“Nice to meet you, Star,” Reid says politely. I don’t fail to notice he doesn’t shake her hand. “How’d it go?” he asks.
“Great,” I respond. “If you consider standing on the sidelines the entire time great.”
He grimaces. “You didn’t get to play at all?”
“Nope, but we got to shoot five hundred shots,” I say flatly.
He nods, unsurprised. “Will you get to try tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.” I don’t say anything more, and Star takes a step back.
“Thanks for hanging with me, Riley.”
“Thanks. Same time, same place tomorrow?”
She grins. “Yep. See you then.”
“See you.”
Reid and I start the walk to the parking lot. “I don’t know, Reid. One of the girls got less than like two minutes to play before she was cut.”
He wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his side. “I’m all sweaty,” I warn him.
“Doesn’t bother me.” He kisses the top of my head. “You have nothing to worry about. You just have to get out on the court and play the way you know how to play. She’d be a fool not to choose you.”
I smile up at him. “Thanks, Reid. How’d your practice go?”
“Good.”
Chapter 19
Riley
It takes two more practices for me to get a chance to play. On Thursday, I stand next to Star. We’re both sweating from warming up and shooting on the sidelines. We’re only a few minutes into practice when I finally get called. “You.” It takes me a moment to realize Coach Parella is talking to me. She hasn’t bothered to learn any of our names yet. And then she says the words I’ve been dreading. “Under the hoop. Left power forward.” She doesn’t ask me what position I play; she just tells me which one to play now.
“Go get it,” Star says, pushing me forward.
I don’t give myself a chance to think. I run over to the spot under the hoop. I’m not a forward; I’ve always been a shooting guard. Most people think I play forward because I’m tall, but I have always excelled as a shooting guard. But Coach Parella isn’t asking. I know how to play this position; it’s just not the one I excel in. I watch as our point guard brings the ball down the court. I post up and get ready to make something out of this position. They pass it around the top and then down to the other forward who goes in for a shot. She misses, and I go up for the rebound. But one of the guys gets higher than me and pulls it down and sends it down the court. I race to the other end and set up for defense. We're man to man now, and I find my guy. I’m on him like glue, and when he gets the ball; I’m there. He ends up passing it back out. One of their really tall guys gets into the paint. Another girl and I close in on him, but he shoots over us and makes it. I grab the ball and jump out of bounds and passit in; then run to the other end. And so it goes. Back and forth; back and forth. I let myself get into the rhythm and feel of it and not think. I do okay on defense, but offense keeps getting away from me. I keep overthinking it. My teammate passes me the ball down low, and I post up. But at the last second, I chicken out and don’t take the shot. I pass it instead. Coach Parella doesnotlike that. “If you don’t want to shoot; then get off my court!” After that, it seems like I can’t get off her radar. She yells at me at both ends of the court. Everything I do is wrong. Another time, I get the ball and go for the shot; but one of the guys blocks it. “Worthless!” She shouts. “Absolutely worthless.”
I run to the other end with my face burning. I just want to survive this practice. I’ve had coaches scream at me over the years but nothing like this. This is brutal. There are no water breaks, no chances to go over strategy. It’s just brutal, on-going play. The sweat pours off me, but I keep going. I run up and down the court over and over and over again. It doesn’t escape my notice that the other girls continue to get changed out. I don’t say anything; I don’t even look over at Coach Parella. I remind myself this is why I train so hard every day. I finally manage to score down low, but all I get is, “It’s about time.”
Mercifully, she finally blows the whistle. I join the others in running over to Coach. “If you haven’t gotten a chance to play yet, you will get a chance tomorrow. I will make my decision over the weekend, so those of you who are cut won’t need to bother showing up on Monday. Five hundred shots before you go.”
I walk over to the ball rack and grab a ball. Star joins me at the hoop we’ve been shooting at all week. “Hey,” she says softly. “You did good out there.”
I laugh. “We both know I didn’t, but thanks for the kind words.”
“You did, and she didn’t take you out. So, that’s saying something.”
“Hey.” I turn at the sound of the male voice and see the guy that was guarding me on and off today. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Cameron.”
“I’m Riley, and that’s Star.” He smiles at both of us. I can tell he wants to say something more, but I'm worried about getting in trouble for standing around and talking when we’re supposed to be shooting.
“It’s nice to officially know your name.” Then I grab my ball and shoot. He leaves us, thankfully, and Star and I continue on.
We don’t talk; I don’t have the energy to. I just played three hours straight of basketball. My legs feel like jelly, and I’m not done yet. It takes Star and me right around two hours to get our five hundred shots a piece in. I grab my bag and head for the showers. I don’t always take a shower after practice, especially if I’m heading right home. But tonight, I have to. “I’m heading to the showers,” I tell Star.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
