Twelve
Rilee
Gameday has a unique feel. Even waking up with the taste of steak in my mouth and partially blind from dream light in my eyes couldn’t suppress game day stomach flutters.
Though waking up craving grilled medium rare beef was nauseating.
Breakfast was tasteless regardless of what I put together, and not because I’d already eaten sirloin earlier in the week.
Transitioning my mind from the muddled dream images to noticing what was in my mouth was a huge effort.
The car radio was a disappointment because there was always the hope that the DJ would say something about the game.
Occasionally, a high school football team gets a mention but girls’ basketball?
Hasn’t happened yet. But I couldn’t help hoping for a mention between traffic updates and advertisements about employment services.
However, the school announcements never disappointed.
By the time homeroom came around, someone in the hall had already flashed me a thumbs up, I saw Kali Chekov wearing her jersey, and Miles Verska, the math teacher, wished me good luck.
After being reminded about library late fee due dates, parking lot rules, SAT test dates and the most unique lost and found items of the week (a lime green running shoe without laces and a Scooby-doo pencil topper with teeth marks), the Sophomore Class President reminded everyone that, “Our Junior Varsity girls basketball team plays the Crestline Lions this evening at seven. Only two games left this year. Come out and cheer them on.”
Roger Litz in the back row shouted out, “Kill ‘em Ms. Horner!” And a few others cheered in response. I like teaching sophomores and coaching JV. Jaded juniors and seniors don’t see the stakes when it’s just a junior varsity game.
Freshmen were still clueless and simply trying to make it through the day.
Sophomores know what’s going on and recognize every day matters.
They can still taste the freshness of opportunity.
“Thanks, but listen to the announcements,” I answered with a grin over the student council rep’s wrap up.
In class we talked about oxygen exchange and lungs and gills but I kept seeing basketball passes.
Maggie and I reviewed our play binders over lunch and discussed when we should try out the new plays, and how often.
The answer was enough to win but not by so much the Lions figured the plays out.
And where that point was on the number line, neither of us could decide.
The gym filled up early, well before we were into our warm up.
Varsity had a travel game on Friday so we had the gym all to ourselves which meant a late game.
“Does coaching get any easier?” I asked Maggie.
“I haven’t figured out how to coach but not play the game in my head,” Maggie admitted, facing me, her back turned to the crowd.
“But I think it helps you relate to the team. They know you’d be out there on the fast break with them if you could be.
You have some skin in the game and they know it too.
That’s part of why they play the way they do.
For you.” Grabbing my elbow she gave it a squeeze. Now let’s go tear up some Lions.”
We played B-squad first and lost the jump ball.
The Lions took an early lead and the ref was no help.
Jackie Mace was sent flying with an uncalled body check and Tina Cruze’s passes were getting picked off like spring daisies.
Before we knew it we were down by fifteen.
We’d come back from a deficit that large before but not against a team as consistent as the Lions.
In the huddle between periods Maggie reminded them that we’d prepared for this. “We knew the Lions were tough nasty critters, but they don’t have your style. Or your hunger. They’re good but they’re phoning it in. So, make them show up and play.”
“If this is them taking it easy, we’re dead.” Tow-haired Katja Chernov murmured.
“Hey,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Vampires are dead too, that never stopped them from shining. Make them run until they’re dead tired. Now go sink some shots.”
As A–squad ran out on the court with a united “uh-rah,” Maggie turned to me, “Shining vampires? Seriously?”
Shrugging, I didn’t look at her. “Got to stay relevant.”
“Or old,” Maggie answered before turning her attention to the team.
Back on the court the girls tried but couldn’t get into a rhythm.
Each time we would advance, a Lion’s elbow would clip someone, or a wayward hand came down on the back of one of our girls’ hands mid pass.
The ref was either looking the wrong way or missing each call.
It was demoralizing. Maggie introduced the new screenplay and it worked, the speed and misdirection frazzling the Lions.
We began chipping away at the deficit despite the continuing uncalled fouls but it was slow going and the clock continued to churn toward zero.
Katje set up and tried to make a break and roll but got caught, pinned back to chest with her defender.
She jumped to pass, but not as high as the defender expected and on the way down tossed off a bounce pass to Penny who just barely caught it around her defender.
Pivoting, Penny bolted for the basket. The Lions were thick in the key and she couldn’t make the layup, instead stopping short for a jump shot.
I thought I heard the slap across her wrist but no one else reacted, not even the ref who was less than twenty feet away and staring right at them.
Penny got off the shot but the force of the blow sent her stumbling to her knees.
The ball tumbled through the air toward the basket. My breath was a jagged hard lump. In the silence a shout echoed off the shiny wooden floor and cinder block walls.
“FOUL!” Hot anger rippled with the voice like the crashing sound of a garbage truck outside your window first thing in the morning.
As if the voice had screamed “fire,” I turned involuntarily to see a wild-eyed grimacing broad-shouldered man standing in the back row of the bleachers.
Even across the entire gymnasium I recognized those worn eyes.
But instead of the playfulness I’d seen before, a churning rage was boiling out, pouring out onto the court.
A firestorm that had burned my mother to ash and left me scorched where he’d touched me.
His gaze still locked on the ref, he blinked, and was just Craig again.
My dad was nowhere around. Instead, there was the man who’d held open the door for me and set my chest quivering.
The shout left the silence even more oppressive, as if everyone hadn’t heard the silence until he’d interrupted.
In one ear I heard the familiar sound of a ball thumping off a hoop but I couldn’t look away from those eyes, now deceptively still, like the ocean before a rising wave.
Even the ref, echoing the foul call, barely drew my gaze away, because Craig had already called it.
As oppressive as the stillness was, the shattering roar of the crowd and our team battered me even more.
Maggie’s hand on my shoulder hauled me down, anchoring me against the push and pull of past and present.
“Finally, someone gets it.” Maggie growled in my ear. “I wonder if they will throw him out for poor sportsmanship. The district refs don’t like to be questioned but someone needed to say it.”
Following Maggie up the sideline I listened to her disgorge her nervous energy in chatter while our girls set up the free throw. With a cool steeliness Penny sank the foul shot giving us three points on the play. The girls were all business now and set up for man-to-man coverage.
He was just the lift of a head away, positioned in the far back corner, sitting next to a woman who had Jackie Mace’s curls and forehead.
His sister? Her mom? Turning from the woman, Craig’s weary worn blue eyes met mine and a hint of warmth rose in them, churning their surface. Raising a hand, he waved.
He waved at me. The nerve. Where were we supposed to have met?
And if someone saw, how was I supposed to explain that?
It wouldn’t cost him anything–but me, it could be my career, and then what would I do?
Mom could barely keep herself together and I wasn’t going to crawl back to Dad.
Turning away, I shouted encouragement to Leah who was guarding the nearest Lion.
I had to get this guy out of my head. He was going to mess up my life.
The ref whistled the half over and I studied the score board before joining the huddle. Down by ten. We were still in this thing. The Lions had to be feeling the pressure. I sure was.
Maggie dissected the Lion’s offense. “We are scoring, just slowly. The key is going to be to hold them, keep them off balance and be ready. Those moments of chaos are where the opportunities are.”
I knew I was pacing too much. The third quarter was a slog, and it took all my effort to not look into the stands.
Damn him for the distraction. The girls listened to Maggie and made things happen.
A quick cut and a jump shot as a defender overstepped, a pick on a hasty pass, and that smooth fast screenplay, all of it helped to slowly close the gap.
Our girls were good. They played together and gave each other opportunities to score.
And we scored. And after every basket I glanced at the scoreboard regardless of who made the shot as if keeping track would influence what was happening.
Katje called out a play but couldn’t shake her defender and after a scuffle and failed pass, the ball changed hands.
The Lions went up for a layup but were too eager and the ball cracked hard against the backboard.
Penny missed the rebound but tossed it back toward half court.
I wanted the ball in my hands so bad that I caught myself a moment before stepping over the line into play. That would have doomed us.