“Excuse me?”
“The basketball coach with the British accent,” she said, imitating his closed-mouthed way of speaking.
“Yes.” Sophia relaxed. “I guess you can say that he did.”
“I have just the book for you,” she said. “Right this way.”
Sophia followed the short woman to the section marked “Sports in Society.” Halfway down the aisle on the middle shelf, she plucked out a book. “Try this.”
Sophia took the book in her hand.Winning Basketball Playsby Clair Bee.
“This should at least explain the rules of the game to you. But you will also need to practice.”
“Yes, I know.” Sophia opened the book and scanned the inside flap. The book smelled vintage, like it hadn’t had much use.
The librarian shifted on her feet. “How are you getting on here? I know this is all new for you.”
When Sophia glanced in the woman’s direction, she noticed that her gray eyes were kind. She reminded her of her counselor, Mrs. Brown at Brooks High, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, “It’s been a bit overwhelming, trying to take in so much newness at once.”
The librarian nodded. “I can imagine that things might feel strange around here. Change is never easy, but it’s the only thing that’s constant. I for one am glad that West Oak Forest has put in the effort for equality. It’s high time we right some wrongs around here.”
Sophia didn’t know what to say. So far, the librarian had been kinder than all her teachers combined.
The librarian lowered her voice. “Listen, dear, the library can always be your refuge. It’s a safe space under my watch.”
“Thank you,” Sophia said, clutching the book to her chest. “What’s your name?”
The librarian smacked her hand against her forehead. “Silly me, for not introducing myself. My name is Mrs. Fordham.”
“Sophia Clark.”
“Pleased to meet you, dear. Now, there’s a little room back here.” She motioned for Sophia to follow her to a corner door. “If you and your friends ever need a little privacy, it’s always unlocked. Leave no trace, and you’ll never hear a peep out of me.” She winked.
“Thank you, ma’am. That’s so generous.”
Mrs. Fordham erected her shoulders and smiled. “I participated in the March on Washington in ’63. Set up a little table and handed out Dixie cups of water to those who wanted it. That day changed my life. I’m here if you need me.” She reached over and squeezed Sophia’s hand.
Sophia left the library with her book on basketball feeling empowered and pleased. She braved the cafeteria alone for the first time and enjoyed a chicken salad sandwich with carrot sticks. The carrots made her think of her brothers, Karl and Lu, and she wondered if Walter was making sure that they ate and got through their morning chores and to school on time. She thought about the farm animals, hoping that Unc had secured the help he needed to run the property without dragging her brothers out of school. She thought about Ma Deary and the Old Man, relieved that neither had come to get her. At least not yet.
She hadn’t seen Willa or Louis, but she couldn’t wait to begin eating if she was going to keep up her plan of arriving early to class. At the dessert bar, she wrapped a sugar cookie in a napkin and slipped it in her bag for later. Then she opened the book on basketball: It was a habit she had picked up on the farm, walking while reading. Page two had a drawing of a two-three zone defense that she studied. Before Sophia knew what was happening, she had collided into a mass of muscle. The book flew from her fingers and to the floor. As she stumbled after it, a strong hand grabbed hold of her forearm.
Sophia remembered the story of the boy being shoved around by the football players and braced herself for an angry outburst, but when she risked looking up into the boy’s face, her breath caught in her throat. He was Negro and fine. His gaze was so magnetic that she couldn’t turn away. What was this feeling that he had ignited in her?
“Sorry, I should have been paying more attention.”
His gentle hand continued to steady her. “It’s cool.” His voice was deep.
He stood two inches taller than she did, so she had to tilt her face up to see him. He had a square jaw and dreamy pecan-colored eyes.
“You all right?” he asked. When he finally let her elbow go, she could still feel the electricity of his touch.
“Yes, sorry. I was just trying to do two things at once.”
He reached down, lifted the basketball book off the floor, and snickered. “I can assure you that you can’t learn how to dribble and shoot from a book.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I already know how to play.”
He looked her up and down. “I’ve been hooping all my life, and you don’t look like a ball player.” His attention made the back of her neck hot. Who was he?
