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“You shoulda ate today.”
“I didn’t feel so good. I’ll stuff myself with pizza tonight.”
Brian wasn’t looking so good, either. Every day Blake tried to figure out if his brother was slower than him, slower than he’d been the day before.
“But when you don’t eat all day, it doesn’t take much to stuff you.”
Brian stared up at him and Blake knew what he was going to say even before he said it. “You won’t tell Mom, will you?”
“No.” Blake elbowed his twin. “’Course not.”
“’Cause she for sure won’t let me practice with the team if you do.”
“I know.”
And Blake wouldn’t be able to play, either, not that playing mattered as much as his brother getting over this dumb eating thing. Mostly he wasn’t going to tell because he knew how much winning a place on the basketball team meant to Brian. It was because of their dad, because he’d bought them their hoop and they’d secretly thought that as soon as they were good enough, he’d come out and play a game with them.
Their dad had been a basketball star in high school. And in college, too, before law school.
Blake just didn’t care as much as Brian if they made their dad proud. Not anymore. He didn’t figure Dad was an angel watching over them the way his twin did. As far as he could figure, Dad wasn’t anywhere near any angels.
Not that he’d tell Brian that.
He knew some things Brian didn’t know. Things Mom didn’t realize he knew.
Someday, when Brian got better, he’d be able to tell him. He hoped it would be soon. He didn’t feel right knowing something Bry didn’t.
“Okay, guys, take off the shirts and get ready to get out there and burn the rubber off those shoes.” Coach had come in with his new assistant. A math teacher Blake didn’t know but who seemed pretty cool.
The guys all took off their basketball jerseys, shoving around and messing with each other. Even though they weren’t allowed to play in them yet, they’d gotten their uniforms that day and everyone was pretty psyched.
Except maybe him and Brian.
Abe Billings got one. And Brian didn’t.
Blake wasn’t going to tell Mom that, either.
VALERIE ENJOYED basketball. It was a whole lot more exciting to watch than Thomas’s other favorite sport—golf. Even when the basketball was being played by a bunch of junior-high boys who spent as much time tripping over each other as they did shooting baskets.
She sat there alone in her dove-gray suit, separated from the smattering of other parents because she’d come in late. As she watched, she recognized a couple of good, creative plays amidst the havoc. Coach Chandler had been correct in his assessment that his group of boys could win some games this year.
Blake stole the ball a couple of times. Missed all but one attempted shot, although he could always be relied on to get the ball down court.
Abraham Billings hadn’t even shown up for tryouts but played the entire scrimmage.
Brian was never put in the game.
Valerie wasn’t going to be one of those moms she detested. The stereotypical stage mom, always pressing for her kids to get the most chances. She’d made Brian get on the scale before school that morning. He hadn’t gained, but he hadn’t lost, either. She’d said she’d go along with Chandler’s plan, provided Brian didn’t lose weight. So she would.
She sat there while the excruciating minutes passed, with alternating cheers and groans from the small crowd, and she didn’t even think about what she’d like to say to the coach on Brian’s behalf. She detached herself. And cheered. Analyzed. Noted.
Carla Billings, a mother who claimed to be present at every single function in which her son was involved, never showed her lovely face.
Which was too bad. Abraham was a darn good player, showing far more promise than any of the other boys on the court. Whenever she wasn’t watching Blake, Valerie’s attention was drawn to the agile young man with big brown eyes that ignored her this afternoon but had pleaded with her in another place and time. In her heart he was one of her kids, too, and she was pleased to see him doing so well.
But that didn’t make it any easier to sit there and watch her son being rejected.
She didn’t seek out the coach after the game. She stayed right in her seat, at the far corner of the court, away from the parents who chatted with Coach Chandler—and each other—while they waited for their sons to emerge from the locker room. As a working mom, she didn’t know many of the other mothers who volunteered in the classrooms and had been watching every practice of whatever variety since first grade.
