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Connor: I will.
Ava: I mean BOOO! YOU SUCK!
Connor: lol
“Hey, Trevor?” I call out, getting Mom settled on the couch with a blanket and a trashy magazine.
He walks out of his room with the phone to his ear.
“Is that Amy?” I ask.
He nods.
“Tell her I said hi.”
“And me,” Mom tells him.
He says into the phone, “Mama Jo and Ava say hi.” He’s silent a moment. “She says hi back.” Then to me: “What’s up?”
I point to the new TV Trevor bought us with the Christmas bonus he earned from his work with the Prestons. “Does that have that AirPlay thingy?”
“I think so, why?”
“Because they’re streaming Connor’s game tonight and I wanted to see if we could watch it on a bigger screen than my laptop.”
Trevor thinks a moment. “When does the game start?”
I check the time. “Like, five minutes?”
He tells Amy, “Let me call you back.”
It takes him three minutes to set up the TV so it streams from my laptop, and I get comfortable on the couch next to Mom. “Just tell me if you need anything, okay, Mama? I can stop watching whenever. It’s not a big deal.”
With a nod, she says, “Okay, Ava. I pwa… pwa—” Her face scrunches with frustration.
“It’s okay; take your time,” I encourage.
“Pwamise.”
“Nice job!” I say, my hand raised for a high five. She’s holding a mug of tea in her hand, and so she offers me an eye-roll along with her stump. I high-five it anyway.
I watch the game on the edge of my seat, my eyes glued to the screen. From what I’ve gathered, the team they’re playing is solid third on the leaderboard or ladder or whatever it’s called. St. Luke’s and Philips Academy continuously vie for first place. The scores are close, but St. Luke’s is always a few points ahead. Still, it makes for a decent game. I check on Mom every few minutes, but she seems happy to be reading her magazine. Trevor sits on the other couch, his thumbs continuously tapping on his phone. Five minutes left before the final buzzer, St. Luke’s scores twelve points within two minutes and moves even further ahead. Connor scores ten of those points, and then, with three minutes left, something in him switches. He seems to push himself harder, faster, and he puts on a show, amping up the crowd with him. I bite back a smile when I watch him gorilla pound his chest after an insane dunk, his “whooo” heard over the cheers. He’s hyped as hell and damn, do I love watching him.
“Jesus, Ava,” Trevor says through a chuckle. “Wipe the drool off your chin.”
“Shut up.”
When the game’s over, I think twice about sending him a text. The last time… well, it didn’t go so well. Sure, it’s different circumstances, but the memories and the fear are still there. I decide to leave it for tonight, and hopefully, I can catch up with him tomorrow.
With the laptop on the coffee table, I sit on the floor in front of it and switch from the stream to my math homework. I’m just getting into it when Mom says from behind me, “Connor, six-five, but is hoping for a growth spurt.”
Eyebrows drawn, I turn to her. Then I look out through the closed window, thinking maybe she meant that Connor’s here. But he can’t be. He’d still be in the locker room. “What about him?” I ask, but she’s back to reading her magazine.
A half hour passes, and she says it again: “Connor, six-five, but is hoping for a growth spurt.”
Again, I turn to her, confused. “Did you… did you see him on the TV?”
Mom nods, puts down the magazine and stands up. “Tell him to come here.”
