Page 42 of The Assist
I gape. Something that doesn’t pertain to basketball. What does that leave? And when was the last time anyone asked about me without mentioning basketball? It became part of my identity somewhere along the way and separating it from me leaves...someone I don’t recognize.
“What were you like in high school? What are your parents like? What’s your favorite color? What do you want to do after college?”
“That’s quiet an interrogation. I’ll give you one. My favorite color is orange. I like the new addition to your bracelets, by the way.” I pull at the orange string tied around her wrist. One of about twenty on her arm. All of them are different colors, and some are faded and frayed, but the orange one looks new.
“Thank you.”
“What’s up with the bracelets? Do they stand for something?”
“A friend makes them for me. For us. Friendship bracelets. It’s sort of our thing. I started making them for us in middle school, and we’ve worn them ever since.”
“Girl friend or guy friend?” I ask, feeling insanely jealous at the prospect of her having that sort of attachment to some other guy. It’s ridiculous because whatever we’re doing is casual. That’s all I have time for right now, no matter how cool of a chick Blair is or how much I wish I had more time to really get to know her and date her like she deserves.
Vanessa was right about one thing—Blair deserves all of it, all the romance, and I’m not that guy. Maybe after the season, but nothing can get in the way of getting back to the Final Four.
“Her name is Gabby. Wait, how did this get turned around? You’re supposed to be telling me about you.”
“I’d rather talk about you.”
“A question for a question then. Where in Kansas did you grow up?”
“Just outside of Kansas City. You?”
“I’m from Succulent Hill, it’s a couple of hours south of here. You have any siblings?”
I shake my head.
“I have an older brother. He lives in Phoenix and is married with two adorable kids.”
“What’s your greatest fear?”
She balks, thrown by the deep question. I can almost see the answer on the tip of her tongue, but she holds back. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who isn’t self-aware. What scares you?”
“Failing.” Her voice comes out quiet, barely a whisper. “And letting people down.”
Silence falls between us. I get that fear because it’s tied so closely to my own. What if I can’t get the team whipped into shape? What if Z is looked over for a big NBA deal because his team lets him down? Yeah, I get the fear of failure. Guilt washes over me for being such an ass about helping her with statistics. It obviously is as important to her as basketball is to me.
“Come on, let me show you something.”
The gym is empty and dark. I love it this way. I love it packed full of people on game day, too, but no athlete gets that without a lot of days and nights with only the echo of the ball bouncing off the wooden floor.
I lead her up the stairs to the very top and we sit on the blue plastic seats so we can take in the darkened gym.
She’s quiet and pensive, as if maybe she’s trying to figure out why we’re here. Or maybe she is counting down the seconds before she can make a run for it. Bringing a girl to a deserted gym probably is not on the top one hundred best first dates.
“This is my greatest fear.” I lift my arms on either side.
“Bad seats?” she jokes.
“Being a spectator and watching the game from up here, smart ass. It’s my final year, and I’m not ready for ball not to be the center of my life.”
It’s terrifying, actually. No, terrifying doesn’t seem like a strong enough word. Anxiety wracks my body when I think of being one of those guys watching from the sidelines, talking about the good ole days. As a kid, it felt so far away, but every day, I get closer to it all going away, and I don’t know what that looks like. Don’t even want to think about it yet. One final season. This is it. This is my moment to soak it all in. I can deal with the rest later.
“Have you thought at all about what you’ll do next year?”
I shrug. “Not really. I know I should be thinking about it, making a plan, but I just can’t. I need to focus on the season and the season alone, and when it’s over, I’ll figure out what’s next. Speaking of, I don’t know any way to say this that doesn’t make me sound like a conceited prick, so I’m just going to say it.”
