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Authors: Danielle Joseph
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Williams. Her legs are ripped.
We pile our hands together inside the huddle and Coach says, “Strong defense today. Keep your eyes on the ball.” We finish up with, “Pride!” The huddle folds and the starting lineup assembles.
Liz, Kate, Maria, Zoey, and Teri make up the fabulous five today. One wrong move from Thunder and she’ll be struck by Lightning Liz. Liz definitely has balls, but she’d never risk being thrown out of a game.
The ref blows his whistle and the Browns and Reds become one mesh of color. Mud and blood. By the middle of the first quarter, Mud is up by four points. Some of those girls are really built. Their center looks like she has coconuts for calves. I wonder if they double as a wrestling team.
Lightning Liz moves fast with the ball. She avoids the Thunder and passes off to Zoey. Zoey scores again and again. The Browns are fierce, though, especially Number 20, who plows through anyone who gets in her way. I keep my eyes on them, trying to learn their secret. By the time the first-quarter buzzer goes off, I realize there’s no secret—they’re just that good. The score is 16 to 10, Browns in the lead.
I’m in and out during the second and third quarters. The game is tight at the end of the third quarter. Browns are up by four. I only make one basket, but I hustle like Coach said. I don’t give the Browns the opportunity to steal the ball from me, and I make a couple of decent passes.
Liz’s mom cheers me and Liz on. It’s nice to hear her boisterous voice over all the unfamiliar ones. The Browns have a lot of support. They even have a cheering squad of little girls in Brownie uniforms. I don’t know if it was planned, but it does seem very appropriate. It would be kind of hard to get the Red Cross or the wait staff at TGI Friday’s to show up as our supporters.
Fourth quarter, I’m in with five minutes left in the game. Browns in the lead, 32 to 28. Coach says we can still beat them.
“Eyes on the ball, girls,” she yells from the sideline. I watch the orange circle move back and forth. Teri has the ball. I need to let her know I’m open. This is my chance to score big. My elbows are flexed back and I make like a brick wall, guarding Number 20.
“Over here, Teri.” I wave my hands back and forth like I’m a damsel in distress in one of those old black-and-whites that Lucien has us watch every Christmas. I should’ve invited Lucien to the game. He would’ve showed, even if he had to leave Monica in charge of the gallery. I peer out into the crowd. There are a lot of fresh faces; I’m sure most of them are for the Browns.
Teri tosses me the ball and I hold on tight. I look left, then right, planning my next move.
A couple of guys yell, “Pass, Eleven.” Eleven, that’s me. I look over by the huge oak. There are two guys. One is big and beefy and the other is … no, it can’t be. The one with the blond spiky hair looks like Graham. I’m pretty dehydrated, so it could be that my mental status has been compromised.
“It’s all you, baby,” the beefy guy yells, and Spiky Hair says, “Go Kate!”
What? He knows Kate by name? Graham knows Kate.
Bam! I’m knocked to the ground and the ball rolls away. Ouch, that hurt. I blindly reach for the ball, but somebody grabs it and what seems like a herd of elephants stampedes by me.
I’m wide open again, but now the whole team is at the other end of the court … watching the Browns sc ore … a three-pointer. How did that happen? And the whistle blows … Coach calls for a time-out. Isn’t anyone going to help me up? I look around. My fellow teammates are all gathered over by the bench. I get up and hobble over to them. Coach stops talking and turns to me. “Are you all right?”
I look down at my legs. My left knee is red. But no blood. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Good to hear. But what were you thinking? Eleven out, thirty-two in.” Coach shakes her head.
So much for sympathy.
“Idiot cost us three points. No
We pile our hands together inside the huddle and Coach says, “Strong defense today. Keep your eyes on the ball.” We finish up with, “Pride!” The huddle folds and the starting lineup assembles.
Liz, Kate, Maria, Zoey, and Teri make up the fabulous five today. One wrong move from Thunder and she’ll be struck by Lightning Liz. Liz definitely has balls, but she’d never risk being thrown out of a game.
The ref blows his whistle and the Browns and Reds become one mesh of color. Mud and blood. By the middle of the first quarter, Mud is up by four points. Some of those girls are really built. Their center looks like she has coconuts for calves. I wonder if they double as a wrestling team.
Lightning Liz moves fast with the ball. She avoids the Thunder and passes off to Zoey. Zoey scores again and again. The Browns are fierce, though, especially Number 20, who plows through anyone who gets in her way. I keep my eyes on them, trying to learn their secret. By the time the first-quarter buzzer goes off, I realize there’s no secret—they’re just that good. The score is 16 to 10, Browns in the lead.
I’m in and out during the second and third quarters. The game is tight at the end of the third quarter. Browns are up by four. I only make one basket, but I hustle like Coach said. I don’t give the Browns the opportunity to steal the ball from me, and I make a couple of decent passes.
Liz’s mom cheers me and Liz on. It’s nice to hear her boisterous voice over all the unfamiliar ones. The Browns have a lot of support. They even have a cheering squad of little girls in Brownie uniforms. I don’t know if it was planned, but it does seem very appropriate. It would be kind of hard to get the Red Cross or the wait staff at TGI Friday’s to show up as our supporters.
Fourth quarter, I’m in with five minutes left in the game. Browns in the lead, 32 to 28. Coach says we can still beat them.
“Eyes on the ball, girls,” she yells from the sideline. I watch the orange circle move back and forth. Teri has the ball. I need to let her know I’m open. This is my chance to score big. My elbows are flexed back and I make like a brick wall, guarding Number 20.
“Over here, Teri.” I wave my hands back and forth like I’m a damsel in distress in one of those old black-and-whites that Lucien has us watch every Christmas. I should’ve invited Lucien to the game. He would’ve showed, even if he had to leave Monica in charge of the gallery. I peer out into the crowd. There are a lot of fresh faces; I’m sure most of them are for the Browns.
Teri tosses me the ball and I hold on tight. I look left, then right, planning my next move.
A couple of guys yell, “Pass, Eleven.” Eleven, that’s me. I look over by the huge oak. There are two guys. One is big and beefy and the other is … no, it can’t be. The one with the blond spiky hair looks like Graham. I’m pretty dehydrated, so it could be that my mental status has been compromised.
“It’s all you, baby,” the beefy guy yells, and Spiky Hair says, “Go Kate!”
What? He knows Kate by name? Graham knows Kate.
Bam! I’m knocked to the ground and the ball rolls away. Ouch, that hurt. I blindly reach for the ball, but somebody grabs it and what seems like a herd of elephants stampedes by me.
I’m wide open again, but now the whole team is at the other end of the court … watching the Browns sc ore … a three-pointer. How did that happen? And the whistle blows … Coach calls for a time-out. Isn’t anyone going to help me up? I look around. My fellow teammates are all gathered over by the bench. I get up and hobble over to them. Coach stops talking and turns to me. “Are you all right?”
I look down at my legs. My left knee is red. But no blood. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Good to hear. But what were you thinking? Eleven out, thirty-two in.” Coach shakes her head.
So much for sympathy.
“Idiot cost us three points. No
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