She has two red stripes painted across her cheeks, matching the stripes that are on the sides of the boys’ uniforms. Hers are horizontal, theirs vertical. The lines start underneath their arms and go all the way down. An identical pattern to their white shorts.
It’s a strange conundrum, but I feel whole being here. Surrounded by a gym full of eager people. The charged atmosphere painted in a sea of crimson. Our school’s support outweighs the others by a mile.
Being here, I’m like everyone else. Normal.
I like it.
Both of our heads turn at the referee’s whistle. Time for jump ball.
Everyone is on that same high, waiting for the game to begin as the players get in position. Circling around the center of the court. Eli and our opponent are in the middle, waiting with the ref.
I sense it before I have to look. The hairs on my arms stand as my silvers connect to his blues. We collide with a magnetic force, and I hate it. I hate that I’m so drawn to him when I’m still so mad.
Mad at the destruction he created with a note and a flame. Hurt that he lied about it for so long. Part of me still believes that if I hadn’t found that lighter, he’d never have told me to begin with. Letting me carry that guilt around forever.
The worst is that I’m also furious with myself. So easily, I gave myself back over to him in that closet. I had been weak, giving in to temptation.
My mind’s been a contorted, gnarled mess in the days since because I don’t know what to make of it. I’m as angry as I am confused.
A glint of something that’s not quite a glare but also not a sneer radiates, shooting back up at me. I search the familiar lines of Cole’s jaw and neck but come up empty as well.
I can’t decipher what it means before the ref is blowing his whistle again, readying everyone to begin. Cole’s attention off me as quick as it’d been on.
All I know is he searched me out and that it’s like panic gripping straight at my throat.
The basketball is tossed, and every player’s eye hungrily circles the ring as gravity brings it back. Eli reaches it first, snapping it behind him to Finn. As quickly as Finn has the ball, he’s passing it back off to Cole.
The first game of the season is officially in play.
Cole sets the pace as captain and point guard. He slows down the momentum by dribbling the ball with one arm. While the other holds off the defense at his side.
The entire time he’s tracking an opening, he’s also simultaneously letting his boys get in position. The team works like a machine. One solid force of agility and skill under his leadership.
His guidance as natural as his ability to see ahead. Flawlessly passing the ball off to his small forward before the other player has time to react.
Normally that would be Finn’s position. But tonight, and for the next few weeks, he’d mainly play as the opening shooting guard. The regular starter on the bench with a broken arm.
Finn hadn’t been shy about sharing all this at dinner either. Recently, most nights centering around him and his updates.
Voicing his excitement about serving in a dual position this season. That’s my brother for ya, never one to shy away from showing off an extra skill.
Hailey has been speaking beside me for a while. Babbling on while my focus stays on what’s happening below.
“When did you become so invested in basketball?” I ask. Slicing straight through her sentence when she starts listing off our players’ stats.
She balks, snapping back, at the same time her lips shrink into a pucker. “Since you didn’t want to go to practice alone.” Sounding offended.
Why is she getting so defensive all of a sudden?
The truth is, I had only asked her one time to come. After that, it’s been on her, but she already seems insulted, so I don’t point it out.
Hailey’s nerves are her giveaway. She’s anxious about something but is using lame facts about the team to distract herself. I let her go, letting her fill the void with more useless chatter.
Rambling, I nod my agreement every once in a while to show that I’m listening. Even though my real attention has been back on the court for a while.
“I do like this sport, you know. I like the challenge.” That last part carries more grit. Like when a person fists their hand in the air in defiance.
“You like the sport or the players?” I ask, now shifting my head.