Read Online Basketball (or Something Like It) by Nora Raleigh Baskin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nora Raleigh Baskin
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anything Anabel was thinking or doing. And they look different.
Anabel had watched her mother looking in the mirror, putting on her makeup, getting ready for work.
“My lids are sagging. Anabel, look. Didn’t they used to be here?” she said. She had her pointer finger tugging up at her eyes.
Anabel was sitting on the side of the bathtub. “No. You look exactly the same. You look beautiful,” she said.
Anabel’s mother didn’t put down her mascara, but she turned sideways and kept jerking the little black wand up at her lashes. “You’re sweet,” she said.
She looked back into the mirror. “But, God. I’m getting old. Life is too short. You know that, Ana? That’s why you’ve got to make the most of it. It just goes by so fast.”
Anabel didn’t answer. Life might be short, but some days were really, really long. Besides, even as her mother was telling her to make the most out of life, Anabel knew she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. It was very comforting to do the exact same thing every day, doing only what you know you are good at.
There was also something comforting about Mrs. Binder, even though
her
eyelids had clearly sagged completely years ago.
“Your brother just made a shot,” Mrs. Binder told Anabel. She pointed down to the court.
They had a ritual. They always climbed up to the top bleacher, far to the left, and leaned their backs against the wall. Mrs. Binder brought homemade cookies and Anabel brought two extra juice boxes from her pantry.
“It was a lucky shot,” Anabel said. She poked the ministraw into her juice box.
“Oh, you’re too hard on him. He’s good. Look, he just tried to block that other boy from shooting.”
“He fouled him,” Anabel said.
“Is that bad?”
And she kind of liked that Mrs. Binder didn’t know anything.
“It means the other team not only gets the two points, but they get to shoot a foul shot,” Anabel explained.
“Oh, that’s bad then.”
“Right.”
It was getting crowded on the bleachers. The teams for the next game were starting to arrive and, of course, their parents. Some of the North Bridge parents moved up to see better.
It was a close game. This new coach was doing a pretty good job. He had gotten all of the kids to play at least a little, and he put the weaker kids in with the stronger players so everyone looked better.
Anabel was surprised. They might even win thisgame. Jeremy was playing great. Anabel was just about to tell that to Mrs. Binder, but two of the dads sat down right in front of them, nearly right on her feet.
“Who found this guy?” one of the dads was saying. Anabel thought it was Tyler Bischoff’s dad, but she wasn’t sure.
“I think Bruce Adler did. I think he knew someone who knew someone at his office,” the other dad answered.
“Well, that explains that.”
“What? Adler playing the whole game?”
“Yeah, and look at that new kid, Binder. What a ball hog. He never passes.”
Anabel looked over to Mrs. Binder to see if she had heard. It was hard to tell. She was just watching the game. She just rooted for everyone. Every kid. She even clapped when the other team made a basket.
The-maybe-Tyler’s-dad-guy leaned in closer to the other man. “Wyatt is open half the time, but that kid never gets him the ball. He just shoots.”
So that was Wyatt Greman’s dad. Anabel knew his little sister, Caroline, from Girl Scouts two years ago. She watched Mr. Greman’s bald head nodding in agreement.
“He plays street ball. It looks good now, but against a good team he’ll turn over the ball every time.”
That is so not true, Anabel thought. Jeremy was better than both their kids combined and they just didn’t like it. Anabel didn’t want to look over at Mrs. Binder again. Hopefully she didn’t understand what they were talking about. Or she didn’t know they were talking about her grandson. Or at best, she didn’t know they were saying mean things about him.
The game was finally over. North
Anabel had watched her mother looking in the mirror, putting on her makeup, getting ready for work.
“My lids are sagging. Anabel, look. Didn’t they used to be here?” she said. She had her pointer finger tugging up at her eyes.
Anabel was sitting on the side of the bathtub. “No. You look exactly the same. You look beautiful,” she said.
Anabel’s mother didn’t put down her mascara, but she turned sideways and kept jerking the little black wand up at her lashes. “You’re sweet,” she said.
She looked back into the mirror. “But, God. I’m getting old. Life is too short. You know that, Ana? That’s why you’ve got to make the most of it. It just goes by so fast.”
Anabel didn’t answer. Life might be short, but some days were really, really long. Besides, even as her mother was telling her to make the most out of life, Anabel knew she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. It was very comforting to do the exact same thing every day, doing only what you know you are good at.
There was also something comforting about Mrs. Binder, even though
her
eyelids had clearly sagged completely years ago.
“Your brother just made a shot,” Mrs. Binder told Anabel. She pointed down to the court.
They had a ritual. They always climbed up to the top bleacher, far to the left, and leaned their backs against the wall. Mrs. Binder brought homemade cookies and Anabel brought two extra juice boxes from her pantry.
“It was a lucky shot,” Anabel said. She poked the ministraw into her juice box.
“Oh, you’re too hard on him. He’s good. Look, he just tried to block that other boy from shooting.”
“He fouled him,” Anabel said.
“Is that bad?”
And she kind of liked that Mrs. Binder didn’t know anything.
“It means the other team not only gets the two points, but they get to shoot a foul shot,” Anabel explained.
“Oh, that’s bad then.”
“Right.”
It was getting crowded on the bleachers. The teams for the next game were starting to arrive and, of course, their parents. Some of the North Bridge parents moved up to see better.
It was a close game. This new coach was doing a pretty good job. He had gotten all of the kids to play at least a little, and he put the weaker kids in with the stronger players so everyone looked better.
Anabel was surprised. They might even win thisgame. Jeremy was playing great. Anabel was just about to tell that to Mrs. Binder, but two of the dads sat down right in front of them, nearly right on her feet.
“Who found this guy?” one of the dads was saying. Anabel thought it was Tyler Bischoff’s dad, but she wasn’t sure.
“I think Bruce Adler did. I think he knew someone who knew someone at his office,” the other dad answered.
“Well, that explains that.”
“What? Adler playing the whole game?”
“Yeah, and look at that new kid, Binder. What a ball hog. He never passes.”
Anabel looked over to Mrs. Binder to see if she had heard. It was hard to tell. She was just watching the game. She just rooted for everyone. Every kid. She even clapped when the other team made a basket.
The-maybe-Tyler’s-dad-guy leaned in closer to the other man. “Wyatt is open half the time, but that kid never gets him the ball. He just shoots.”
So that was Wyatt Greman’s dad. Anabel knew his little sister, Caroline, from Girl Scouts two years ago. She watched Mr. Greman’s bald head nodding in agreement.
“He plays street ball. It looks good now, but against a good team he’ll turn over the ball every time.”
That is so not true, Anabel thought. Jeremy was better than both their kids combined and they just didn’t like it. Anabel didn’t want to look over at Mrs. Binder again. Hopefully she didn’t understand what they were talking about. Or she didn’t know they were talking about her grandson. Or at best, she didn’t know they were saying mean things about him.
The game was finally over. North
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