Page 36 of The Assist
I’m lost in all of it, in all of him. Sure, I’ve seen plenty of games between high school and the NBA games my brother made me watch when we were kids. I mostly know the rules and the lingo, but I’ve never been so invested. I wring my hands every time he shoots the ball. I scream like a total fan girl every time he makes a shot, but I’m keenly aware of how badass he is leading his team. They trust him. They look to him. They follow him.
Z’s also surprising. The quiet guy I’ve come to know is a total trash talker on the court. I can’t hear him, but his mouth moves constantly while the ball is in play. On defense, he mumbles what I assume is razzing commentary to his opponent. And on offense, he calls out for the ball, pumps up his team with pep talks and attaboys.
Joel’s personality is exactly the same on the court. He’s arrogant, but he backs it up by leading his team in points and looking good doing it. The cheerleaders yelling just a little louder for him doesn’t go unnoticed, and I have a sneaking suspicion he’s earned their favoritism with a lot of sexual favors.
I don’t have a read on Nathan yet, but his game face is as intense as his desire for silence during movie night. His longer hair is pulled back in a nubby ponytail. If I’d passed him on campus, I never would have pictured him a jock. He has a grunge style that I thought died with Kurt Cobain.
The game ends with Wes and Z’s team on top. Joel and Nathan look pissed but still accept fist bumps from Z as they walk off the court.
Part of me wants to hang around and wait for Wes, but I have no idea how long he’ll be or what his routine is like. I don’t even have his number. And if I did, I wouldn’t know what to say. I mean I guess we’re friends, but it isn’t the friend in me who’s anxious to see him again. The girl he kissed last night, on the other hand, is ready to stalk him into a dark corner and demand a repeat performance to verify it was as mind-numbingly good as I remember.
“You ready?” Vanessa asks as the people around us start to clear out. “Mario says everyone is going straight to The White House.”
“Sure.” I watch Wes until he disappears completely into the tunnel that leads to the locker room. “Let’s go.”
14
Wes
“Nice job out there,”Z says as he removes his headphones from his locker and places them around his neck.
“You too. You keep playing like that, and you’ll be a top-round pick for sure.”
He grunts, but I don’t miss the smile. I take his future as seriously as he does. It’s my job to get the ball to him, so if I fail, then he fails. That isn’t gonna happen.
“See ya back at the house,” I call after him. When the rest of the guys go, I unwrap my foot and hobble to the shower. Pain throbs as I wash quickly, leaning on the wall to take some of the weight off it. I’m supposed to be easing into it, but I only have one mode—all out.
“How’s the foot, Reynolds?” Coach asks as I step out of the shower with a towel around my waist.
“Sore, but good. It felt strong out there.”
He nods and eyes me carefully. When he seems convinced I’m telling the truth he nods again. “All right. Take it easy tonight. I know you guys are celebrating, but make sure you ice it before bed and check in with the trainers first thing tomorrow before practice. Need you strong out there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Reynolds? Spend some time with Shaw. He has potential.”
Just the mention of the rookie irritates me. “He’s a hot head.”
“So were you.” He pushes open the door and taps the doorjamb twice with a fist. “Nice work out there tonight. Good to have you back on the floor.”
When the door closes behind him, I slink down on the bench and flex my foot to try to loosen it up a bit.
I’m back.
* * *
The party is loud, and people are everywhere when I get back to the house. I push through to my room and throw my bag onto my bed. I’m not really in the mood to party, but I am hoping a certain brunette will show up. I spotted her at the game, which might have had something to do with my refusal to ask coach to pull me even after my foot started throbbing.
“Fifteen points, three assists, and either two or three steals. I lost track trying to keep count of all of it.” The object of my thoughts stands in the doorway of my room. “And I can’t believe Zeke.”
“He’s pretty incredible.”
“I meant the talking. The guy never shuts up out there. Who knew?”
I laugh. “Yeah, he saves it all for the court.”
She steps into the room and holds out a beer. “Drink?”
