Page 6

FIVE

The flattery and celebration continue throughout the day, teachers and students alike fawning over last night’s game. The phenomenon around sports is something I’m used to. From the time I was old enough to dribble a ball, I’ve been getting attention for my skills, it seems.

I’m happy to extend that feeling to my girls. As I’m monitoring the hallways between class change, I spot different players. Some of the seventh-grade girls are wearing their jerseys over their clothes, a rule the administration was willing to break for this one day. Evie and Beth roam the halls, waving as they pass. At the end of the corridor, I spy Amber, Tara and Beatrice—nicknamed Queen Bea on account of her popularity on and off the court. There’s a crowd of people huddled around them at their lockers, and I imagine them recounting all the key moments from last night.

“What does it feel like to be a celebrity?” Kelly stands beside me, her puffy cardigan hanging loose over a striped swing dress. Kelly is one of the few teachers I get along with who isn’t directly tied to the sports world. Our conversations are refreshing because they’re not centered around teams and coaches and parent strife. Usually, we talk about what’s going on outside of school and, occasionally, other drama stirring up on campus.

“You’d have to ask them,” I say, nodding down the hallway at Beatrice and the other girls. “I’m old news now.”

“Not according to this morning’s paper,” says Kyle, standing on the other side of her. We’re the same age, but he looks much older in his tweed blazer and thick-rimmed glasses. He keeps the look casual with dark jeans and gel-styled hair. Like Kelly, he’s one of the few people I connect with at Manning.

“You saw that?”

“It’s all the kids were talking about in geography,” he says. “I couldn’t even get the class started because of all the chatter.”

“My warm-up activity every morning involves the students writing about a local article,” Kelly says. “You can guess which one they all chose.”

“That’s sweet. I’m proud of another win, but really, I’m just happy the season is over. Maybe I can get back to having a social life.”

“Speaking of, you want to grab a drink after work?” she asks us. “The kids are with my ex this week. It would be nice to do something besides binge-watch Love Island until I fall asleep.”

“I’m signed up to work the concession stand at the softball jamboree,” Kyle says. “I could probably use a drink after that.”

“It’s a plan,” she says, turning to me. “Cass?”

“Connor and I have plans to celebrate last night’s win,” I say. “But maybe later in the week?”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she says, turning to walk inside her classroom. “Unless something more pressing comes up.”

A bell rings, signaling students have one minute to get into their classes. Not surprisingly, Beatrice, Amber and Tara remain at their post, still surrounded by adoring peers. Even Evie and Beth have joined them. I watch them, Queen Bea’s mouth moving a mile a minute as she looks at something on her phone, the other girls hanging on her every word.

Except Evie, her stare downcast, an unusual sadness on her face.

“No phones during school hours, girls,” Kyle shouts down the hall, his voice instantly grabbing their attention. “Get to class.”

They scatter quickly in different directions, but I can’t help noticing Evie seems to move slower than the rest, and she refuses to look at me. Her face holds the same sad expression it did earlier this week at the diner. I’m struck with the desire to talk to her again, but she dips into a classroom before I get the chance.

* * *

Connor asked me to pick up a bottle of wine on my way home from work. He only does that on the nights he’s cooking dinner. I’m guessing medium rare steaks, whipped potatoes and asparagus.

I stop at the liquor store closest to the school to buy a nice bottle of red. I’m standing in line to pay, my eyes lingering on the small television above the counter. A Modern Family re-run is on the screen, even though the volume is too low to hear. Connor and I will snuggle on the couch and binge-watch the show on weekends, when I’m not busy with something team-related. Knowing the season has finally wrapped, I’ll have a few blessed weeks of no responsibility, and I’m suddenly longing to get home faster than before.

I pay for the wine—I ended up getting two bottles—and head out the door. I’m placing my wallet back inside my purse when I shoulder clip someone walking in. The brown paper bag narrowly avoids tumbling to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” the woman says, pausing in front of me.

My grip around the bag tightens as I push back my shoulders. “It was my fault, really. I wasn’t paying attention.”

The woman is petite with shiny, long hair. I study her face when I’m hit by a wave of recognition. I know her.

“Nadia?”

The woman tilts back her head. It takes her a moment to recognize me, too, but when she does, she smiles and holds out her arms for an embrace. “Cass? I can’t believe it.”

“How long has it been?” I lean into the hug, getting a whiff of citrus shampoo. The tropical scent is at odds with this dull, wishy-washy weather, but is wholly appropriate for Nadia. She was always a dazzling star amid a dim backdrop, and my former best friend. “I didn’t know you still lived here.”

“I moved back a few months ago from the west coast.”

“You always said you wanted to live out there,” I say, memories I’d not thought about in years suddenly coming to the forefront of my mind. “All that sea air and salt water, right?”

“Don’t get me started. I might just pack up and move back.” She pauses. “What about you? You must still live here. What do you do?”

“I’m a basketball coach over at Manning Academy.”

Nadia’s face lights up and I imagine she’s replaying the same girlhood conversations I just did. “That’s always been your dream job.”

“It has.”

As we stare at one another, appraising the various changes that have taken place in the fifteen years since we last spoke, I feel a bundle of emotion rising inside of me, wetness building in my eyes. Nadia and I were so close once. Harsh upbringings bound us to one another. Basketball, in many ways, broke us apart, sent us on separate paths.

Nadia looks into the liquor store, then back at me. “Are you busy? I’d love to grab a drink somewhere and catch up.”

Part of me wants to jump at the chance to sit with my friend and reminisce about old times, but another part of me proceeds with caution. Not all our memories are happy ones. Nadia knows things about me no one else does, a fact that overshadows our friendly reunion.

“I can’t tonight,” I say, glancing at the bag in my arms. “I have plans with my fiancé, but I’d love to get together one night this week.”

“Fiancé?” She raises her eyebrows and pretends to bow. It’s quite jarring, these adult versions of ourselves juxtaposed against the mischievous girls we used to be. “I want to hear all about him. Give me your details.”

I recite my number to Nadia as she plugs the digits into her phone. She calls me so that I have her number, too. My pocket buzzes for a moment, letting me know we’re connected.

“It’s great seeing you again,” I say, shuffling to the parking lot.

I deposit the wine into the passenger seat and stick the keys into the ignition, but I don’t pull out of the lot right away. I’m still watching Nadia. From where I’m parked, I can see her waltzing around the store. She still has that easy way about her, flitting from aisle to aisle, studying each selection. Another gentleman passes her, then doubles back to say something to her.

Nadia’s as beautiful now as she was when we were younger, still capable of capturing the attention of strangers. I chuckle as I watch her flirt, like I’ve traveled back in time and I’m watching boys chat with her in the hallways of our high school. That charming demeanor helped us manipulate our way out of trouble time and time again, I remember uneasily.

So much has changed since then, most of it for the better. I never thought I would be the woman I am today. A role model for the younger girls in my community. Engaged to a wealthy Manning native. As Nadia says, working my dream job.

Before I put the car into drive, I open the console and stare at Melinda Terry’s cell phone, the one I stole last night. A lot has changed since my childhood, sure.

But maybe not everything.