Nets and Lies(8)

She shrugged. “You just seem really flirty with him.”

“I flirt with everyone,” I argued.

“I know,” she said. “But there’s something about the way you look at him. It’s different.”

“It’s nothing,” I emphasized.

Tara nodded, but I could tell she didn’t completely believe me. For the rest of the night, I tried to reign in my behavior so I wouldn’t make anyone else suspicious.

Chapter Three: Melanie

Squeak, squeak, squeak, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. It was Monday afternoon, and my ears hummed with the familiar sounds of Coach’s T’s kill and drill practice sessions. As captain and guard, I ran play after play, bringing the ball down the court safely until it passed to the next player’s hands. But I didn’t feel truly successful at my job unless the ball also made its way into the net.

The sound of Coach T’s whistle caused me to screech to a halt. “Becca, go in for Melanie,” he ordered. Becca raced off the bench without a question. “Mel!” He waved me over. I handed the ball to her before trotting off the court. “Yeah, Coach.”

He motioned towards the players. “I want you to tell me what’s going on with the Packed Ten play. Nothing seems to be working right.”

I nodded.

“All right, let’s run a Packed Ten,” he barked. The rest of the girls ran the play at least three times before Coach T turned to me and arched his eyebrow. “Whatcha think?”

I closed my eyes and saw the play again in my mind. Although I hated to admit it, I knew it was Lauren’s fault. She kept forgetting to stay with her man. I bit my lip. With my eyes still closed, Coach T’s voice hummed close to my ear. “I guess you agree with what I’m thinking.”

My blue eyes snapped open to meet his dark ones. Amusement twinkled in them. “You’ve got too much honor, Mel. You’ll never make it as a head coach if you can’t learn that.”

“Who says I want to coach someday?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. There was no doubt I wanted to become a teacher and coach just like him. I’d realized that freshman year when I sat at half court and listened to one of his pep talks. He made rules, technique, and skills so clear, and he made the game like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I wanted to bring that same enthusiasm to girls someday. To have them change their view that basketball was just a sport and to embrace it as something so much more than they ever imagined.

Reaching over he poked the place above my heart. “That right there. It tells me you’re gonna make a hell of a teacher and coach someday. If,” he paused and grinned, “you learn that in basketball, you have to be tough with your emotions. There’s no friends, no loyalty—just the game.”

I smiled. “All right. Lauren’s screwing up the play. You want me to tell her that and then make her run until she gets her act together?”

Coach T cocked his eyebrows at me. “Ah, look whose showing her tough side.” He looked from me out to the court. “I tell you what, Terminator. I’ll let you off the hook this time. I’ll call Lauren over and chew her out. How’s that?”

Inwardly, I cringed. Lauren had a temper, and I dreaded having to go into the locker room with her after one of Coach T’s ‘Come to Jesus’ bawl outs he was famous, or maybe infamous, for.

He nudged me playfully. “You don’t look too convinced, Mel.”

“No, no, you’re right. Go ahead and call her out.”

Coach T grinned at me before blowing his whistle. Becca came back to warm the bench some more, I jogged back onto the court, and Lauren got blessed out on the sidelines.

At the end of practice, Coach T spared me from the wrath of Lauren by saying, “Mel, run these balls into the athletic closet for me, and then bring me one of the pumps.”

I nodded and hustled off the court. The smell of age and rubber greeted me as I opened the closet door. Grunting, I pulled the rack of balls inside before going in search of one of the pumps. The closet needed a serious spring cleaning.

My shoes got caught in an old basketball net, causing me to pitch forward. “Fabulous, let me kill myself all over a stupid pump,” I grumbled. I scanned the rickety shelves. “All right, Coach T. Where the hell did you put the pump?” Finally, I found it on a top shelf. As I pulled it off, the shelf made an odd creaking noise, and then everything went black.

And after that moment, it would take a long time to come out of the darkness that enveloped me.

Chapter Four: Melanie

With my head pounding, I shakily reached for the door handle of my car. My hands trembled so hard I could barely get the key into the ignition. As soon as the car sputtered to life, I brought my foot down hard on the accelerator and pealed out of the parking lot. All I wanted was to get home.

As hard as it was, I tried keeping my mind on the drive. Along the familiar streets to my house, I counted mailboxes and the painted lines on the road—anything to not think. As long as I didn’t think, I couldn’t remember…and as I long as I couldn’t remember, it hadn’t happened.

I hoped for a quick escape to my bedroom when I got home, but I wasn’t so lucky. The moment I dragged myself through the garage door, my mother pounced on me. “Sweetie, are you okay?”

“It’s just a bump, Mom,” I argued, through my pain filled haze. I stared past her—just a couple of steps, and I could make it up the back staircase. Just a couple of stairs and I could be to my room.