Page 17 of Game On

I laugh, then push her shoulder. “Dad, this is my new friend, Dawn.”

My dad pats her head. It’s what he usually does when people comment about how tall he is. “Nice to meet you, Dawn.”

“You too, Sir.”

I look over at her and find her shrugging while her eyes practically bug out of her head. “I have no idea,” she whispers. “All of a sudden I got starstruck and I have no idea who he is. I think it’s because he’s so damn tall.”

“He is intimidating,” I whisper back to her. My dad has to tone down his temper or else he looks like a big, roaring giant.

The court is decked out in blue and gold. Right now, the RHS marching band is setting up in one corner. There’s a DJ in the other corner tapping away at his laptop and holding a pair of bright red headphones to his ears. Between them, there’s a row of tables lined with snacks and drinks. Just to the other side of my father, there’s a small table decked out with a fine linen tablecloth. On that tablecloth is the sign-up sheet. In a half hour or so, my name will be on that list. My stomach is in knots just thinking about it. In the middle of the court, there’s a podium my dad will say a few words at to start the evening. After that, Coach Bradley will make a speech too. Other than that, the Ballers and the rest of the current basketball team will be around to sign autographs, talk to reporters, and welcome the new recruits to tryout.

I told you it’s crazy.

The Ballers come in next. Each one of them shuffles by and shakes hands with my father. Dawn has gone over to sit on the bottom row of the stands, but I’m right next to my dad like I usually am. With me so close, they have no choice but to acknowledge me. Each and every one of them gives me a short nod. Sloan even gives me a halfway decent smile. Lake, though, gives me a wide grin, asking me how I’m doing. He makes a point to look at my cheek. I really want to knee him in the junk at that moment, but instead, I just smile and turn to my dad. “Did Lake tell you how well he’s behaving this year?” Lake’s face goes ashen. He’s known for being a troublemaker. He’s even been suspended for a couple games in the past, so this won’t seem out-of-the-blue to bring up to my dad. But I’m also hoping it gets the point across to Lake that I’m not backing down.

“That’s excellent, O’Brien. Good to hear it.” He claps him on the back and ushers him on.

Lake looks back at me, and I just smile and wink. I’ll probably pay for that later, but it’s not as if I have a dick still drawn on my cheek right now. Being next to my dad is also making me bolder. They won’t touch me here. They can’t. It would mean an end to them and maybe that makes me want to push it. To see if they will actually bite, to try to destroy me in front of my dad, too.

Dad shakes hands with Coach next, and they start talking shop as usual. Before too long, though, the marching band starts up with the fight song. The gaggle of butterflies that have suddenly come out of their cocoon are flying in my stomach. I already see two freshman I’m sure will sign up. I forgot to even ask Dad how many hopefuls there were. No one else is staring at the sign-up sheet like me and those two though.

After the fight song, my dad wraps my arm through his hand. I fumble at first to step forward with him. I’m not used to being the one he escorts to the podium. It’s usually my mom. But, once I’m striding next to him, I try not to let my awkwardness show. He gives my arm a squeeze before he puts both hands on the podium and smiles up at the press and students who’ve gathered. “Hellooooo, Rockport High!” This gets the cheers going. It always does.

I look back toward the Ballers and find them all smiling and clapping. They actually look genuinely happy, maybe even excited. It makes me stare at them, wishing they would keep those faces instead of the angry ones they like to give me.

“My daughter and I would like to welcome you once again to Timothy Dale Court.” Dad waits for another round of applause. I clap next to him, smiling up at the larger-than-life figure in the shape of my dad. I’ve always admired my father. Who wouldn’t? What he’s been able to accomplish is mind-blowing. He grew up here, right in Rockport. He pushed hard, he practiced hard. He got into college on a basketball scholarship. From there, he was drafted into the NBA where he kept pushing, kept working hard. When people ask my dad what the key to his success was, hands-down, he always says hard work.

He gives a condensed version of his background to the entire crowd before telling everyone he can’t wait for basketball season. He looks down at me and winks. My heart flip flops in my chest, and my knees practically knock together. His last words are, “I think we’re about to have our best season yet.”

He leans over and kisses me on the top of the head. I place my arm through his again and then walk back to where we were standing. I wave at Dawn as we pass. Her cheeks are flushed, but she waves back excitedly.

Coach Bradley heads to the podium next. He talks about the team’s past accolades, then also reaffirms what my father just said about the excitement for the upcoming season. It’s all very normal. I could predict what happens from year-to-year, but the Ballers have no idea what’s up my sleeve.

The lights go down next. I think I even hear Dawn shriek a little, drawing a few laughs from the crowd. Lasers beam out of the rafters as the court speakers play last year’s theme song. Every year, the team picks a different song to be introduced to. Once the team is complete, they’ll all vote.

I’ve always loved coming to RHS games because of this atmosphere. It’s like going to an NBA game with just as much flare and excitement. The talent is top notch, too. The song fades after a second and then the DJ starts announcing all the players. They start with the third and second string first. When the DJ says, “And for your Rockport High Rock Ballers!”, the crowd—students, media, and the public alike—go nuts. The stadium fills with the stomping of feet, and then the clapping starts, too. For a moment, the music goes into a crescendo. I look past Dad toward the Ballers. All five of them are circled around one another, one hand toward the middle. It’s stupid, but I get choked up watching it. I will never, ever admit it, but it’s the game. It’s the competition. This is how I know I’m meant to play professional basketball. Men’s team, women’s’ team, I don’t care. I just want to play.

“Your power forward! Alec Christopoulos!” Alec steps back from the circle and runs toward center court. He slaps hands with the rest of the team and then looks up at the crowd, looking sexy as fuck in his suit. This really is hotness overload and there’s only one Baller out on the court right now.

“Center! Hayes “Ice Man” Irving!” Hayes’ dirty blond hair flops back as he runs toward center court, fist bumping Alec when he gets there then throwing his hands into the air as he faces his adoring fans in the seats. The only emotion I ever see on Hayes is when he’s in a game.

“Shooting Guard, Lake O’Brien!”

Trip, trip, trip, I pray. He doesn’t. Of course, I couldn’t be that lucky. I don’t think any of the Ballers have done anything that embarrassing ever.

As they announce each name, I bounce a little on my toes. The electricity in the room is rampant. My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest.

“Your small forward! Sloan Ivy!” The DJ draws out Sloan’s last name. The crowd eats it right up. In fact, during games, the crowd will just yell his name over and over again,I-vyyyyyyyy.He doesn’t just play well, he’s an amazing showman.

“And for point guard, Mr. Ryan Linc!” I hold my breath. It sounds like a tornado is making its way through Timothy Dale Court. As Ryan runs out, there’s a definite roar as he slaps his teammates’ hands.

Seeing all five of them up there like that, I’m in awe. It’s hard not to be. However cruel they might be, they truly are gifted basketball players. Nothing can take that away from them. I forget about that fact when we’re in school, but right now, they’re in their element. This is why everyone looks up to them. This is why they can get away with anything and people love them for it.

When the cheers die down, the lights come back on and the music stops. The roar in the room fizzles like we’ve all been doused with ice water. I peek over at Dawn whose jaw is about on the seat next to her. She slowly turns toward me and mouths,What the actual fuck?

I can’t help but laugh. Dad walks over to the DJ booth then, making his normal announcement that the sign-up sheet is ready and waiting. The press, though interested in the new recruits, have descended upon the Ballers. Most of the other teammates slink off to the snack table as do the students. When I was just here as Timothy Dale’s daughter, I used to watch the table like a hawk. I wanted to see what it looked like when a prospect first signed his name. Was he nervous? Was he excited? Was he cocky? You have to have a certain amount of confidence to even do this.

When I look over at the sign-up sheet now, no one is near it. My stomach drops. I don’t want to be the first name on the list. I know some people aren’t going to take this very well at all. I’d hate to ruin the other prospects’ Sign-Up Day just because I decided I want to have my chance this year.

---