“Hmm…” He leans closer, until our knees are touching. “Whoever makes you smile the most. And whoever you feel like you can be yourself around, but challenges you to be even better.”
You,I want to say.The answer is definitely you.
Especially the second part. I want to be better than I’ve been lately. I want to be honest.
But that would mean coming clean about Little Birdie. And once that happens, I’m pretty sure he’ll want nothing to do with me.
Chapter 21
Ezra
It’s hard to focus at basketball practice on Monday because our playoff game is this Friday. This is the game the college scout will be at, and it’s finally my chance to get that scholarship. The scholarship that will show me whether I’m really good enough to be captain of this team in the first place, or if I’m only here because of my parents.
No pressure, or anything.
As much as I wish I could take control of the situation, all I can do right now is try to have faith and do well at practice.
Which I’m not.
As I keep sprinting, Coach Dresden shakes his head at me. “You’re in your head again, Davis,” he calls, voice booming across the court. “At least, that’s what I’m suspecting, but I better be wrong.”
He’s not wrong. I’ve pretty much played my worst all practice…so bad that when Coach blows the whistle signaling it’s over, he gestures for me to come talk to him. The other guys grab their bags and water bottles before heading out. I don’t miss the disappointment on some of their faces as they glance at me before leaving.
With a sigh, I make my way over to Coach.
“Is that musical stealing all your stamina, or what?” He points his whistle at me like it’s a weapon. “You spend all week messing around in the sound booth with the drama kids between practices, then spend your time here looking like a deer on ice skates. I should’ve never let Tori—I mean, Miss Fern—recruit you for that nonsense.”
Oh, now he thinks it was a waste of time? Whatever was clearly going on between him and Miss Fern must be over now, because he was all for it before. I roll my eyes. “Youmade me do that nonsense.”
“And I regret it every day. Every day, Davis.”
Despite everything, I laugh. Coach Dresden only gives the people he actually likes a hard time, so this is a huge compliment. “Well, I’m trying my best.”
“Are you? Because your best ain’t gonna happen with your mind elsewhere, kid. You’re good at a lot of things, but clearly not multitasking.”
Yeah. And I’m probably not good enough to be captain either. I can thank Dad’s checkbook for that privilege.
“Look, you’re allowed to like that girl you’ve been hanging with lately. Just maybe don’t choose to obsess over her the exact same week a college scout is coming to evaluate your entire future. That’s all I’m asking.”
I shut my eyes for a second. He’s right. He always is when it comes to how I’m playing, and it’s so irritating.
Coach sighs, lowering the whistle. “Hey.”
I open my eyes.
This is the part only a few players get to see. The real Coach Dresden. The one who actually cares.
“You’re a good captain. You have good instincts, grit, and a work ethic that could wear out a treadmill. Even if that scout had shown up for tonight’s practice instead of playoffs, I think you would be on his list.”
My chest loosens a little. His words should be all the reassurance I’ve been needing, but I still need to find out for myself. I need to see it to believe it.
“You can’t control anybody else,” Coach continues, “but youcancontrol how you show up. And I’m going to need you to show up like the best version of you this Friday.” He claps me on the shoulder, almost hard enough to knock me over. “Now go home. Eat real food, not that protein bar nonsense. And you better not let some curly-haired soprano from the drama club ruin your performance at that game.”
“I’m pretty sure Rue’s an alto.”
He glares at me.
Before he can give me grief for that comment, I push open the heavy gym doors. The chilly March air hits my face hard enough to make me inhale. The sky is already shifting into a deep blue that makes the streetlights flicker on too early for my liking. My breath fogs in the air as I cross the parking lot, muscles still trembling from practice.
