Page 2 of Loving the Legend
“I wish,” she replied, threading her arm around my waist.
“Thanks for editing my essay. You da bomb, even if you didn’t say good morning to your only kid—tsk, tsk.” I palmed my wounded chest, and she snickered.
“And now you’re laughing at my pain.” I sighed. “It’s this kind of egregious behavior that makes a guy feel unloved.”
“Egregious,” she repeated with a nod of approval before angling her face up to kiss my cheek. “Two points.”
“Yes!” I fisted the air.
Mom dealt out points every time I used an SAT word. I racked up the points like a championship ring was on the line.
“What else you got?” she asked.
It wasn’t enough to throw one in a sentence. I scanned my brain. I needed to make it relevant to the conversation.
I snapped my fingers. “On the matter of my bruised heart, I must seek recompense in the form of extra chocolate in my pancakes.”
“Boom!” She patted my chest. “Three points.”
“Ha!” I spun around. “Dad, five points!” I lobbed an imaginary ball his way.
He caught it, hit a behind-the-back dribble, and released.
“Swish,” Dad shouted while Mom coughed, “Air ball.”
I bursted out laughing. “Cold, Ma!”
Dad shook his head. “It’s the Bahamas out there”—he pointed to the frosted window—“compared to in here.”
Mom blew him a kiss, a playful smirk on her lips. “I was joking, honey. It was all net.”
Her gaze snapped back to me. Mom’s facial expressions were a language. This one said “Did I or did I not tell you to get in the shower?” I bounced off the wall and stood up straight.
“Yes, ma’am, yes!” I saluted her and raced toward the bathroom, hitting a between-the-legs crossover with my imaginary ball.
“Ty,” Mom called.
I spun around.
“Good morning!”
I rubbed my fake bruised heart and kissed the inside of my palm. I made a loud smacking noise before I launched the kiss at her. She rolled up to her tiptoes and pretended to catch it just as Dad eased behind her and wrapped her up in a hug.
The school day flew by,and it was game time before I knew it. I felt unstoppable as I hit the easiest thirteen points of my life. As I raced up the court, the opposing team’s center moved in todefend me. I feinted left but spun right, creating enough space to rip past him and charge toward the rim at breakneck speed. The crowd’s noise reduced to a murmur, heightening the thumping in my heart.
I signaled to my teammate to lob me the ball.
Don’t choke.
You got this.
I launched myself through the air, and the second my hands gripped the leather, I knew the next fifteen seconds were mine. Never mind that I attempted the play a hundred times and landed only a handful.
Time to light up.
The opposing team’s point guard jumped up to block me, but my teammate intercepted him mid-air.Clutch.
I kicked my heels toward my butt and arched my back to get more height. A deep belly roar thundered out of me as I windmilled my arms 180 degrees and hammered the ball through the net.
