Like something was shifting slightly out of place.
My phone buzzed against the couch.
Dad.
Mood instantly ruined.
I stared at the screen for a second before answering.
“What.”
“Good game last night.”
Not:
how are you.
Not:
did you sleep.
Always basketball first.
“Thanks.”
“You rushed possessions in the third quarter.”
There it was.
I closed my eyes briefly.
“Okay.”
“You let frustration affect your pacing.”
“Got it.”
Silence stretched for a second.
Then:
“Scouts from Chicago are attending next Friday.”
Of course they were.
“Cool.”
“You should care more about this.”
Something sharp moved low in my chest immediately.
“I’ve cared about this since I was twelve.”
Dad ignored that completely.
“You’re distracted lately.”
My jaw tightened.
