A Game Worth Watching (11 page)

Mrs.
Ledger shook her head and rose from the chair. “Take care of her,” she said,
squeezing her son’s shoulder.

“I
always do.” He waited until his mom closed the door into the house before
relaxing his hold on Emma’s neck. “You okay?”

“I
will be when you get off me.”

Riley
chuckled. He rose from her lap and offered her his hand. “You want to come in
for a while?”

One
of the best things about Riley was he always knew what she needed. She didn’t
have to rehearse the latest incident with her family. He always just seemed to
know. She slapped his hand away and stood on her own, following him inside.

The
Ledgers’ house always smelled like fabric softener or fresh-baked cookies or
the kind of fresh air that swept through open windows during the first warm
days of spring. Sometimes there was a hint of cinnamon or a pinch of lilac
underneath it all, but it was always the same—their house smelled like
home. It wasn’t her home, of course, but sometimes she couldn’t help
pretending. Pretending she didn’t have to go home to the shouting, the work
boots caked with mud, or the smell of something rotting in the refrigerator
seeping through the rest of the house. She took a deep breath, savoring the
moment as she followed Riley into the kitchen.

He
threw his keys on the counter, grabbed two bottles of orange juice from the
fridge, and headed upstairs to his room, Emma right behind him. She dropped
onto his bed. Instead of the springs squeaking with protest, the pillows
welcomed her with a hug.

“I
have something for you,” he said, rummaging through a drawer in his desk.

She
sat up. “Let me guess, another old comic book?”

Without
answering, he slammed the drawer shut, spun around, and threw something at her.
She caught it in her left hand before it hit her in the face. An armband. Red
with a white B for Bradshaw sewn into it.

“Don’t
worry,” he said, seeing the look of shock on her face. “It’s not my old smelly
one. My mom made you one of your own.”

She
couldn’t take her eyes off it. Riley wore one exactly like it for every game he
played. His mom made one for him as a symbol to let him know no matter how well
he did or didn’t play, his parents still loved him. He complained about this to
Emma at first, insisting it was some silly mother thing. Yet, she had never
seen him play a game without it on. And now Mrs. Ledger was giving one to Emma.

Riley
sat beside her. “You okay?”

She
nodded, not trusting herself to speak over the lump in her throat.

“You’re
not going to cry on me or anything, are you?” He nudged her with his shoulder.
“Cuz that would be a total girl thing to do.”

He
was right. Crying was for girls, not for her. She couldn’t remember the last
time she’d cried. Maybe five or six years ago. The last thing she would do was
burst into tears over an armband, especially in front of Riley. She hit him
with a pillow instead, and he laughed.

“You’re
going to be great tomorrow,” he said, his tone serious.

Tomorrow.
The first game of the season. Would she be ready?

Braids.
Emma didn’t do braids. So why were Madison and Christi gripping handfuls of her
hair and weaving them together in French-braided pigtails? Because it was game
night and this was how girls defined team unity for their first game—by
all of them wearing the same hairstyle. Stupid. The worst part was Coach was in
total agreement with the insanity. She even threatened to bench Emma for the
first quarter if she didn’t give in and let them take possession of her hair.
Not a way to start the season. Of course, it could have been worse. She could
have been Christi whose hair was too short to braid, so in pigtails it looked
like the ends of two blown-up firecrackers poking out of her head.

The
girls finally tied off the ends of her braids, Coach raced through her
this-is-it speech, and it was time to take the court for warm-ups.

Emma
had never played basketball in a real gym with fully functioning nets attached
to the rims and real-life referees calling fouls. Scrimmaging during practice
in the auxiliary gym didn’t count since they couldn’t form two teams and had
difficulty executing a play without Coach blowing the whistle and pushing the
rewind button so they could do it all over again. Practice was different.
Practicing with girls who had yet to prove themselves in a competitive
situation was social hour in comparison. Now, with actual people present to
watch their game, everything felt so real.

The
Bradshaw girls’ team stepped out from the security of the locker room and into
the chaos of the gym. Unlike the auxiliary gym with its faded colors, the main
gym flashed the school’s fire-engine red and white colors. A huge lion roared
from the floor at mid-court. From the first day of freshman year, teachers
encouraged students to be like Bradshaw’s mighty mascot—strong and
courageous. So, why, oh why, did weakness prevail in the moment when Emma
needed the most strength? It didn’t matter that half the bleachers were empty,
that no one expected them to win, that despite the pulsing notes of the band
echoing around them, she couldn’t hear anything except the hammering of her
heart.

I don’t belong
here.

The
realization was so strong it knocked the wind out of her. The team ran onto the
court, but Emma’s feet stopped at the sideline. She didn’t belong here on a
court full of girls who had dreams for the future and money in the bank. She
didn’t belong on a court full of girls who had parents in the stands cheering
them on. No one had ever expected anything from her. She was just some girl
people pitied and passed in the hallways at school. Just because Coach Knowles
discovered she was good at basketball and forced her onto the girls’ team in
the hope she could help them win a game or two, didn’t change anything.

A
coach, seven girls, and a few dozen fans looked to her to lead a losing team to
victory, but she would fail. No doubt about it. She would fail and prove to
everyone why poor girls didn’t belong on a court full of rich kids.

Coach
Knowles stepped beside Emma, clapping her hands and rubbing them together,
radiating excitement. She looked at Emma, but she didn’t
see
Emma. She didn’t see Emma’s hands
shake or her throat go dry. Coach didn’t see the invisible barrier preventing Emma
from stepping on the court to join her teammates. All Coach cared about was her
first big win.

“I’m
sorry,” Emma choked out, stumbling backward.

She
didn’t stay long enough to see fear seep into Coach’s eyes or to watch Riley descend
the bleachers, knowing at once something was wrong. She sprinted for the exit,
no longer able to breathe, hardly able to stand. She burst through the door and
into the cold winter night, unaware of the glances people gave her as she
pushed past them. Gulping air, she turned a corner and ducked into the shadows
of an empty alcove. She leaned against the wall of the school, needing
something solid to support her. She would have never thought her first real
basketball game would start with her fleeing the scene, fighting to breathe.
Bending over, she placed her hands on her knees and tried to find comfort in
the fact she was in the dark where she belonged, sheltered from the spotlight.

Invisible.

Almost.

“You
okay?” The voice reached out to her, pulling her focus up from the ground.

Riley
stood at the edge of the shadows watching her. Only her rapid breathing filled
the silence. He stepped from the light into the darkness, slipping out of his
coat to drape it around her shoulders.

His
coat was warm and Emma pushed her arms through the sleeves and pulled it
tighter around her. She looked up at him to say thank you. “I can’t do this,”
she said instead. She hated admitting weakness. Hated the way the words tasted
coming out of her mouth, hated the way her body shook in fear of what might
happen on a court full of girls, hated how Riley found her hiding in the
shadows.

Unable
to remain still under his steady gaze, she pushed away from the wall and
started pacing. She could dominate in basketball at the park with the guys with
no problem, but basketball with girls in a real gym with referees and fans and
a scorekeeper and expectations swirling in the air like confetti during a
windstorm was entirely different. “I know you and all those people in there
expect me to perform some miracle tonight, but I can’t do it. I don’t belong in
there.”

He
held out his arm to stop her pacing and cocked his head to the side to look at
her. “What’s this really about, Em?”

Good
old Riley. He was the only one who could sense the undercurrent of her
hysterics.

Sometimes
having a best friend like him was the best thing in the world, and other times
it was the worst thing ever because nothing went unnoticed. Lying had never
been her forte, and Riley knew it. Telling him the truth—admitting
weakness—was her only option. She took a deep breath. “My whole life,
people have told me I’m not strong enough or good enough or smart enough to do
anything.” She looked into his eyes, seeing the closest thing she had to
family. She saw his safety and warmth; she saw his desire to help her, comfort
her, believe in her, and protect her from the world, but not even he could make
her change how she thought of herself. She bowed her head. “Somewhere along the
way I started to believe them.”

Riley
always thought of her as strong and capable, which was probably why she felt
guilt well up inside her. She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to
regain a speck of composure. “Just because I can shoot a few baskets and
dribble with both hands doesn’t mean I belong out there with a bunch of rich
girls.”

Riley
placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle smile. “Forget about
what everyone else has told you. The truth is that you are strong enough and
good enough and smart enough to do this or anything else. We’ve been friends
for a long time, and I’ve seen you do amazing things by just being you. Just go
in there and play. You belong out there just as much as any of those other
girls.”

He
believed what he said. She could tell by the way his eyes never wavered from
hers and by the way his hands squeezed her shoulders in encouragement. How
could he have so much faith in her? She wanted to believe him—to trust
him—but she couldn’t. Nothing ever turned out right for her. “Even if it
were that easy, as soon as I go out there I’m going to forget my own name, fall
on my face, and people will blame me for destroying this team.”

Riley
met her gaze, his smile still intact. “If you forget your name, I’ll remind you
when you’re done. If you fall on your face, I’ll pick you up. And if people
blame you for destroying the team, well,” he shrugged, “you’ll probably deserve
it.”

She
exhaled a laugh. Leave it to Riley to find humor at a time like this. He pulled
her close and wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head against his
shoulder, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent from his shirt and the
faint traces of his soap—the smell of safety.

“You’ll
do great,” he said. “Besides, you can’t ditch. My parents came to watch you
play.”

As
if things couldn’t get any worse. She pulled away from him. “Your parents are
here?”

“Well,
yeah, they didn’t want to miss your high school basketball debut.”

She
groaned. “Couldn’t they have at least waited until my second game?”

“Nope.
All the good stuff happens in the first one. I mean look at these adorable
braids.” He tugged one of them, and she swatted his hand away. “With red
ribbons that actually match your uniform. I never thought I’d live to see the
day. The guys are going to love them.”

Emma
swallowed. “The guys?” Riley and his parents were more than enough witnesses.
She didn’t need the guys too. If she failed, everyone she cared about would
witness it. It was all Riley’s fault. But did he care? Nope. He just smiled,
draped his arm around her shoulders, and guided her back inside.

She
was new to the whole official basketball game situation. The announcer, the
scoreboard, the opposing team in real uniforms, the team huddle. Needing
something to do, Emma gulped water trying not to focus on the two-minute
countdown until tip-off. A decade of losing hadn’t developed a following of
fans to support the team, but the few in attendance were too many for her,
especially since she knew half of them. She heard Riley in the stands shouting
to her in encouragement. The guys were there too. All of them. So not good. Her
eyes scanned the crowd. Mr. and Mrs. Ledger smiled and waved at her. She
couldn’t believe they’d actually shown up. Riley’s family had shown up to
support her, whereas, her own couldn’t have cared less. She took a deep breath.
Now was not the time to dwell on all that her family wasn’t.

Coach
Knowles herded the five starters to the bench, pushed each of them into a
chair, and waited for the announcer to start things off. Emma was too busy
staring at her feet, trying to control her shaking hands and remembering how to
breathe, to notice Lauren beside her.

“Nervous,
Poverty Child?” Lauren spit out.

Emma
couldn’t even produce an answer. She swallowed, her throat dry again, and remained
focused on her feet. Basketball was the only thing she was good at, but what if
she choked? What would happen after tip-off when the ball landed in her hands?
Would she remember how to dribble and shoot and play the game she’d spent so
many years perfecting? She wasn’t good in the spotlight. She always froze in
the spotlight.

Most
people associated the spotlight with fame and glory, but not Emma. The
spotlight was more of a full-court press. It was never easy. The spotlight came
with unrealistic expectations and pressure to perform to perfection. Sure, Emma
could break a full-court press on the basketball court with the guys when there
were no witnesses, but it wasn’t without difficulty. She had to split the
defense, avoid the traps, and work her way up the court without losing the ball
to a defender. But when the spotlight slipped off the neighborhood court,
followed her to school, and blinded her on a court full of girls, Emma
panicked. No, the spotlight was not for her. It was for people like Riley and
Lauren who were meant to shine, not for people who dressed in hand-me downs and
lived in a garage. Despite Riley’s faith, her own confidence faded.