“Right, well . . . this should good,” Lucas responds.
We both shuffle our feet, me guarding him while he jukes for an open position on the makeshift court in the D’Angelo driveway. Hollis dribbles back, crossing the ball behind her body a few times, then once through her legs.
“Oh, look at you. Fancy,” my cousin teases, swiping at the ball and easily knocking it away. He coughs out a boastful laugh while she rushes to regain control. She manages, but it’s clear by the way the whites of her eyes turn redder that Zack is getting under her skin.
Lucas rushes to the other side of the court, clapping his hands then opening his palms for a pass while Hollis works to shirk off my cousin’s handsy defense. She sends a hard chest pass in Lucas’s direction, but I’ve already read the play and intercept it, dribbling up top and passing the ball off to Zack to set up.
“Atta boy, Can. Yup yup!” My cousin is obnoxious in his celebration. I’ve joined these guys for dozens of Friday afternoon games, and while Zack is usually the loudest guy out here, he’s trash talking with a little extra venom today. It’s obvious, and also embarrassing for him.
Hollis hasn’t said a word, but I can tell she’s reaching a boiling point by the way she holds her lips closed tight, almost puckering as she zeroes in on nothing but the ball. She’s stuck to my cousin like glue, reaching in when he drives to the right. He toys with her for way longer than necessary, then spins, dashing around her on the left and driving the ball to the hoop for a layup. He holds out a fist for me to pound as he jogs by while Tory inbounds the ball back to Hollis.
The ball back in play, Tory gives me a quick glance, a silent commentary on Zack’s showboating, and I can tell he wants to put my cousin in his place. I’m not sure he realizes this game has nothing to do with the rest of us.
Sensing that Tory’s ready, Hollis passes the ball back to him in a rush, and we all step back as he puts up an instant three-pointer that sinks through the hoop without a sound.
“Oh, damn!” Tory boasts, moving in on Zack with his chest puffed out. My cousin laughs him off and pats his chest with his flat palm. Tory’s gone stoic, no longer playing a game for fun. I’m not sure this is the result my cousin wanted. Regardless, it’s the one he’s getting.
For a few minutes, the game shifts into its normal pattern—the Hayden and Tory show. Zack passes the ball to Hayden, and the faceoff ensues. Each of them drives in against one another in a boisterous round of one-on-one, forgetting that the rest of us are on the court. It’s then that I catch the smile on Hollis’s face. She came here to prove a point, but now, she’s just having fun. I’m having fun. Every time I manage to get a pass, I flip it over to Hayden and watch him do his thing. Hollis does the same with Tory, even picking up his signal to set him up for a dunk. The two of them slap hands after he finally lets go of the rim, and the tightness eases in my chest.
This game is back to being what it should be, a way to blow off steam and just be. A place away from baseball, away from my goals, away from plans and parents. Right here, for this little slice of afternoon, we get to be a bunch of punk-ass teenagers. The rules are unwritten, but they are always followed.
Until now.
I didn’t realize how long it had been since the ball met Zack’s hands, but the moment it finally does, the tone of everything changes. Hollis isn’t set on her feet yet. She’s still hailing Tory’s last shot, laughing with her new friends, not even looking as my cousin lowers his shoulder and drills right through her.
I hear the moment the breath leaves her chest, an audible pop from inside her ribs, her mouth an instant O shape, her cheeks pale and eyes frightened while a muffled moan crawls up her throat and out her mouth. She falls to her elbows, a good chunk of skin peeling away from the right one. She’s too busy gripping her chest and trying to refill her lungs to notice the blood trailing down her arm and dripping onto the D’Angelo driveway.
“What the fuck is your deal, Jennings?”
Tory pushes my cousin back a few steps with a hard shove, and Zack’s nostrils flare in response. Stepping into Tory’s personal space, my cousin moves close enough for their chests to nearly touch.
“Part of the game, isn’t it? I mean, we don’t change the rules because—”
“Because I’m a girl?” Hollis interjects, suddenly on her feet and urging Tory to back out of a fight meant for her. She joins the standoff and Tory gives her space, but only a little, his pulse amped up enough to make his jaw twitch.
“You’re the one who wanted to play.” Zack holds the ball against his hip as they stare each other down, both panting from a mix of anger and racing heart rates. The blood on Hollis’s arm is drying, but the thick beading left behind is a pretty good indication of the cut at the heart of the trail.
“Just learning your rules, Zack.”
I don’t know if my cousin expects her to cry or what, but she’s clearly not intimidated by a little pushing and shoving. Hell, I’ve bruised her up with enough wild pitches over the last week that I could have told him she had thick skin, both literally and figuratively. Zack rolls the ball back and forth between his hands, eyes searing into Hollis, tongue held
