A Game Worth Watching (12 page)

The
announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker as he introduced the starting
lineup. Emma was the last player introduced for Bradshaw, and when her name
ricocheted through the gym, despite the uproar of applause, it took every ounce
of strength she had to transfer her weight from the chair to her legs.

Please don’t
collapse
, she told her legs.

She
vaguely remembered hearing the guys holler their support, slapping the hand of
the opposing team member when they met in the middle of the court, or the
actual tip-off. All she knew was the ball was in her hands, and she didn’t know
what to do with it.

“Don’t
be a girl,” she muttered to herself. A defender stood in front of her. Her form
sloppy, her weight on the heels of her feet, her eyes on Emma’s face rather
than her hips to anticipate her next move. So, this was what it was like
playing with girls.

Emma
took a deep breath before dribbling downcourt toward her teammates. She passed
to Peyton who fumbled the ball before securing it in her hands. Peyton looked
like a raccoon caught in the trashcan. She had no idea what to do next. Emma
set a screen for Lauren inside the key, and then rolled back to the outside. As
soon as Emma cleared her defender, Peyton threw the ball back to her and
sprinted to the opposite side of the court where she hid behind her own
defender. None of her other teammates worked to get open. Maybe Emma wasn’t the
only one dealing with fear.

“Okay,”
she mumbled.
If that’s the way it’s going to be.

She
dribbled once, twice, before sprinting toward the basket. Catching her defender
off guard, she executed a quick crossover and cut through the key. No defender
collapsed on her, no one shouted a warning about the girl who had a wide-open
shot from inside the key. The shot was too easy. Two points.

Bradshaw
was on the board.

Emma
allowed herself to exhale. Maybe this whole thing wouldn’t be as bad as she
thought. She looked into the stands and caught Riley’s eye. He smiled and waved
at her. No, it definitely wouldn’t be bad.

Jefferson
High School never had a chance to catch up. Game number one final score:
Bradshaw 49, Jefferson 37.

***

For
a rebuilding year, their first game couldn’t have gone better. Sure, they still
had a long way to go, but beating the second worst team in the league to start
off the season had its advantages. So far, they had a winning season.

A
certain buzz hovered in the air from their first victory. Even Emma couldn’t
ignore it. She fought back a smile, not comfortable showing positive emotion
among so many girls. She didn’t want them to think she actually liked them or
anything. They were still the worst basketball players on the planet, but it
felt good to win. It felt good to wear a real uniform, play on a real
team—even if it was the girls’ team—and face an opponent, knowing
the score mattered in the end.

Coach
tried to congratulate them in the locker room, during what should’ve been their
post-game talk, but she couldn’t be heard above the screaming. Emma didn’t join
her teammates. She covered her ears, half expecting the mirrors to shatter.
High-pitched screaming should be outlawed.

Admitting
defeat, Coach released them from the locker room. Emma couldn’t get out of
there fast enough. She fled to the gym, hoping some of the guys stuck around to
wait for her. As soon as Riley saw her, he lunged forward and lifted her off
the floor in a hug. His arms squeezed tighter around her waist as he twirled
her in circles.

“Hey!”
she exclaimed, locking her arms around his neck as the gym blurred around her.

“You
were amazing,” he whispered in her ear before setting her back down.

For the
first time since the buzzer announced Bradshaw’s win, she let her smile break
free as she looked at Riley. “Thanks.” The fear and doubt she’d felt before the
game seemed like nothing more than a bad dream. Maybe it wasn’t so horrible
having a cheering section after all.

The
rest of the guys encircled her and pulled her from Riley’s arms to pat her on
the back and congratulate her on the win.

Riley’s
parents broke through the group of boys, and without pausing, Mrs. Ledger
enveloped her in a hug. “You played great.”

Mr.
Ledger tugged one of her pigtails. “Great job out there, kiddo.”

Emma
felt her cheeks burn with all the attention. “Thanks.”

“Celebration!”
Tom called out.

His
single word got the rest of the guys going. Waving goodbye to Riley’s parents,
they herded her out of the gym, across the darkened campus to the parking lot,
and smashed her into the backseat of Riley’s jeep between Tom and Cy, the
biggest guys of the pack. What happened to the star player having front seat
status?

Celebrating
consisted of scarfing burgers and fries at
McDonald’s
while rehashing the night’s
highlights. What could be better than being surrounded by guys, eating greasy
food, and talking basketball?

For
once, she had two dollars in her pocket and could actually order food so the
guys knew she wasn’t starving herself. At least not on purpose. She approached
the counter to order, her eyes scanning the menu. She inhaled the smell of
hamburgers, French fries, and apple turnovers, her two dollars clutched in her
hand.

Riley
appeared beside her, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “I got this.”

“What?”
she asked in confusion. She had money. Two dollars ready to be handed over the
counter.

He
pushed her arms and her two dollars away from the cashier. “What do you want?”

“Riley,
I—”

“I
got this,” he said firmly. “Now, what do you want?”

The
cashier glanced from Riley to Emma and back to Riley again. Emma couldn’t help
but notice the grease stains on the girl’s shirt or how her hair was held in
place by a hair net. Emma’s future flashed before her eyes. The image consisted
of her on the other side of the counter with the grease-stained shirt,
witnessing customers fight over food and money. Her breath caught in her
throat, and she bowed her head in submission before answering Riley’s question.
“An ice water.”

Riley
rolled his eyes and turned to the cashier. “Can I get two number ones and two
apple turnovers?”

The
cashier rang up his order. Riley pulled a twenty from his wallet and handed it
over the counter like it was nothing more than Monopoly money.

Emma
felt her cheeks burn, hating the fact Riley had to buy her meal at one of the
cheapest restaurants in town because he knew she couldn’t afford it.

Riley
turned toward her with a smile and handed her their drink cups. “The star
player doesn’t get to pay for her own food.” Before she could protest any
further, he said, “You’re welcome. Now, will you please go find us a seat?”

She
growled at him before spinning around and doing as she was told. Did Riley know
how difficult he was? How stubborn and annoying and frustrating? Sure, most
people probably thought he was sweet and charming with the way he took care of
her and paid for her and never let anything happen to her, but Emma wasn’t most
people. She hated taking handouts, and the more he did these charitable acts
for her, the more she owed him. Their friendship had never been fair; it was
completely one-sided with Riley always giving and Emma always taking. She never
stopped trying to equal things out and make them fair, but when she had no
money and nothing to give him, her options were limited. Riley didn’t care. She
knew he never expected anything in return, but why? If he went out of his way
for her, but expected nothing in return, why did he stick around and want to be
her friend at all?

Not
wanting to think about her life without Riley, if he would one day wake up and
realize the injustice of their friendship, she focused on filling their drink
cups with root beer instead. She found the rest of the guys in the back corner
of the restaurant, their food scattered over four tables to accommodate all
eight of them.

Riley
showed up a few minutes later with their food. He set the tray in front of Emma
and winked when she glared at him.

“How
does it feel to be a superstar?” Jerry asked.

Six
heads whipped toward her as she took a huge bite of her hamburger. She nearly
choked from the attention. Hoping to evade the question, she chewed slowly, but
even after a full minute the guys remained silent, still gawking at her. With
no other choice, she swallowed her food. “I’m not a superstar.”

“Are
you kidding?” Jerry slammed his hands on the table, making them all jump. “The
move you pulled in the third quarter when you charged through the key, spun around,
and actually made the left-handed hook shot was definitely superstar status.”

The
rest of the guys nodded and grunted in agreement. She didn’t know what the big
deal was. They had all seen her play before, and it wasn’t like they didn’t
have superstar moves of their own.

“I
can’t believe you made that shot,” Tom said, the food crammed in his mouth not
deterring him from speaking. He crumpled his burger wrapper into a ball and
imitated a left-handed hook shot. The wrapper arched through the air and landed
on Alex’s lap. Alex grabbed the paper and threw it baseball style back at Tom,
hitting him in the forehead and making them all laugh.

Emma
dunked a fry in ketchup. “It wasn’t that big a deal.” She was still angry with
Riley for paying for her meal, but in her life letting good food go to waste
was a crime, and she was starving. What was one more debt to the thousands she
already owed him? “You would have done the same thing if you were confronted
with a six-foot forward wanting to stuff your face.”

“How
many points did you have tonight?” Cy asked.

Emma
shrugged. She shot, she didn’t calculate. She was just grateful to have
survived the entire game without having a meltdown.

“Thirty-one,”
Riley said from beside her.

She
looked at him, her jaw dropping. How in the world did he know that?

“What?”
he asked innocently.

“Thirty-one.”
Jerry shook his head. “Amazing.”

Tom
slurped his soda dry. “So, what’s it like playing with girls?”

“Oh,
it’s a real thrill,” she said sarcastically. “They have as much talent as you
do.”

The
guys laughed with her, knowing it wasn’t a compliment. Tom grinned and shoved
another handful of fries into his mouth.

“So,
Emma, heard any good stuff yet?” Cy asked.

“What
do you mean?”

Cy
looked at her like she was clueless. “You know, which girls think I’m hot?” He
flashed his dimples and made his eyebrows dance up and down. Most of the female
population thought he was cute with his dimples, chocolate eyes, and face-wide
smile, but he already knew that. He didn’t need any encouragement.

She
snorted. “None.”

“Oh,
come on, Em. You have to give us something,” Tom said. “What do girls talk
about?”

“Mostly
themselves,” she said, rearranging the remaining pickles on her burger.
Sometimes she caught bits and pieces of conversations when a teammate mentioned
one of the guys, but Emma tried to zone them out. The guys were all like
brothers—decent brothers—and she didn’t want to hear the context in
which girls talked about them.
Gross.

It
was quiet around her, and she glanced up to see all the guys staring at her.
Riley, slouched in his seat with one arm resting on the back of her chair,
looked amused; the rest of the guys looked expectant. She knew exactly what
they wanted. Was this seriously how they were going to spend their time
celebrating? By talking about girls? Sure, she’d heard the guys talk about
girls before, but never had they used her as their inside source. Could life
get any worse?

She
dropped her burger and shook her head. “No. Uh-uh. Don’t even think about it.
I’m not playing spy or messenger girl or cupid. You’re on your own.” No way was
she going to be caught in the middle of some teenage drama that would no doubt
blow up in her face. Hooking the guys up with the girls on her team had tragedy
written all over it.

The
guys groaned.

Cy
threw his hands in the air. “What good is it having one of our own on the
inside if you’re not willing to tell us anything?”

“Trust
me,” she said, holding up her hand to ward off further protests. “You’re better
off not knowing. I wish I was still in the unknown.” She sighed, remembering
those blissful girl-free days when she could just focus on basketball.
“Besides, you wouldn’t want me to tell them everything you talk about, would
you?”

“You
wouldn’t sell us out because, unlike them, we’re your friends.” Jerry’s tone
was confident, but his eyes flashed fear.

“Not
if you force me to do this, you’re not.” She glanced at Riley, wondering where
he stood on this. Was he interested in what girls talked about him and what
they said? Did he care? Not that it bothered her one way or another, but she
was curious. Unlike the other guys, Riley just sat there, staring at her,
listening to them, with the corners of his mouth turned upward like he was
enjoying every second. Then he winked at her again like they shared some
private joke. She was dying to know what thoughts were swarming in that head of
his, but for some reason she was too afraid to ask.

Sometimes
waiting on Riley was worse than waiting on girls. Two seconds actually meant
five minutes, and five minutes meant more like thirty. It was Sunday. No
school. No girls. No basketball. Spending the entire day waiting on Riley was
not exactly what Emma had in mind when he said they should hang out and do
something on their free day. He’d asked, but he hadn’t warned her he had
unfinished chores, incomplete homework assignments from last week, and an angry
mom on his tail. Shooting hoops in the Ledgers’ driveway was better than
waiting for him at her house, but not if thirty minutes actually meant three
hours.