Page 32 of Foul Line

“Technically, her name’sQuintessa,” Lake says.

I shrug and look over at Jacquin.Does it matter?

“Fine,” Jacquin says. “Lake, Quintessa, then River.”

Lake and River smile at one another. Why, I’m not sure. Lake steps up and takes the shot Jacquin just made. He sinks it. Unsurprising. Lake is good. That’s why I don’t understand why he needs to use his words with me—or worse, the physical shit he pulled on me from the track that night. All he has to do is beat me on the court, and then there’s nothing I could say about him starting and not me.

I’m up next. I shake my hands out and then take Lake’s place. I dribble twice, then bring my feet together before jumping. At the height of my jump, I arc the ball through the air. I smile as it curves and sails right through the net.

We play the game for a while. River is the first to get a letter. He’s also the first to get to two letters. Jacquin is the only one of us who doesn’t have a letter yet. I can see why he was drafted straight out of high school. The guy has skills, and his competitive edge comes out to play during our playful game. Because River isn’t as good as the rest of us, Jacquin gets his choice of shots pretty much the entire time. He’s definitely controlling the whole game.

By the time the game ends, Jacquin wins. I beat Lake only because his frustration started to take over and he let the fact that I was playing well get to him. Basically, he choked, and I was able to get the better of him. River was dead last.

Ha. Punk. I should write ‘You suck’ on his forehead.

Next, Jacquin runs us through some basic Shooting Guard drills. We practice passing, then pulling up short. Overall, I like the way Jacquin instructs. It’s easy to tell that he’s dedicated his life so far to the game. He deserves everything he’s gotten. I can’t pretend I’m not jealous of him. He has what I want. Although, I do think that I, personally, would like to go to college first.

It’s not the same for everyone though. Pro players in the NBA make a lot of money. It’s not hard to see why Jacquin would want to get pulled up already. Then, of course, there’s always the threat of injury. If he decided to go to college and then got injured while there, he’d never get his chance at the professional level. There are so many factors to consider, but regardless of that, Jacquin deserves every one of them with how he plays.

In fact, I’m so enamored by his playing that at one point, I completely miss what I’m doing and run into something hard. A half growl, half cry sounds in my ear, and I turn to see Lake sprawled out on the blacktop. My shoulder burns with pain at our contact. “Shit, I’m sorry, Lake.”

I reach my hand out to help him up, but he bats it away. “Watch what the fuck you’re doing, Dale.”

His brother basically pushes me out of the way and helps him up himself. When Lake gets up, he tests the weight on his ankle, and I see him grimace.

My cheeks flame. That really was my fault. “Are you okay?” I ask. I know he’s the scum of the earth, but I hate to think that I actually hurt him, especially when I should have been paying attention and he wasn’t actually doing anything directly at the moment to deserve me hurting him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Lake snaps.

Jacquin jogs over. “What did I say before we began training today? Leave it about basketball.”

“I was trying to. Tessa knocked me down.”

Jacquin’s eyes laser through him. “Do you want me to call medical?”

Lake shakes his head.

“No? Good, then everyone can shut the fuck up. Mistakes happen.”

Lake grumbles something that sounds a lot like he’s insinuating I got to Jacquin, too, with my superior oral skills—only much nastier than that.

“Like you haven’t done worse to me on purpose,” I say to Lake, my anger finally bubbling to the surface and repressing all the ‘Oops, I accidentally hit him’ nonsense. His ankle seems to be fine now. He should just drop it.

Lake turns toward me. “If you can’t take playing with the boys, by all means, leave.”

“Have a seat, O’Brien,” Jacquin says. He turns around, his face twisted in disgust.

“What?”

Jacquin spins on his heel back toward us. “I said have a fucking seat. I don’t want to hear your bullshit when it comes to Tessa or any other player you think shouldn’t be here. I want players who are going to compete on the court, not with words and jibes. I warned you at the beginning.”

“This is straight up bullshit,” Lake says, looking around like he’s searching for an ally to tell him he doesn’t have to sit this out.

“Oh, is it? My court time, my rules. Take a seat.”

Eyebrows raised, I watch as Lake just stands there, his face growing even redder by the second. When he finally realizes he’s not going to get anywhere with Jacquin, he storms off. He kicks over the cooler filled with sports drinks and doesn’t just sit on the edge of the court like Jacquin told him to, he leaves the court all together, going back toward the cabins.

River looks from Jacquin to his retreating brother. Jacquin steps up to him. “You’re welcome to stay, but I won’t have any bullshit in my practices. Your brother is wasting an opportunity for real skills because he has a grudge. How are you going to act?”

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