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A split second after I think that, my father comes over after having given away all the certificates. He puts his arm around me. “This is it, Tess. Take him down. Don’t let him bully you out there.”
I nod. This is how I’ve always wanted to solve this with Lake anyway. Maybe my dad suggested it for that reason. If I’d won outright, Lake could say, even though it’s never happened, that it was given to me. On the flip side, if Lake won, I could say that they just don’t like girls even though I would never be that petty. I know sexism exists, hell, I live it, but not here. Outsider opinions are none of my concern.
“Play hard. Play smart,” my dad says, his words settling over me in a kind of soothing way. Ever since I played for the kids’ teams, he’s been saying the same things to me. I know I can beat Lake at this game, I’ve done it before. I just need to do it now when it matters the most.
It’s all come down to this. If I win this game, I win Shooting Guard MVP. Shooting Guard MVP will give me a quiet senior year at RHS. Lake can’t do anything to me. If he does, I’ll turn him in for pill popping myself. I’ll turn him in under the suspicion that he probably tried to mess with my drug results last year. If he values his character at all, he’ll follow through now that I’ve got something on him.
One of the coaches that’s been with my dad for a while stands in the center. He gestures both Lake and I forward with his hands. “First to five wins. Play fair.” He slips a coin from his pocket. “Call it, O’Brien.”
The coach flips the coin in the air as Lake says, “Tails.”
It lands on Tails, so he gets the decision. Obviously, he wants the ball first. This game will be close, so he wants every advantage he can get. “Shake hands,” the coach says.
Lake glares at me, but he reaches across anyway. His hold is firm, almost bone-crushingly so. The look in his eye sends a shiver down my spine. The scene at the bar spins through my head. He said he hated me, and now more than ever, I know he means it. He really does hate me. He loathes me.
“Come on, Tessa,” Hayes calls out, clapping.
If he could hate me any more, he would. Lake’s gaze twists toward Hayes and it’s as if I see a knife sinking into his back right then and there.
“Check,” the coach says, then stands back and blows his whistle.
I’m on D first. With my heart pounding in my ears, I watch his every movement. I move when he does, trying to anticipate, but not wanting to anticipate too much so that he fakes me out of my shoes. All the players stay for our game. They clap and shout our names. It’s been apparent to everyone from the beginning that there was no love lost between the two of us. They all know it, shouting for the one they think deserves this the most. I try not to focus on them, but I do hear my name being said, and I don’t think it’s just Hayes the whole time.
Lake tries to spin, but I’ve seen him start to advance. I make my move, reaching for the ball. Slapping it out of his hand, it bounces to the sidelines right into Ryan Linc’s hands.
I smile but hide it right away. This game has a long way to go yet. We’re just getting started. Ryan glances at me as he throws the ball back to the coach. His gray eyes are swirling, laced with a worry I can’t comprehend.
I shake my head and turn away, lining up at the top of the key. “Check,” the coach tells us.
I bounce the ball to Lake, and he bounces it right back. He’s low in his stance, arms outstretched wide. I try to fake him out. I try to move him back. He’s brought his A game tonight when I don’t see a way around him. Since he won’t let me pass, I pull up for the jumper only I don’t have my feet set. It clangs off the rim. I grit my teeth.
Sloan grabs the rebound this time, tossing it back to the coach. I look away after making eye contact with him. There’s too much going on right now that I can’t focus on them.
Lake takes position and checks the ball to me. The next several times either one of us has the ball, we can’t complete a shot. Nerves streak through my body, firing up my nerve endings. I try to shake my hands out in between possessions. Finally—finally—I get past Lake on a fake, dribble around him, and then jump for the layup. The ball swishes through the net, and I pull a Tiger Woods after he’s made a great put.
“Fuck,” Lake curses under his breath.
Now that it’s his turn with the ball, he comes out right away with reckless abandon. He pushes and pushes me back until he hits me with enough force to fall on my ass. During a regular game, it would be a foul, but I scramble to my feet and jump in the air to try to block the shot. Only, I’m too late. All I can do is turn and watch as the ball hits the backboard but bounces right back down into the hoop.
We’re tied. All the players cheer. I’m tense as I make my way to the top of the key now. I hear my dad in the background telling me to “Take it easy.” It must be apparent to everyone that I want to kick Lake’s ass about now. I need to keep my head in the game though, so when I start to move, I pull the same thing back on him. He may be bigger than me and playing rough has never been my thing, but I do the same move back to him. I move him back and move him back until a well-placed hip check creates space for me. That’s when I pull up with enough time to make my shot perfect. The ball arcs through the air and falls right into the net.
Two to one.
The more we play, the more the atmosphere crackles with electricity. I want to take him out so badly. We’re such an even match though. We’re not playing for who’s a good person. If we were, I’d win every single time. No, this is about basketball.
We match each other shot for shot until it’s four to four. There’s only one point separating me from having my freedom next year. I let that feeling envelop me. Not everyone else out there knows what’s on the line. Sloan and Hayes are practically bouncing on their feet. Ryan is the only one who looks conflicted. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard him celebrate for the both of us. Lake looks much less cocky now than he did when we started this. I’m about to win. I can feel it.
Maybe he can feel it too.
He gives up some space. I’m too eager to take what I see as a gift. What I don’t understand in that moment is that Lake is and always will be an unfeeling psycho. When I jump for the shot, he anticipates it. He’s up before I am. He brings his hand down to block the ball, only he doesn’t slap it away like we’ve been trained to. No, he drives his hand down hard on top of the ball. My wrist bends back. Tendons pop and tear. A snap sounds.
I scream.
When we both land, he’s still there pressing down the ball in between us. My wrist yells in protest until his eyes cloud over and he just steps back. No one moves. No one speaks. The sound of the basketball bouncing away is the only thing I hear until chaos ensues. Ryan runs out into the middle of the court. Lake’s body goes flying until he skids on the unforgiving pavement. I bring my wrist to my chest and stare down at the awkward angle, tears in my eyes. Oh no.
Everything I fought for in this camp, I see draining away from me. My wrist. My shooting wrist. I can’t help the tears that come. I don’t even hide them as I look for my father through fractured vision. He runs toward me, holding me to his side.
Pain ricochets through me. I grit my teeth and bear down, so I don’t cry out.