chose not to share the womb at the same time. Anyway, it’s not that interesting. ”

“I think it is. It’s like you’re twins but not twins twins. It’s weird, but it’s still cool.”

An idea popped up in my head. “Wanna play?” Maybe I could teach her the game, and she’d become decent enough to fill in when Craig was busy. It wasn’t too far-fetched an idea. Anyway, I was out of options and tired of playing by myself. It became boring after a while. I could use a friend.

“Sure. You better bring your A-game, though, or you’ll lose,” she said, assurance clear in her tone. She tipped her chin up and adjusted her white T-shirt and pink shorts before getting into position before me. “I’m not joking about basketball.”

I watched her every move, impressed she knew all about the game. None of the girls at school loved playing ball. They always complained in gym class when we teamed up for basketball or soccer.

“You know the rules?” I asked, just to make sure. My heart was beating faster, excited at the idea I had someone to play with. For real.

“My dad and my brother. They taught me the game. I’m pretty good at it. Our love for basketball is one of the things my brother and I connect over.”

I blinked as she stared at me with her game face on. “Wow.” I gawked at her, not sure what to say. She wasn’t a boy, but she was my age, and she liked to play ball. My new neighbor wasn’t exactly the friend I had wished for, but I could work with that.

Melinda crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her chin in defiance. “So? Are we playing, or are you gonna stare at me all afternoon? I can’t wait to beat you.”

She had attitude and confidence, and they reminded me of myself. Maybe we would get along fine, she and I.

My lips curled into a large smile, and I snapped out of my Melinda-trance state. “Yes. Let’s play. I’m Mason, by the way. Mason Pierce. Ready?”

She unfolded her arms, bent at the knees, and leaned forward, seriousness painting her face. “Ready.” She nodded. Once. I believed I fell in love right then.

We played for the rest of the afternoon. Melinda was good—not as good as me—but a decent enough opponent. She knew how to dribble, and I couldn’t look away when she controlled the ball, my gaze following each movement of her tanned legs.

Her hair swept her shoulders. Each time she got too close, the smell of her orange blossom shampoo filled my nose, and butterflies took off in my stomach when her bare skin rubbed against mine.

Foreign sensations invaded me, and I sorta enjoyed the excitement they brought. I had never noticed that Lee or any of my friends smelled good, so maybe it was a girl thing. I didn’t hate it, though.

Perhaps having a girl-neighbor wouldn’t be so bad after all.

We lost ourselves in the game, pausing only to drink water from the garden hose attached to the side of the garage or retie our shoelaces.

Melinda’s cheeks were red from exertion, and it was a good look on her.

I could tell she too liked basketball from the stars shining in her eyes and the upward curve of her lips when she scored. I smiled whenever she did because she looked happy—and proud of herself.

“I have an idea,” Melinda said after a while. “Let’s play H.O.R.S.E. The winner gets to decide their prize.”

I frowned. “Like what?”

She twisted her lips, thinking. “Whatever. Winner’s choice.”

“Anything off limits?” I was already thinking about what I’d ask for if I won.

She shrugged. “Nah. Unless it’s weird.”

“Okay, then. Get ready to lose.”

The challenge seemed to spark a newfound confidence in her because her eyes turned to slits and her game face returned. “We’ll see about that.”

Oh, I loved how cocky she got. Was my new neighbor as competitive as I was? Right now, I wished that was the case because it would make things more interesting. I was so ready to kick her ass and show off my skills. I was Mason Pierce. I never lost. And now, I even had an endgame.

“Fine, you win,” Melinda conceded a while later, tossing the basketball back at me, bending forward, her palms on her knees, catching her breath.

“Can I decide my prize now?” I asked, breathless, but unable to stop the grin taking over my face.

Winning had been harder than I thought it’d be.

Melinda Shepard didn’t go down without a fight.

She’d put her whole heart into our game until the last second.

“You were not kidding. You are good at this.”