Page 7 of Game On

“The one with Ryan? Who looks like he hates you?”

I squirm at that, but I try not to show it. Instead, I just nod.

“Holy shit,” she says. After a moment of staring at me, she continues with, “I’m so glad I asked you to sit with me at lunch today. My life just got so much more interesting.”

I burst out laughing. Let’s hope she keeps thinking that because I know what happened in the cafeteria with Ryan today is only the beginning of things to come. Things will get much, much worse.

5

After a long talk with Dawn, I take her home to a single-story ranch on one of the side streets in town. Hearing her backstory about living in the big city, I know she’s proud of where her and her parents have ended up. I also now understand her advice about not backing down in the face of a bully. At least I don’t have to worry about getting stabbed in the halls of Rockport. At least, I think I don’t. Ryan and The Rock Ballers are ragey assholes, but they wouldn’t want to ruin their potential future careers. They’re usually content with verbal and emotional abuse.

The drive to the top of the cliffs seems arduous. The sun is still out and high in the sky, so sunglasses are a must as I take the curves in the road with caution. My dad bought me this car when I turned sixteen. What can I say, it’s my baby.

I pull it around to the front door once I drive up the private road. I get out and stroll in. I haven’t received any texts from my mom yet, so it’s possible she doesn’t notice I’m late getting home. It’s also possible she went back to bed after I left and hasn’t been up since.

As soon as I step in the door, I know all of that is wrong. My mother’s terse, high voice rings shrilly through the house.

I roll my eyes and try to run up the stairs before she notices me, but her words make me stop, my right foot on the bottom step. “Oh Christ, Tim. Now you’re worried about where she goes to school?” There’s a pause, and she laughs. “You know how to fix this then, don’t you? How about you reinstate your fucking donation for sports activities at Broadwell?”

My stomach squeezes. Before I know it, I’ve dropped my bag, and I’m headed toward the sound of my mother’s voice. I find her laying back on the leather sofa, the chair reclined all the way. Her eyes are closed, and she’s rubbing her temples as she listens to whatever my father is saying on the other end. I can almost hear his voice he’s shouting so loud. I can pick out the word “money” straight away.

It’s his same old excuse. I don’t even hate my dad for it. My mom doesn’t understand why. Sometimes, neither do I.

“You’ll have to ask her what she’s doing about basketball, Tim.” She says his name like a curse.

The floor creaks underneath me. Her eyes pop open, and she locks eyes with me. She did dress for the day, so there’s that. She’s in a pair of joggers and a loose-fitting shirt. At least it’s not her bathrobe. However, her face is drawn and tired. It’s amazing how things have changed in this house. I’d barely ever heard my parents’ fight before they decided to separate, now that’s all they do.

“She’s right here,” she says. “You can ask her yourself.”

She holds out her phone to me, but I take a step back and shake my head.

Her hand falls to the armrest. “Dad wants to know what you’re doing about basketball.” She looks at me expectantly.

I take a step back again. This is where I’m putting my foot down. He wanted to withdraw his usual donation to Broadwell on account of them trying to split the assets, fine. My mom refuses to make the donation on account sports aren’t her thing. Also, fine. The result, however, is not fine. No Dale donation means no girls’ sports, including the girls’ basketball team.

I don’t think either one of them truly understand what that did to me.

My mom shakes the phone at me, but I pull away, my head filled with Plan B thatIhad to figure out. I find my bookbag at the bottom of the steps and pick it up. Inside the living room, I hear my mom sigh. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.” He must ask why, because she shouts, “I don’t know, Tim. Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk basketball with you.”

My dad of all people should know what I’m feeling. Maybe he underestimates me. Maybe he really doesn’t understand what no basketball would mean for me. I refuse to believe he thinks a girl’s basketball career isn’t as worthwhile as a male’s. I won’t even let myself think it because if that’s the case, he can go to hell. Sure, I can’t play in the NBA, but thankfully, there’s the WNBA now for women’s professional basketball. That’s my aim, and I won’t let anyone take it away from me.

I throw my bag down at the foot of my bed and topple backwards onto the plush mattress. I look up, catching the sun’s rays from the window. Just outside that pane of glass is a full-size basketball court. The hours my dad and I have spent out there together must be astronomical. It’s where I learned all the fundamentals from one of the greats himself.

My eyes prick. My dad can’t think less of me because I’m a girl playing basketball. He just can’t. But if he does, I’m going to show him—and everyone else with the same opinion—that they’re dead wrong.

I hear my mom’s footsteps coming up the stairs before I see her silhouetted in my door frame. “Your dad’s mad. Expect a call or text from him later.”

I shrug, my shoulders rubbing against my bed pillows.

“How was school?”

Ryan’s angry face flashes in front of my eyes. “Fine.”

She comes over and lays her hand on my calf. “You can always go back to Broadwell. I’m sure Tiff and Andrew will be happy to have you back.”

I don’t bother telling my mother again that I broke up with Andrew. “I want basketball, Mom.”

She sighs. “I can try the board again.”

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