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I slide out of the car and head into the trailer, letting the heavy door slam shut behind me. I kick off my shoes, and my bare feet ache with pain. I’ll give them a break as soon as I make myself something to eat. I inspect the tiny cupboard over the trailer’s broken stove. I’ve got two packets of ramen left and a can of green beans. I’ve been saving the green beans, unsure of when I was going to be able to get more. With a tiny jolt of excitement, I reach for them.
Beside the trailer’s broken stove—on the only good bit of counter space I have—I’ve set up a camping stove. That’s where I heat up my ramen and green beans in separate pots, letting them both go for a second while I strip out of my dirty clothes. Every day, I go from smelling like greasy food to chemical cleaners, and I can’t stand either. In a little while, I’ll rinse off inside the trailer’s itty-bitty shower and use some of the lavender soap Sheriff Corbin’s wife makes and leaves for me, but for now, it’s good enough just to be free of my work clothes.
I check my phone while I wait for my food to heat up. Usually there’s nothing all that interesting to see on it. Not many people have the number for it, and it’s just a cheap one I picked up at Walmart when I left Pine Hill two years ago so there are no games or apps. I don’t always keep it active either; sometimes I’d rather save the cash during lean months.
But lately, I’ve kept it on in case of emergencies for Nan, and so my boss at the cleaning company can give me information about where and when I’m expected to show up for jobs.
Tonight, I have a rare missed call and a voicemail, both of which are from Professor Olmsted. I almost don’t listen to it, but my trailer is dead quiet and I’m lonely tonight.
I can barely stand to hear her voice once I press the phone to my ear. She’s wondering how I’m doing and if I have plans of returning to campus in the fall. She’s also mailed more textbooks to the address I gave her, which is Sheriff Corbin’s house back toward the main road.
She finishes the voicemail by asking me to give her a call back, but I know I won’t. What would I tell her anyway? That I’m delivering pancakes and rolling silverware for a living now? That her emailing me her course slides for the semester won’t do a lick of good considering I have no computer and no internet to view them with?
Her reaching out is well-meaning and kind, and it also makes me feel like shit.
Instead of calling her back, I grab my ramen and green beans off the stove, slide into the bench seat at the small table, and leaf through to where I left off in my advanced electrical engineering textbook. Then I pick up my pen and grab my fork with my other hand, scooping up big bites of noodles while I read and take notes in the margins of the textbook.
Chapter Five
Ben
Sweat drips down the side of my face as I assess my options to get down to the top of the key. I dribble to the right and Trey’s there, grinning like a madman.
“You gonna make this easy on yourself?” I quip, casually bouncing the ball back and forth as I taunt him.
Trey laughs and I fake left, but he’s on me.
I double back and change course, giving my teammates enough time to read the court. Anthony’s my right hand. He knows what I’m planning and where I’m headed better than anyone.
Trey tries to steal the ball, and I reverse-pivot around him while dragging the basketball with me. Punk. He almost stole the ball from me.
“Stop playing around,” Coach yells from the sidelines. Anthony grins, and at that moment I raise my body and look up at the basket. It tricks Trey long enough that he hesitates for a split second, and then I explode past him, passing the ball down court to Anthony with ease and bracing for him to pass it back to me. I’m right in position at the top of the key when I get the ball back, and I make a clean distance shot, adding another three points to my team’s score.
Coach Dalton blows his whistle, announcing the end of the scrimmage and waving us over so we can gather in a semicircle around him. Anthony bumps his shoulder against mine and I pat his back. Trainers rush over, passing out Gatorade and towels. I wipe the sweat from my brow and eye Trey across from me. He’s pissed I got past him, and I only make it worse with a wink. He laughs and shoots some Gatorade into his mouth. He’s not one to hold a grudge off the court, but a few of the other guys are. They’re eyeing me like they wouldn’t mind another five minutes of play.
