“We ain’t never fought like this before, Coach,” Billy Wayne sighed. “I agree with what Paul said yesterday. Grant’s got skills, but maybe they ain’t right for this team.”
“Do you blindly agree with everything Paul tells you?” Grant rolled his eyes.
“Me and Paul been playing ball together all our lives,” Billy Wayne nodded, “and we ain’t never had a bit of trouble ‘til you showed up.”
“Well, since your antenna don’t exactly pick up all the channels, let me fill you in on the obvious,” Grant grinned. “I’m not the problem. Let’s put the blame exactly where it belongs…on the sixth man on the court…namely, Paul’s gigantic ego.”
Paul shrugged at Billy Wayne as if to ask if he was going to sit there and let this new kid get away with putting him down.
“I might not be the smartest fella out here…” Billy Wayne began.
“Let’s be completely honest,” Grant nodded. “If brains were taxed, you’d get a refund.”
“Huh?” Billy Wayne grumbled.
“If brains were wood, your pet termite would starve,” Grant offered.
“He’s calling you stupid, Billy Wayne,” Paul said, crossing his arms.
“You calling me stupid?” Billy Wayne asked Grant. “I don’t like to be called stupid,” he declared, abruptly shoving Grant hard.
“Wow,” Grant laughed as the force knocked him back. “I bet you can lift a ton, big boy…too bad you can’t spell it.”
“Grant, you seem to have caught your breath,” Jack nodded. “You and Billy Wayne head over to the baseline and give me twenty.”
“Coach!” Billy Wayne bellowed as he struggled to get up from the floor.
“We’ll all wait right here until you’re done,” Jack shrugged. “I intend to say everything I planned to say, and if it takes us sitting here all night for that to happen, I’m a very patient man.”
Grant finished his second set of twenty suicides, and Jack tossed him a bottle of water. “Good job,” he nodded.
“Coach?” Billy Wayne cried.
“Keep going, Billy Wayne,” Jack urged as Billy Wayne walked to the baseline and sluggishly bent down to touch it. “You can do it!”
“What number is he on?” Grant asked.
“Six,” Hailey rolled her eyes. “He’s never going to make it, Dad.”
“Six?” Grant laughed. “Somebody better go ahead and call an ambulance if you think he’s making it to twenty.”
“I can’t do this, coach!” Billy Wayne panted as he trudged down the court.
“Your punishment has to be served,” Jack called. “Keep going!”
“What if I just apologize for pushing him?” Billy Wayne begged as he moved down the floor at a snail’s pace before stopping to rest his hands on his knees. “You know runnin’ ain’t ever been my thing, Coach.”
“Okay,” Jack thought. He glanced over at Grant. “Are you willing to except his apology?”
“Sure,” Grant nodded. “I’m not interested in seeing the guy fall out.”
“Does that mean you’re also willing to except his punishment?” Jack followed up.
“Are you kidding me?” Grant grinned.
“Somebody owes me thirteen and a half more suicides,” Jack shrugged.
“Please, Grant?” Billy Wayne begged.
Grant rolled his eyes. “Sit down, fat boy.”
Jack watched as Grant hustled down the floor, his shirt soaked in sweat.
“Dad, this isn’t fair,” Hailey insisted.
“He’s got eight more to go, but feel free to get out there and knock one off for the team,” Jack shrugged.
Hailey glanced over at Paul and Joe John who seemed perfectly content to keep their seats on the floor. “Get up,” she insisted. “We’re a team, and we’ll pick up Billy Wayne’s slack as a team.”
Hesitantly the boys followed Hailey over to the line.
Grant glanced over at Hailey as they ran. “I could have finished them no problem, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” Hailey smiled. “But we’re a team, right?”
“Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” Grant asked as Hailey pulled into the driveway of a small, white house on Saturday morning.
