She tilts her head.
“About everything?”
There’s weight under that question.
“About what matters.”
“And what matters?”
I hold her gaze for a beat.
“Basketball.”
“School.”
She waits.
“And?” she presses.
“That’s it.”
She searches my face.
Then smiles.
“Good.”
Good.
Like she’s relieved.
Like she doesn’t want to be more.
Or maybe she does.
And she’s patient.
The basketball house is louder now. I spend more time here than in my first class athletic dorm. The guys tease. “Vale’s got himself a Texas ten.”
“Soccer star and hoop star? That’s a brand deal waiting to happen.”
I laugh it off.
But I don’t correct them.
Because correcting them would require defining something.
And I’m not doing that.
Not again.
The first time I notice Stella watching?—
It’s subtle.
We’re crossing the quad.
Isa is mid-story, hands moving animatedly, describing some Texas state championship game where she scored the winning goal.
