I just looked at Dave as he chucked the basketball at me with possibly the worst overhand throw I’d ever seen. It landed far to my right, then bounced past me, banging against my dad’s truck.
“Do you have a vision problem or something? ” I asked him.
“Just keeping you on your toes,” he replied, cheerful as ever as he ran over, picking it up again. He bounced it, then said, “Up for a game?”
I shook my head. “Too early for me.”
“It’s eight thirty, Mclean. Get with the program.”
“I’ve been up since five.”
“Really?” He bounced the ball again. “Doing what?”
“Compromising.” I yawned, then turned toward my house. “I’ll explain later.”
I started up the steps, rummaging in my pocket for my keys. Inside, all the lights were still off, my dad sleeping in for once.
“Want to know what I think?” Dave called out from behind me.
“No.”
“I think,” he continued, ignoring this, “that you’re scared.”
I just looked at him. “Scared.”
“Of my game,” he explained. “My skills. My—”
I walked closer to him, then reached out, easily knocking the ball from his hands. It hit the driveway, then rolled onto the grass.
“Well, see, I wasn’t in defensive mode just then.” He reached around me, picking up the ball and giving it an authoritative bounce. “Now I am. Bring it on.”
“I told you,” I said, folding my arms over my chest. “I’m not interested.”
He sighed. “Mclean, come on. You live in a basketball town. Your dad played for DB, your mom is married to the current DB coach, and I happen to have personal experieve been with your overhand shot.”
“Yes, but basketball doesn’t have the best associations for me right now,” I pointed out.
“You can’t blame the game for any of that,” he said, bouncing the ball again. “Basketball is a good thing. Basketball only wants you to be happy.”
I just looked at him as he dribbled sloppily around me toward the basket. “Now,” I said, “you sound like a crazy person.”
“Think fast!” he said, whirling around and throwing the ball at me. I caught it easily, and he looked surprised. “Okay, fine. Now shoot it.”
“Dave.”
“Mclean. Humor me. Just one shot.”
“You’ve seen me shoot,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but the blunt force knocked my memory out. I need a replay.”
I sighed, then bounced the ball once, squaring my shoulders. Other than that random Boomerang a few weeks ago, I hadn’t had my hands on a basketball in years. But that morning had been all about doing things I had never planned to do again, so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.
At first, on the phone, my mom was wary. She knew I’d heard about her lawyer’s call, and thought I was calling to tell her exactly what I thought of her latest move. It was tempting to do just that. But instead, I took a breath and did what I had to do instead.
“Are you still thinking you’ll be going to the beach a lot this spring?” I asked.
“The beach?”
