“Those are warm up drills,” Jessica’s face was serious. “Just like those little hoopty things you just did out there.”
“Hoopty things?” Grant smiled.
“Rebel yells?” Jessica stuck her tongue out at Grant.
“Good Luck, Jess,” Grant winked.
Jessica threw her arms around Grant’s neck, thanking him. “All I’ve ever wanted is to sing. It’s my dream!”
Hailey walked up, offering her sister a sweet hug. “I’m praying for you; you’re gonna do awesome!”
“Do I look okay?” Jessica asked, straightening her shirt.
“You look beautiful,” Hailey assured her. “Doesn’t she, Grant?”
Grant moved his hand to his chin. “Well, you know, I had not noticed until you said something, but now that you mention it…”
“Shut up,” Hailey rolled her eyes, shoving him away. “Get out of here!”
Jessica smiled as Grant left her standing there with her sister. “Hailey,” she said seriously, attempting to straighten her sister’s outfit, only to give up once realizing there was no making an oversized basketball jersey look remotely feminine. “I don’t know what you’re gonna have to do to keep him from flying far from here, but don’t let that one get away…”
After a lifetime of being married to Randy Cohen, Nora viewed Jack as a very calm man, a patient man who was extremely level-headed and incredibly laidback. Yet, during the third quarter of play of Hope Hull’s tournament opener, when Hailey fouled out of the game on a controversial call, Nora realized that Jack’s emotions could get the best of him.
Following the call that turned the mild mannered coach into a referee’s worst nightmare, Nora watched as Jack charged out onto the court, his finger wagging in the referee’s face, his voice rising well above the noise of the crowd.
Jessica’s face was red with embarrassment as she sat down in the bleachers and covered her head. Nora rubbed her back consolingly as she watched Jack, horrified. “This is so embarrassing,” Jessica sighed.
When Jack was ultimately forced to accept the referee’s decision, his frustrations turned to his bench. He moved from Paul to Billy Wayne and back to Paul, his temper boiling. He stomped his feet, pointed at the scoreboard, and, when he kicked an empty metal chair and sent it sailing toward the gym wall, Emily glanced down at Jessica, her head still buried in her hands. “If you thought that was embarrassing, I would not look now,” she gulped, sinking into her seat next to her friend.
Her uniform sweaty, Hailey flopped into a chair on the sideline. Her knees spread apart, she squirted her face with a water bottle, then used the end of her shirttail to wipe the excess water from her forehead.
Jessica, who wished she had averted her eyes just a tad bit longer, shook her head in disbelief. “So ladylike,” she rolled her eyes.
“She’s just one of the guys,” Emily shrugged.
Jessica shook her head. “You couldn’t pay me to play basketball with a bunch of sweaty boys. In fact, you couldn’t pay me to put on that baggy little get-up she wears. There is just no way to give that thing any shape.”
“I don’t know,” Emily pondered. “I think if I was good enough to play with the boys, I’d be all over it!”
“So to speak,” Jessica smiled.
“So to speak,” Emily nodded.
The girls laughed, but their laughter was short-lived as the fourth quarter began.
The first play of the final quarter left Grant on his hands and knees under the other team’s basket. No one had knocked him down; there was no sign of visible injury; he had just sort of gone down on his own. Nora and the girls peered out at the court while Hailey moved to the edge of her chair on the sideline. Moments passed.
“Get up,” Nora urged under her breath, her tone hopeful and encouraging. Unconsciously, she symbolically pressed her hands together in prayer, which was only appropriate given the prayer racing through her head at that moment. “What’s wrong with my baby?” she wanted to yell. Every part of her wanted to run out onto the court and scoop him up the way she had done when he was two and tumbled down the brick stairs on the back porch of their house, skinning his knees and the palms of his hands to pieces. But, as a woman who had raised three sons, she had learned long ago that she was not to budge from her spot in the bleachers…ever. She was to remain there with everyone else, denying her motherly instincts and avoiding all endearments such as Pumpkin and Dumpling.
The referee blew his whistle, and, by the time Jack got to him, Grant was lying on his back, his breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling. Jack knelt beside Grant as the referee stood over them.
They talked for a moment, then with Jack’s help, Grant sat up slowly. He reached for the towel in Jack’s hand and wiped his face.
“You okay?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know,” Grant said, sounding rather surprised at finding himself on the floor. “I think so; I just got really weak and felt like I was gonna pass out. That’s never happened before.”
“You’ve played your heart out tonight; I’m sure you’re exhausted,” Jack frowned. He put his hand on Grant’s shoulder. “Do you want to finish the game, or do you want me to put someone else in? You make the call.”
“He looks a little pale, Coach,” the referee added.
“I’m okay,” Grant insisted. “I don’t feel great, but I’m okay.”
Jack pulled him to his feet. “You sure?”
Grant nodded.
“He’s been a little sick,” Jack told the referee who still looked slightly unconvinced about Grant continuing. “Nothing serious…just the flu…I guess he’s not completely over it.”
“I’m fine,” Grant grumbled.
“I know you’re tired,” Jack said, massaging Grant’s shoulders. “But even exhausted, you’re in a different league than anyone I could replace you with.”
“I’m fine, Jack!” Grant snapped, tiring of the doting. Then, his eyes on the floor, he muttered an apology. “I’m sorry… Coach Nelson.”
“It’s alright,” Jack smiled. He nodded at Grant. “Go get ‘em!” He held out his hand, and Grant gave him five.
