CLIFF
Browerton was deep into the second half of the game against Canadensis College, and Cliff had played a total of sixty-five seconds. Altshuler wasn’t letting Coach take him out of the game. He fought for every point. The opposing team figured out pretty quickly that Altshuler was a ball hog and committed heavy press to guarding him. He tried to fight against it, which cost Browerton a few plays. By the end of the first half, and with a stern talking to by Coach Trainor, he got the hint and passed more. All through the second half, the two schools traded the lead until Canadensis nabbed two three-pointers back-to-back. Browerton was down six points with less than four minutes left on the clock; it was still anyone’s game.
Cliff used his bench time to study the competition and dissect their plays. It complemented the video footage Coach had provided the team, which he studied over the Thanksgiving break.
He also sneaked plenty of peeks at Brennan next to his parents, which was a weird combination. He figured Brennan took the ticket reserved for Alex. Hopefully, his brother was enjoying Paris. His dad had only received text messages from him confirming that he landed safely and made it to Rosie’s dorm.
When they made eye contact, Brennan winked, sending heat straight to his basketball shorts. It was like their own secret language. He wished he could run to Brennan after the game and give him a kiss, but that wasn’t the world he lived in.
He felt Brennan’s absence over Thanksgiving weekend. Each day at home dragged; he hung out with guys from high school and enjoyed surface deep conversations that skirted any potential landmines. Each social event exhausted him more than the last, like he spent the evening dragged through molasses. He was an actor resigned to returning to a familiar role. But whenever he felt low, his body would light up when he pictured snuggling in bed next to Brennan once he returned to Browerton.
“DAMMIT!” Coach Trainor yelled, snapping Cliff back to the game. Canadensis hit a three-pointer. They were about to open up a double-digit lead. “DEFENSE!”
Coach paced the length of the court, following the action with an eagle eye.
“You think we could pull this out?” Dell leaned over to Cliff.
“We’re still in this.” Cliff wasn’t going to trend negative. Basketball moved fast enough where anything could happen in the next few minutes. “All we need are a few shots, and we’re back in this game.”
Cliff’s eyes travelled back to his family. His mom and dad waved at him like all parents do, unintentionally embarrassing him. Over Thanksgiving, his dad regaled him with stories about playing Canadensis and how Browerton wiped the floor with them. The twinkle in his eye showed that the memory remained bright in his mind.And now I get to watch my son play in this game thirty years later, he’d said to Cliff misty-eyed. The moment sat like a weight in his stomach. He didn’t want to disappoint his dad. Not with the game. Not with anything.
“So whatever happened with your crush?”
Cliff looked over at Dell, whose eyes remained fixed on the game. He was not one for segues.
“What made you think of it?” As if Cliff’s adrenaline wasn’t already pumping, Dell’s question put him on high alert.
“Curious if they’re in here tonight.”
“No,” Cliff said without missing a beat.
YES!He screamed inside himself.My crush is here eyefucking the shit out of me.
He wondered if Brennan could still be considered a crush. They had moved way past pining from afar.
“Anything happen with them?”
Dell wasn’t letting up, and Cliff’s Spidey sense realized he’d used gender-neutral pronouns for this conversation.
His spine straightened. He found himself boiling with anger. It was the tension from the game, the stress of lying, and the frustration that his personal life had to be a puzzle.
“Why are you bringing this up now? We have three minutes left in this game, and this is what you’re thinking about? What’s the matter with you?” Cliff tried to sound flip, but he couldn’t stop his words from coming out covered in spikes.
“Damn, just making some nervous conversation.” Dell shook his head, stung.
Cliff didn’t react. He turned his attention back to the game where Altshuler drove to the basket for a layup. A Canadensis player smacked the ball out of his hands as he lifted off from the floor, sending Althsuler slamming down.
Players got knocked down all the time. Basketball wasn’t as violent as football or hockey, but it wasn’t badminton either.
Only this time, Altshuler didn’t get back up.
Teammates gathered around him. Altshuler clenched his lips together tight, trying to hold onto a brave face.
“Get up,” Cliff whispered, his heart racing.
The ref blew the whistle. Coach Trainor ran onto the court. Cliff’s heart raced as seconds turned to minutes. The huddle of bodies on the court blocked his view. He looked through their legs to see Coach try to help a prone Altshuler.
Altshuler bent his right knee and pushed up. He was standing!
