Page 18 of Game On

Coach Bradley makes his way toward the sign-up sheet. He stands off to the side, looking out over the court. A freshman I’ve seen in the halls walks up. Coach shakes his hand, and then I see him bend over to write his name. The name is passed over to the DJ who announces it. There’s a smattering of applause. Only time will tell if this kid is worth getting excited over. Maybe one day he might even be a Baller, but he’ll have to prove himself. Even Ryan and Sloan had the same reception when they first signed the sheet. I remember that day well. I’d been extra anxious because I knew them from camp. To everyone else at RHS, they were nobodies. Now look at them.

After another minute, another kid walks over to sign the sheet. He’s pretty tall. Not Hayes tall, but still, he’s pretty tall for a freshman, so I imagine he play Center. Or at least wants to play Center. Not that he has a chance at taking Hayes spot. His best chance is second string. He’ll never start this year. His only shot is when Hayes graduates.

My dad meets my eyes. He’s still standing next to the DJ. He gives me a slight nod. This is it. He’s telling me those are the only recruits there’s going to be. No one just signs the sheet for fun. Even a prankster wouldn’t dare try that. They know how seriously basketball is taken around here. They’d get laughed off the court.

For some last minute courage, I look toward Dawn. She’s ogling Alec, so she’s absolutely no help. My heart thunders. I take a step forward, and it’s as if all the sounds mold together until there’s just a whooshing in my ears. I’m focused on the table. I’m focused on Coach. I’m focused on not falling on my ass in front of everyone. When I get to the table, I raise a shaking hand to Coach Bradley. He smiles at me good-naturedly and shakes it. “Nice to see you, Quintessa.”

My mouth is dry. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I anticipated being nervous, but I always just kind of looked past this moment to tryouts and then games. I didn’t anticipate wanting to hurl before I even signed my damn name on the simple white sheet. I swallow. “Coach Bradley, I’m signing the sheet.”

Someone laughs loudly next to Coach. He gives an annoyed glance behind him and then leans in closer to me. “What’s that, dear?”

Boom, boom. Boom, boom.“I’m signing up,” I say again.

The whole world falls away. Coach Bradley pulls away in surprise. “For here?” he asks, actually pointing at the court.

I nod. “I want to play ball for the Warriors, Coach.”

“But we…”

My dad steps up. He’s all smiles.

Coach turns toward him. “Tim, what’s going on?”

“My little girl wants to follow in my footsteps,” Dad tells him. “That’s what’s going on.” He turns his full attention toward Coach, his face a mask of hardened lines. Instead of challenging Coach that his daughter has a right to play the same as everyone else, he says, “She won’t be treated any differently. If she can’t hack it, she can’t hack it.”

“I wouldn’t want to be treated differently,” I tell them both, my voice as hard as my dad’s face.

Coach just shakes his head. “But, she’s a girl.” He whispers “girl” like neither one of us have noticed that for the last seventeen years.

I almost laugh at the complete and utter shock on his face. I pull out the piece of paper I printed that morning. “There’s nowhere in the bylaws that say I can’t sign up and tryout or even play. Two years ago, Maggie—”

Coach waves me away. “Yeah, yeah. Maggie White wrestled. We know.” The indignation on his face makes my blood boil. I don’t want to be the face of feminism, but for fuck’s sake, if a girl is just as good as a guy, there’s no reason why there should be any distinction. Just because I have breasts doesn’t mean I need special treatment.

He looks up to my dad again, and my dad just raises his eyebrows. I take that time to lean over and sign the sheet, my hand still shaking. My dad smiles and grabs me to him, giving me the biggest and longest hug I’ve had from him in a long time. He walks over to the DJ with a skip in his step. The DJ announces, “Another sign-up, Quintessa Dale!”

The room falls silent. I haven’t even put the pen down yet, so I do so now and turn to face the rest of the court. The Ballers are all staring at me, ignoring their interviewer. Most look shocked. It’s Ryan and Lake, though, who look like they want to call bullshit. Actually, they look like they want to do more than call bullshit, but they won’t here. Not yet. I’m fully expecting retaliation, but it won’t be right here.

I don’t even care that not one person is clapping, my dad is smiling at me, and that’s all that matters. Plus, I’m one step closer to playing ball again.

However, I’d be lying if I said a little part of me isn’t screaming in excitement inside for getting this bit of revenge on the Ballers. Okay, a lot. A lot of me is screaming inside.

11

“Holy fuck, did you see their faces?” Dawn runs toward me and then launches herself at me. I have just enough time to open my arms wide as she embraces me for a split second. She steps back just as fast. “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or institutionalize you for having a death wish. If they didn’t hate you already…” She trails off.

I try not to let her words bother me. They do hate me. I just have no idea why. Am I really that much of a threat to their masculinity? Can’t they just play ball like me? The best one wins, and that’s it. Sure, I get competitive. I want to be the best. But that also means I want to play the best, no matter gender or looks or any other personal preference.

Aside from that, I also just want them to like me. I’ve tried so hard and never gotten anywhere. Dawn is right that this is just another nail in my coffin when it comes to them, but I love basketball too much to care about that. I’ll even piss off the Ballers just to play the game.

I look around the court. The Ballers are huddled together. The other two recruits, Matt Dempsey and Shawn Loggins, are standing next to one another, their arms crossed over their chests. The snack table is pretty much wiped out. The media is still here. They won’t talk to the recruits today. There’s plenty of time for that leading up to official tryouts. There’ll be a feature of Matt, Shawn, and I each week. My dad would devour the articles, and then I’d ask him what he thought of their chances. My dad has a way of picking people out. I swear he can just look at them and tell whether they’re going to be a star or not. His predictions are uncanny. I don’t think he’s been wrong yet.

“You want to get out of here?” I ask Dawn. Sign-Ups Day is winding down, and I’ve already done what I came here to do.

She nods. When I look around to find my dad, I don’t see him anywhere. I guess I can’t tell him I’m leaving because he already has.

Dawn turns to head back toward the glass doors that lead into the school, but I place my hand on her shoulder to stop her. “This way is quicker.”

We go out the main doors of the court. Out this way, I can see my car parked on the street a little ways down. As soon as we step outside, Dawn says, “I know you warned me, but I didn’t expect it to be that intense. People are serious about basketball around here.”

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