Chapter 15 Brothers versus Friends
Brothers versus Friends
“You know when you’re watching a horror movie and the main character turns down the hallway, and you’re like don’t do it because you know it’s suicide, but then he does do it, and you think, What a dumbass? Because that’s kind of where I’m at now.”
Jack’s words, of course, coming from the back seat, as he stretched out and adjusted his dark sunglasses. He was grumpy. He had been ever since he’d returned home.
He was complaining because he didn’t know where we were taking him.
That was my plan, and I’d decided it was best to keep it a secret.
The idea had come to me after a conversation with Will the afternoon before.
He had been reading all these webpages with recommendations about how we should treat Jack once he was home.
Jack had gotten cranky and said he wasn’t a vacuum cleaner and didn’t need an instruction manual, but Will didn’t care, and he’d printed up a list. One of the things everyone agreed on was that people coming out of rehab should try to get exercise.
And what better exercise was there than basketball, the sport Jack used to love?
Jack, Will, Mike, and I were in the car. I admit I was intimidated at being the odd girl out, but I was pretty sure I could hold my own with them, and if it made Jack happy, it was worth it.
“I’m assuming I’m the killer in this scenario?” I asked him.
“No, Will is, because he’s the driver,” Jack responded.
“You’re one to talk,” Will shot back, and we laughed.
Even Jack was aware of how questionable his driving was.
He rolled down the window and let in a gust of hot air.
I couldn’t wait to get there, and when we finally parked, I jumped out, while Jack dragged himself out like a lazy dog—he even groaned like a dog.
He clearly wished he could just stay at home, but I wasn’t going to let him bum me out.
Will had told me Jack used to spend his summers at his family’s lake house, and that there was a half-size basketball court nearby where the two of them used to shoot hoops.
It was run-down now, but it had something special about it.
I could tell he had been right about that when I saw the gleam in Jack’s eyes once he realized where he was.
I grabbed his wrist and pulled him around to the trunk to take out the basketball I had hidden there.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “do you want to tell me what the hell we’re up to out here?”
“You’re a smart boy,” I said. “You figure it out.” I threw the ball into his chest. He caught it with surprising dexterity and glanced around.
“Don’t tell me…”
Before he could finish the phrase, Will came from out of nowhere and jerked the ball from his hands. “Think fast,” he said, dribbling as he ran away.
“Hold these,” Jack said, handing me his glasses and chasing Will onto the court.
They laughed and shoved each other as Mike stretched his arms out lazily, standing next to me. “One thing,” he said, “I hope me coming here doesn’t imply I’m actually supposed to do exercise. Because, as you might have noticed, I’m more of a couch-beer-TV kind of guy.”
“Yeah, but you’re here now,” I told him, “so hop to it!”
I clapped him on his back and headed to the court, and Mike grunted before finally joining us.
Will and Jack were taunting each other and running around in circles.
At one point, Jack managed to get the ball, turn on his heels, and shoot, and even from the far end of the court, he swished it in.
My jaw dropped, but Mike and Will didn’t look especially surprised.
Will caught it on the rebound and shot another two-pointer from close by.
As I stepped on the court, the ball bounced toward me and Will said, “You’re up.”
“I don’t even know what rules we’re playing!” I protested.
Sarcastically, Will responded, “Bounce the ball, throw it, try to get it in the hoop. It’s not that hard.”
“Hey!” I said, making a throw and aiming at his head.
As Mike stepped onto the court, he proposed, “Shall we play brothers versus friends?”
All of us agreed but Jack, understandably.
Mike was an obvious handicap. But surprisingly, Jack didn’t put up much of a fight before warning us, “Whatever. I can stomp you guys and carry this bum, too.” He dribbled away, leaving me there with Will.
I have to admit, Will was a gentleman and tried to school me as best he could.
I also have to admit, despite what I thought when I got there, I was way, way out of my league.
We worked out a system: Will took care of offense and blocking Jack, who was as sticky as flypaper, and I did the dirty work: throwing elbows, shoving, stealing the ball…
The one thing I’ll say for myself is that my morning runs paid off: Jack could rarely catch me, and Mike didn’t have a chance.
They tried to make me stick to the rules, yelling, “You can’t run without dribbling! ”
“Tell it to the ref!” I fired back.
Ten or so points in, Mike was already taking rest breaks, along with sips from a can of beer he had produced as if by magic.
“Mike!” Jack shouted every time he caught him, “we’re getting our asses beat! Stop drinking!”
“Bro, beer has electrolytes in it,” Mike responded.
I had to admit it—Jack wasn’t a clean player, but he was good. Almost impossible for Will and me to stop. We’d been at it for an hour before I blocked even one of his shots—or so I told myself, because I had the feeling he’d let me get in front of it.
At one point, he stopped, dribbling back and forth and mocking me. “You tired yet?”
“Nope.”
“You sure are breathing hard.”
“It’s your handsomeness. It takes my breath away.”
When he smirked, I tried to rob the ball from him, but he dribbled through his legs, caught it with the back hand, shot past me, and dunked.
Humiliating. Will jumped up in a spiral and caught it on the way down.
Before I even realized it, he’d passed the ball to me.
That was the first time he’d done that, and I was nervous.
“Shoot!” he said.
Jack actually had the nerve to stop and fold his arms across his chest. “This should be fun,” he said.
“Get ready to weep,” I told him, instantly losing credibility when I dribbled so hard, the ball bounced off and I had to chase it down.
“You need to work on your hand-eye coordination, Michelle!” Jack called out.
“You need to work on your brain-mouth coordination!” I shouted back.
Rabid, I caught the ball and approached the basket close, dribbling just a few inches from the ground. Jack laughed and tried to steal the ball from me, and I clutched it tight in both hands, running off until he caught me and pulled me up off the ground.
“That’s called traveling, and it’s a foul,” Jack said.
“Will, help!” I screeched.
But Will was having too much fun watching us as he leaned against the fence. Kicking in the air, I shouted, “Let me go! Red card! Red card!”
“Red cards are for soccer, Michelle. Get your games straight.”
“WILL!!!!”
I threw the ball away desperately, and Jack dropped me and ran off to play some more.
When we were done, Will and Mike went to the car for a cigarette and I sat down on the court.
Jack was still dribbling. He crouched down in front of me, and I was tempted to push him over, but instead I just grabbed the ball and threw it as far away as I could.
“Come on,” he told me, “don’t be a sore loser. You want to give it a shot?”
“Give what a shot?”
“You want to try and make one in?” He stood and offered me his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how.”
I accepted reluctantly.
“Let’s start with the basics,” Jack said, coming around behind me to set my shoulders. “Here, hold your arms like this…yeah, that’s it…exactly. No, straighten your elbow a bit. There you go. It’s not so hard, is it?”
I couldn’t say if it was hard or not—I hadn’t done anything yet—but I nodded and tried to play along.
“Now,” he said, “just look at the backboard, and…wait, stiffen your fingers a little so your palm’s not touching the ball. There you go! Now bend your knees slightly, straighten up, and throw.”
“That’s it…?”
“No, we need to work on your aim, too. Which, if it’s anything like your coordination, means we’re going to be here a while.”
“I should remind you, Jack, that Will asked me to hold onto the keys while he played. They’re in my purse. So unless you want to go walking home…”
“Did I tell you how good you look today?”
I grinned. I would never have admitted it, but I really wanted to make the shot. I squinted, bit my lower lip, got ready, and…
Not even close.
That time I’d gotten an F in gym class had been a prophecy.
Jack chuckled as he ran after the ball. I tried several more times, but it was clear I was no Caitlin Clark.
I had no sense of aim, and no explanation of technique was going to change that.
In the end, Jack got behind me again and wrapped his hands around mine.
“Come on now,” he said. “You and me together, no one can defeat us, right, Jen? One, two…”
All right, so Jack did all the work, but whatever: it went straight in that time. Ridiculously, I felt a tingle from head to toe and started skipping off toward the ball, which was still bouncing near the post.
“My God, that was one for the record books, Jordan himself would be impressed!”
“I’m so happy,” I said, “that I’m going to choose to believe you’re actually being serious!
” I gave him a five, then pretended to be holding up a trophy.
“First of all, I’d like to thank my coach, I could never have made it this far without him.
I’d like to thank Will, who took a chance on a rookie player.
I’d like to thank Mike for leaving the court to drink beer and making things easier on me.
And of course, I can’t forget my old gym teacher who flunked me… ”
“How did you flunk gym?” Jack asked. “I didn’t think that was even possible.”