“Well, you’ll just have to see,” she stammered, suddenly aware of the stray hairs springing loose from her ponytail.
“You new?”
She nodded.
“I’m Max McBay.” He stuck his hand out, and she placed hers in his. The warmth from his touch traveled all the way down to her toes.
“Sophia Clark.”
“Does this mean you’re trying out for the basketball team?”
“I guess so. The coach cornered me at the sports fair and told me to show up on Thursday.”
“Coach Fletcher?”
“Accent?”
“Yes, he’s my advanced physics teacher.” Max stepped closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “He’s one of the few teachers around here who isn’t prejudiced. You’ll like him.”
“Good to hear.”
“Well, if you don’t discover what you need in that book, come find me. I’m always in the boys’ gym.” Max reached for the sugar cookie from the top of her bag and took a bite. Then he rewrapped it in the napkin and put it back. “See you around.” He strolled into the cafeteria in the same airy way that Willa walked, like he belonged.
Sophia didn’t have time to grab a fresh cookie, so she shoved the bitten one down into her bag. That boy had some nerve, sizing herup like that and eating part of her cookie. But as she walked through the quad, light-hearted and sweaty, she found it hard to be upset.
On Thursday afternoon, Sophia walked into the athletic center to the scent of sticky armpits and burnt rubber. The oversize lobby was painted canary yellow and showcased West Oak Forest Academy’s pendants and posters. A wide glass case, centered on the back wall, displayed multiple awards, championship plaques, trophies, and photographs of boys’ basketball teams stretching back over half a century. Sophia could hear dribbling, shoes sliding and screeching against the parquet floors. But there were two gyms, one on the right and the other on the left, and Coach Fletcher hadn’t been specific. As the student athletes bounded into the lobby, Sophia pretended to study the trophy case until she could gauge which side was for the boys and which side was the girls.
She entered the gym on the right and found Coach Fletcher standing in the center of the court, wearing a matching blue short set. A whistle hung from his neck, and his sandy brown hair fell across his forehead. He clutched his clipboard to his side.
Sophia had worn her school gym uniform because she didn’t have anything else and was relieved to see that the other girls had worn their uniforms too.
“Sophia.” Coach Fletcher held up his list and checked her name off. “Good to see you. Find a ball and go warm up.”
Some of the girls were dribbling; some caught the balls while others threw up shots. Sophia knew how to shoot a basketball. On the farm, Walter had fashioned a makeshift hoop out of a milk crate and nailed it to a dying tree. Though her brothers often drafted her for a game of two against two, she had never played in an actual gym. Brooks High only had a boys’ basketball team, and while they weregood, Sophia had never stayed to watch the games because she needed to tend to evening chores.
A ball rolled toward Sophia, and she stopped it with her foot. When she reached for it, the basketball felt firm in her hands. Not heavy and flat, like the balls Walter had brought home from the neighborhood dump. Sophia dribbled a few times to get the feel of the bouncy ball. It felt almost natural as she pressed her hand against the leather mound, and it sprang right back up to kiss her palm. She did the same motion over and over, and before she knew what was happening, she felt like the ball had become an extension of her right hand. The chatter and movement of the other girls in the room faded from her mind as she picked up her feet and started walking with the ball. When she realized that she remained in control, she jogged with the ball toward the basket. At the top of the key, she lifted the ball with both hands, positioned her wrist back, and let the ball fly. It hit the backboard and went through the hoop.
Swish.
That was what Walter always said when he made a shot.Swish.
Sophia ran for the ball, grabbed it, and then released it again and again. A few balls sailed through the hoop, while others bounced off the rim. Each shot she took felt good. She felt alive. By the time she heard Coach Fletcher’s shrilly whistle, she was hot and damp all over.
“Gather around, girls,” Coach Fletcher called.
“What is she doing here?”
Sophia had lost herself so completely in shooting and dribbling that she hadn’t paid much attention to the other girls. But by now, she could pick Patty’s whiny voice out of a lineup.
“I hope she’s not going to be on the team,” Opal said, snickering. She was Patty’s friend who had made fun of Sophia’s nightgown in the bathroom.
“And look at those shoes.” Patty put her hand up to her mouth to hide her laughter. But everyone had heard her, and all eyeballs shifted to Sophia’s feet.
Before class that morning, Sophia had no choice but to go to the administration building to rummage through the lost and found. It had been Ma Deary’s solution for whatever items they needed. With only Ma Deary’s Mary Janes and the donated loafers, Sophia had gone in search of a pair of tennis shoes for practice. But in the oversize rubber bin of forgotten items, there were no sneakers. She did manage an umbrella and a pair of rubber-soled oxfords that she had hoped would work for basketball. As she kept her eyes cast down, taking in everyone’s feet, she saw that the girls wore either Converse All Stars or canvas runabouts, which made the oxfords stand out like a turd in a fruit bowl.
“Patty. Is there something funny?” Coach Fletcher called out.
“No, sir.” Patty straightened.
