I kick his foot under the table. To Lenny, I say, “I appreciate that, but I didn’t want to be Little Birdie. I think you should have asked my permission.”
He seems to process that idea. “I think you’re right. I apologize. I just came to tell you how well I believe you did, until that missed deadline. Especially how you handled that bully, and the test-taking scandal.”
“Thank you.”
Lenny nods before he turns and leaves.
Ezra and I look at each other, speechless. After a few moments, he says, “At least now you know who did it.”
By the time last period ends, the whole school feels like it’s buzzing with anticipation for the game. Students are wearing blue and gold everything, and I’ve seen at least three people draw little navy and gold falcons on their cheeks with face paint.
My phone buzzes with a text message.
Ezra
is it dumb to hope this is the game that gets me a scholarship?
Me
no. why would you think it’s dumb? you need to remember why you want it so bad.
Ezra
you’re right…the scholarship will prove to me that I earned this. that I’m not just here because of my parents. that I can build something for myself that doesn’t have their name stamped all over it.
Me
see? not stupid at all
Ezra
thanks
Taking Ezra’s jersey out of my backpack, I slip it on over my long-sleeve shirt. The smell makes my heart tug, because it’s almost like Ezra is hugging me. I can’t help but wish Mabel were here to squeal over it with me like last time. The thought that I might have lost her right along with Meredith, Carlton, and Dot dampens my spirits.
I join the stream of students moving toward the gym. Through the long windows set in the stone walls, the late afternoon light casts the outdoors in a dreamy glow that makes me want to sit under a tree and people-watch. But I follow the hordes of students and the sound of the band to the place where Ezra is waiting to seal his future, one way or the other.
The gym is packed. The bleachers are a sea of navy and gold, shouting students leaning over rails, and the smell of popcorn, rubber, and floor polish mixes into the air.
I fiddle with the hem of Ezra’s jersey again. I’m nervous, so I can’t imagine how nervous Ezra is.
As I find a seat on the bleachers, my gaze flicks automatically toward the far end of the court, where the players are warming up. Ezra is easy to spot, thanks to his broad shoulders and curls pushed back with a navy blue sweatband. Something in my chest does a little leap.
I try to find Mabel among the rest of the crowd, but there are too many people. Still, the idea that she’s here and we’re not sitting together makes sadness sink in my chest. I do, however, spot Olivia in uniform with the rest of the cheerleaders, and not far behind her are Ezra’s parents sitting in the stands.
The band kicks into the pre-game hype song. The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling out names and numbers. The crowd cheers for each player.
When he gets to Ezra, he says, “Number twelve, point guard, Ezra Davis!”
The gym practically shakes with applause and shouts. A group of girls in the front row screams like they’re at a concert. Ezra jogs out, slapping hands, eyes scanning the crowd.
At first, I’m convinced he won’t see me, that I’ll be just another blur in a sea of faces. But his gaze hits my section, and he freezes for half a heartbeat. His eyes find mine, and a grin breaks across his face like someone lit a match in the center of him.
I feel it in my bones.
The game starts, and for a while, it’s easy enough to follow along. The Falcons are sharp tonight, and Ezra is all over the place in the best way, sinking multiple shots, the team enacting each play like they can read each other’s minds.
By the fourth quarter, the Falcons are down by five, and the other team is relentless. Students are on their feet, stomping on the bleachers, chanting. My pulse matches the thud of the basketball across the court.
