Chapter 15
Fifteen
KANE
The final horn sounds with Stanford up by twelve.
The arena erupts.
Our bench empties onto the court. Eli crashes into my shoulder. Noah grabs Vale around the neck. The student section jumps in one red wave while the pep band tries to overpower twenty thousand voices.
I look straight at the player guest section.
Hannah’s chair is empty.
So is Stella’s.
The fresh box of Twizzlers is gone. The popcorn bucket and Diet Cokes have vanished too. The women beside them are already fixing their hair before the cameras pan across the lower rows.
I scan the aisle.
No chunky sweater.
No high bun.
No tortoiseshell glasses.
“Haverhill.”
A hand lands against my chest.
An ESPN reporter waits near the sideline with a microphone. The camera operator backs into position while a producer points toward the court.
Right.
Postgame interview.
I drag my attention from the stands.
“You finished with twenty-six points and eleven assists,” the reporter says. “What changed after the first quarter?”
Patience.
One more dribble.
Let the second defender commit.
A freshman archaeology major shaking her head every time I forced a possession.
“We stopped rushing,” I answer. “They wanted us emotional. Once we trusted the read, the weak side opened.”
“You appeared to be communicating with someone in the player section throughout the game. Perhaps a budding romance?”
Her smile turns knowing.
Behind the camera, the producer leans closer. They must be TMZ.
I keep my expression neutral.
“I communicate with my teammates. Other than that I have no idea what you are talking about. I was locked in.”
“There was a woman in glasses—?.”
“That’s half the yellow-blazer retired grandmas working the tickets and seating.”
The reporter laughs.
“So no one special?”
“My love life stays off camera and off the court.”
That is all they’re getting.
She moves on to March, the standings, and my cleaner finishes going left. I answer where I’m supposed to, thank the crowd, then shake the hands reaching over the railing.
When the camera light shuts off, Hannah has been gone for several minutes.
Vale appears beside me with a towel around his neck.
“She ran.”
“She left.”
“Same result.”
“Where’s Stella?”
“Waiting by the tunnel.”
I look toward the security rope.
Stella is talking to an assistant coach. She catches Vale watching and gestures him to hurry.
He smiles like a man who has forgotten how irritating happiness looks from the outside.
“Go to your girl.”
He pats my shoulder. “Cheer up Haverhill. I won Cortez fair and square, remember? Go find tortoise shell.”
“You’re making it worse.”
“Usually how I help,” he grins. “Book lady was hawt. I get it. Not your usually look. Kinda like a cover reveal.. under the chunky sweater—”
“I’m gonna pop you one right here if you don’t shut up.”
“Damn, you are keyed up. I was just messing with you.” He heads toward Stella.
I check Hannah’s section one more time before following the team through the tunnel.
Coach keeps us in the locker room longer than I want.
The win puts us alone at the top of the conference, which means no one leaves without reviewing what went right and what could still cost us later.
He praises the ball movement.
Calls out two lazy defensive rotations.
Then freezes the screen on my second-quarter drive after the missed whistle.
My shoulder has already turned.
“There,” Coach says, tapping the board. “That possession gets you buried in March.”
I lean forward.
On-screen, I reject the screen, gather early, and nearly lose the ball before Eli saves the play.
Coach advances to the third quarter.
This time, I keep my dribble alive and wait for the help defender before dropping the pass to Vale.
“That’s the correction,” he says. “Know the difference.”
I do.
The difference was sitting courtside with red candy between her teeth.
When Coach releases us, the music comes back on. Guys shout over one another while staff collect uniforms and towels.
I shower fast, judging by Noah’s expression when I pull on jeans and a black hoodie before my hair stops dripping.
“You have somewhere to be?”
“Home.”
“With the girl in the glasses?”
“I don’t know where she is.”
Eli looks over from his locker.
“That sounded distressed.”
“I’m not distressed.”
Noah sprays deodorant beneath both arms.
“You searched the stands like she’d been kidnapped.”
“She left without saying anything.”
“That happens after games.”
“I’m not used to it.”
Eli pulls on his shirt.
“Maybe she doesn’t enjoy watching you discuss yourself.”
“Not helping.”
“I’m providing context.”
My phone has no message from Hannah.
I type one.
Delete it.
Try again.
Delete that too.
The media coordinator appears in the doorway.
“Haverhill. Press room.”
I shove the phone into my pocket.
Eli whistles.
“Try not to ask the reporters whether they’ve seen Bookworm.”
I flip him off and leave.
The formal press conference takes another thirty minutes.
Coach sits in the center. Vale and I take the chairs beside him. Camera shutters fire before the first question.
Reporters ask about conference standings, postseason expectations, Vale’s rebounding, and my improved reads.
Then a man near the back raises his hand.
“Kane, clips are circulating of you interacting with a woman in the player section. Any comment?”
Vale drops his head to hide a smile.
Coach looks at me.
I lean toward the microphone.
“She was a guest.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Potential girlfriend?”
“That isn’t a basketball question.”
Several reporters laugh.
He tries again.
The questions return to the game.
When the session ends, Vale waits until Coach walks ahead before leaning toward me.
“Potential girlfriend?”
“Not a word.”
“You looked terrified.”
“I was keeping her name offline.”
His amusement fades.
“That was smart.”
“I know.”
“Stella says she hates the attention.”
“She hates most things.”
“Seems healthy.”
His phone lights with Stella’s name.
He smiles before answering.
I leave before I have to watch him arrange the rest of their night.
Hannah still hasn’t texted when I reach the parking garage.
I call Eli.
He answers on the fourth ring.
“You know we were just together.”
“I need a favor.”
“That sentence never leads anywhere legal.”
“Do you know an RA in Briar?”
Silence.
“You cannot use university records to get her room number.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“She left. Usually they stay. Cling. Suffocate.”
“Is Haverhill finally getting played?”
“Shut up and find me an RA.”
He sighs and hangs up.
I leave campus long enough to stop at a twenty-four-hour market.
Popcorn is easy.
Family-sized gummy bears. Figured she already had her fill of Twizzlers.
Dr Pepper, because she ordered one during our library session before changing her mind and getting water.
Chocolate might be too much.
I put it in the basket anyway.
Then gummy worms, because I’ve been standing in the candy aisle too long and need to leave before someone recognizes me.
At the register, I add mints.
The cashier looks over the pile.
“Movie night?”
“Something like that.”
Briar Hall is quiet.
Warm light glows behind old windows. Ivy crawls over the rain-dark stone. The building looks like the kind of place where someone could disappear into books and refuse to come out.
Hannah nearly managed it.
A student sits behind the lobby desk with headphones around his neck. He looks up when I enter.
“Haverhill?”
“Yeah.”
“Eli texted.”
“I need Hannah Goodwin.”
“Room number?”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d tell me.”
“Not happening.”
“You know who I am.”
“That makes this request worse.”
I lift the grocery bag.
“I’m not here to cause trouble.”
He peers inside.
“Did you bring tribute?”
“Snacks.”
“That’s tribute in college.”
He checks the resident list, picks up the desk phone, and dials.
“Someone’s downstairs,” he says when the call connects. “I guess it’s a food order.”
He pauses.
Then smiles at me.
Footsteps sound above us.
A minute later, Hannah comes down the stairs.
She is wearing a faded Stranger Things T-shirt large enough to reach halfway down her thighs, baggy gray sweatpants, and fuzzy socks covered in tiny red mushrooms.
Her tortoiseshell glasses sit slightly crooked across her face.
Her thick hair falls loose around her shoulders in dark waves. A small gold star is stuck to her chin.
No makeup.
No bra.
No warning.
She reaches the bottom step expecting a delivery driver and stops when she sees me.
“Haverhill?” My name is practically screeched.
I lift the grocery bag.
“Food order.”
Her eyes narrow.
“You are not DoorDash.”
“Better benefits.”
Her face flames. Her arms fold across her chest. The motion makes her realize exactly what she isn’t wearing beneath the thin shirt.
She drops her arms and tugs the hem lower.
I drag my attention back to her face before she kills me with one of the lobby chairs.
“Is that a star?”
Her hand flies to her chin.
“It’s medicated.”
“I didn’t criticize it.”
“Your face did.”
“My face thinks it’s cute.”
That stops her.
The RA becomes fascinated by his computer.
Hannah pushes her glasses higher.
“You played well.”
“You disappeared.”
“The game ended.”
“You left before my interview.”
“Exactly.”
Her hair tumbles over one shoulder when she tilts her head.
The almond scent reaches me even from here.
I almost forget the grocery bag.
Footsteps rush down the stairs.
Lila and Noor appear carrying cans of soda. Both are in pajamas, slippers, and oversized sweatshirts.
Lila sees me and grabs Noor’s sleeve. “Not Doordash.”
“So what’s in the bag?”
“He brought provisions.”
Noor leans toward the bag. “Popcorn?”
“Dr Pepper. Chocolate. Gummy bears.”
She looks at Hannah.
“This is courtship in every known civilization.”
“It’s snacks,” Hannah says.
I lift my laptop.
“And Netflix without ads.”
Noor places a hand over her heart.
“Marry him.”
“He listens to songs where men rhyme money with money.”
“That was the artist,” I say. “Not me.”
Lila hugs her takeout box to her chest.
“We’re going to eat in Maeve’s room. I our delivery guy is by the door.”
Hannah looks at her.
“You were staying here.”
“We changed our minds.”
“Five seconds ago?”
“We’re spontaneous.”
Noor loops her arm through Lila’s.