Page 148 of Ruthless Court

“Who wants to see why Haverhill gets trapped when he rejects the left screen?”

Four fathers straighten on the bleachers.

I stare at her. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

She positions one boy at the top and another near the elbow.

“Show them.”

I take the ball.

The kid approaches to screen. I reject it, drive left, and gather early.

Hannah blows the whistle.

“See?”

One boy raises his hand. “See what?”

“His right shoulder.”

She steps closer and places one palm against the front of it.

“Here. He turns before the help defender commits.”

Her other hand slides down my forearm to my wrist.

Every muscle in my body locks.

Hannah either doesn’t notice or decides to ignore it.

“Keep this side closed longer,” she says. “One more dribble before the gather.”

Her fingers adjust the ball in my hand. Her jersey brushes my arm.

“That gives you time to read the second defender instead of guessing.”

I look down at her.

She lifts her face.

The boys, parents, and gym blur behind those tortoiseshell frames.

“You listening?” she asks.

“Trying.”

Her eyes narrow.

“Again.”

She steps away.

The absence of her hand feels colder than it should.

I reset, stay low, keep the dribble alive, and let the help defender move first.