CHAPTER THREE 

Early on Monday morning, Grant shot out of bed awoken by a ferocious cock-a-doodle-doo that, on Sunday morning, had nearly caused him to jump out of his skin. “I foresee that rooster having a very unfortunate accident in the not so distant future,” he grumbled to himself as he reached for his shoes.

The house was old and the wooden floors creaked. The door knobs were a little squeaky, and the windows rattled when the wind blew. The walls were in need of a fresh coat of paint and the floors were scratched badly and in need of refinishing. The furniture was aged, if not antique. The only bathroom was small, and the mirror above the sink was slightly cracked. There were repairs that could stand to be made throughout the house, but it was homey and comfortable all the same.

Evidence that the room where Grant was sleeping had been Hailey’s room as recently as the day before he arrived still remained on the walls and on the shelves. In case he had failed to notice those clues, the Tennessee Volunteers poster on the back of the door or the signed picture of Pat Summitt on a top shelf, Hailey had repeatedly reminded him of her sacrifice on the two previous nights when she was forced to bunk with Jessica and Emily. Wearing high-top tennis shoes and the red, Adidas, basketball shorts he had slept in, Grant made a stop by the bathroom before heading to the kitchen. Without turning any lights on, he took the carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured himself the last glass.

Hailey strolled into the kitchen wearing short black shorts and a black Nike sports bra; she flipped the light switch on as she hummed a cheery tune. “What are you doing up?” she sighed when she saw Grant standing at the counter.

Grant curled his lip. “As though anyone could possibly sleep through your feathered friend’s wake up call. Have you ever considered an inanimate alarm clock?”

“So sorry that Herbert disturbed your beauty sleep,” Hailey smiled sarcastically.

“Herbert?” Grant wrinkled his nose.

“That’s his name! Do you have a problem with that?” Hailey shrugged.

“Not particularly,” Grant shook his head. “It’s just that you say Herbert, and I automatically think Hoover, who, oddly enough, ran on the campaign slogan: ‘A chicken in every pot and a car in every garage.’ If you pluck the feathers, I’ll put some water on to boil. Breakfast! Bam!”

Hailey stared at Grant as though he was speaking Gibberish.

“You know, ‘Blessed are the young, for they shall inherit the national debt,’” Grant quoted. “That guy.”

Hailey shook her head. “You lost me.”

Grant raised his eyebrow. “The thirty-first president of the United States, preceded by Coolidge and succeeded by Roosevelt. I take it you’ve heard of the Great Depression?”

“I’m choosing to ignore you right now,” Hailey declared as she opened the refrigerator door.

“Good, because you’re annoying me,” Grant shot back.

“Cock-a-doodle-do!” Hailey sang out, without looking back, her head buried in the refrigerator, searching out the missing orange juice carton. “Is that annoying enough for you?”

Grant smiled as his eyes wandered from Hailey’s perfectly molded calves to the two enticing dimples in the small of her back. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but one perfect tendril of curls fell down over her sculpted, yet feminine, shoulder.

Hailey spun around and eyed the glass in Grant’s hand. “Who said you could have the last of the orange juice?” she snapped as she grabbed for the empty carton on the table.

“Grumpy in the mornings, are you?” Grant smiled. “I’ll make a note of that.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Hailey stomped. “I just like to have a sip of orange juice before my morning run. That’s all.”

Grant took a big gulp from his glass. “Do you want the rest?” he offered.

“Gross, I don’t want to drink after you!” Hailey insisted.

Grant winked at her. “It’s a little late at this point to worry about swapping spit, wouldn’t you say?”

“Gross!” Hailey squirmed uncomfortably.

“Funny,” Grant smirked. “If I recall correctly, your previous descriptive of choice was…”

“You don’t know when to shut up,” Hailey interrupted.

“As in shut up and kiss me?” Grant shrugged.

Hailey eyed Grant hatefully. “You’ve been here for two days already,” she sighed. “I guess it’s about time we have this conversation.”

There was a long silence, during which Hailey stared at the floor and hoped Grant would come up with a clever way to change the subject.

Just as Hailey began to speak, Grant cut her off. “Did you know that in German, the onomatopoeia for the sound a rooster makes is kikeriki?”

“Roosters in Germany really speak a different language than roosters in America?” Hailey exclaimed.

Grant smiled broadly. “Yes, Hailey, roosters tend to pick up the native tongue of their country.” Hailey just looked at him. “No,” Grant laughed. “An onomatopoeia is just an imitation of a sound. The rooster sounds the same; the way they interpret it sounds differently.”

“Onomatopoeia is a strange word,” Hailey declared. “How does someone even come up with something like that?”

Grant sat his glass of orange juice aside. “Well, it actually comes from the Greek words…”

“You lead a double life as someone who walks around with taped up glasses, suspenders and a pocket protector, don’t you?” Hailey laughed.

Grant smiled wryly. “I recently traded in my most stylin’ suspenders and my favorite pocket protector for overalls and a pitchfork.”

“You know what?” Hailey grumbled, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. She reached for this glass and took a quick swig of orange juice. “As lovely as this conversation has been, I’m going for a run now, and you’re gonna stay out of my way. Got it?”

Grant lifted his fingers to salute as he followed Hailey out the back door to the carport.

Doing her best to ignore Grant, Hailey started to jog down the driveway.

“What are you doing?” Grant called as he bent over and scooped up two basketballs.

Hailey stopped and turned back. “You’re a smart boy, what does it look like I’m doing?” she yelled.

“Wasting your time,” Grant said as he tossed her a ball. “You’re a point guard, not a track star; nobody cares how long or how fast you can go if you can’t do it dribbling a basketball.”

“It’s just my morning jog,” Hailey argued. “I’m focusing on cardio; I’m not working on my game right now.”

“Well,” Grant shrugged, “have it your way. If you don’t want to be the best, what do I care?”

“Fine,” Hailey groaned. “Let’s go! I bet I can out run you, out last you, and out dribble you.”

Grant smiled as he slapped Hailey’s ball away.

“Hey! Not fair!” Hailey hollered as Grant jogged backwards, waiting for her to catch up.

There was an easy, October breeze in the air as Hailey and Grant ran along a dirt path that stretched past a huge pasture. Hailey dribbled with one hand while using the other to point out introductions to Connie the spotted cow, Betsy the potbellied pig and Fred, a mangy looking horse, who snarled when they ran by. Half an hour passed as they jogged in silence, each taking in the scenery and contemplating the company.

Hailey grinned, silently and repeatedly reminding herself that it was probably not a good idea to keep stealing glances of Grant’s chiseled chest muscles, even if the glisten of sweat that shimmered ever so slightly in the morning sun was, despite her best efforts to convince herself otherwise, the sexiest thing she had ever seen. When their eyes met, Hailey offered a shy smile. “I probably should have warned you that red shorts might not have been the way to go, considering this route takes us right past the Mason Farm, home of the meanest bull in town.”

Hailey admired the ease with which Grant shrugged off the joke. “I’ve always wanted to run with the bulls,” he laughed. “If not in Pamplona, why not Hope Hull?”

When Hailey and Grant jogged inside after their run, they found Nora and Jack talking in the kitchen.

“You have twenty minutes,” Jack smiled as he pointed at the clock. “I’ve got to go…please don’t be late for school.”

Thirty minutes later, after fighting over the bathroom and arguing over something trivial, Hailey and Grant walked out of their rooms at the same time. Hailey was wearing hip huggers and a white tank top; her brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, and Grant realized that it was the first time he had ever seen her with her hair down.

Hailey stared at Grant as he stood in front of her, his shirt in his hand, unable to take his eyes off of her. “What are you looking at?” she gulped.

Jessica stepped out of the bathroom into the hallway, belting out a spot-on rendition of the Reba McIntyre classic Fancy. The sight of her sister brought the song to an abrupt end. “Did you blow-dry your hair?” she asked, eyeing Hailey curiously.

Hailey gave her sister a sideways smirk. “The sound of the hairdryer drowned out the Faith Hill impersonation that was getting stuck in my head.”

Jessica and Grant grinned at each other, both recalling the scene the night before when Grant had walked into the living room and caught Jessica alone, standing on couch in her pajamas, rocking out into a hairbrush and head banging to a Gwen Stefani song, her chestnut brown hair full, silky and thrashing around like the girl’s in the Herbal Essence commercial. Grant had stood for a long moment watching her, impressed by the big voice that came out of such a little body. Jessica, who had once, to her father’s horror, dreamed of being a roommate in the Real World house, now dreamed, instead, of competing as a contestant on the Fox hit American Idol. Even if she had been momentarily mortified when Grant caught her putting on a passionate, private concert for an empty room of adoring fans, her tune had changed when he winked at her, told her she sounded awesome and walked on toward the kitchen as though it had never happened.

“Good morning, Rockstar,” Grant offered, holding up his hand.

“You just wait,” Jessica declared as she high-fived him, holding on to his hand for a second before letting go. “One day you’re gonna see me standing on a stage in Hollywood, and Randy Jackson is going to declare me his dawg; Paula is going to be moved to tears and tell me how beautiful I look, then Simon Cowell is going to cap it off by declaring mine the performance of the night…no, of the season…no, in the history of the show!”

“Careful,” Hailey warned. “Your ego is beginning to rival his.”

Jessica laughed. “You would vote for me, wouldn’t you, Grant?”

Hailey took a step back as she noted the ease with which her sister moved into the arms of the shirtless stranger. She could feel the air seeping from her lungs as she stood like a spectator on the sidelines while Grant and Jessica danced close. Jessica sang a sultry version of Mama He’s Crazy as the two of them moved together, living in the moment, acting out the lyrics of the song. Hailey could not believe she was having to consciously fight the urge to claw the stars out of Jessica’s eyes. What did she care if her sister danced with Grant? They were just playing around, right? What did she care if they moved so well together that they looked as though this wasn’t their first trip onto the dance floor? What did she care if Grant’s hands were plastered an inch above her sister’s perfectly rounded posterior?

“Hurry, Jess!” Emily called from the living room, “I can’t be late for school on my first day!”

Jessica stopped singing, moved away from Grant, straightened her shirt with her hands and skipped off, ready for the school day. “Later, y’all!” she smiled.

Hailey stared at Grant, a tiny tinge of something akin to jealousy twinkling from her eyes. “The school does have a dress code. Perhaps you could be troubled to find a shirt to cover the chest you’re so fond of putting on display.”

Grant laughed, pulling on the white t-shirt that had been hanging from his pocket as he retreated to his room, and, to his surprise, Hailey followed him. “Can I help you?” he grinned as he pulled two shirts out of the suitcase he had yet to unpack.

“Sorry, I guess that at some point during the last eighteen years I got used to this being my room,” Hailey rolled her eyes, covering her own embarrassment. “I was just curious to see what you’ve done with the place.”

Grant gestured toward the quilt on the bed made up of country blue, khaki and rose colored squares. “I don’t think this thing suits me, but it’s warm.” He pulled a Tar Heels t-shirt over his head, and Hailey frowned.

“Are you really going to wear that on your first day?” she asked.

“No?” Grant asked, eyeing his shirt.

“No,” Hailey shook her head. She rifled through the clothes strewn about the floor. She tried not to let on when she noticed the t-shirt that all campers had received on their last day of basketball camp that summer. She tossed aside a black t-shirt that had something scrawled across the chest in a language she couldn’t make out. Finally settling on a slightly wrinkled, blue, button-down shirt, she tossed it toward Grant. He buttoned it up over his t-shirt and held out his arm, inaudibly asking Hailey to roll up his sleeves.

“Grant!” Nora called from the kitchen as she watched Emily and Jessica pull away. “Please don’t be late for school on your first day!”

Hailey reached into her pocket and twirled the keys to her truck around her finger. “See you there,” she smiled.

“Oh, come-on, Hailey!” Grant exclaimed.

Hailey ran for the door, laughing as Grant chased after her. He threw open the passenger’s door of her rundown, rusted, sky-blue, 1973 Chevrolet pickup truck and slid onto a seat with ripped interior and protruding, crumbled yellow foam. There was a crack down the center of the front windshield, and there was no side mirror on the passenger’s side. These indications, coupled with the massive dent across the truck’s front end, led Grant to believe that these issues might be indicative of Hailey’s driving ability, so he reached for his seatbelt, only to find that it was more decorative than functional.

“It ain’t a prize or anything,” Hailey shrugged, “but it’ll get us there and back and the radio still works.”

Grant seemed unsure when Hailey pulled to a stop along the road out front of a group of three boys walking along the roadside. All three middle-school-aged boys were wearing overalls and carrying their books in their hands. One chewed on a long strand of hay and another had a curious streak of dirt running down his cheek. Hailey manually rolled down her window and waved them over.

“Thanks, Hailey,” a freckled faced boy grinned as he and his two pals climbed into the back of the truck. “We had some cows get out this mornin’, and Jimmy Ray and Ricky Lee were kind enough to help me and daddy herd ‘em back in.”

Grant noticed the way one of the boys stared at him through the sheet of glass that separated them, as though he had never in his life seen someone he did not immediately recognize.

“What’s your middle name?” Grant asked, turning back to Hailey as they took off again.

“Jane. Why?” Hailey replied. “What’s yours?”

“I don’t have one,” Grant shook his head.

“Liar,” Hailey laughed. “What is it? Something awful and embarrassing?”

“Nope,” Grant shrugged. “I really don’t have one. A rarity in this town I know, but check the birth certificate. In fact, I’ve often considered dropping Cohen and becoming one of those one named wonders like Madonna or Prince or Cher.”

“Yeah,” Hailey mused, “Grant pretty much says it all.”

Grant wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by that, but he figured it couldn’t be all bad since she had managed to say it with a smile.

Hailey and Grant arrived at school after homeroom, and, as he followed Hailey down the hall, Grant made observations about his new classmates. He glanced down at his own wardrobe, wondering if there was an unwritten rule that suggested something in a plaid flannel was the way to go.

“Our first class is History with Mrs. Simmons,” Hailey said. “That’s her at the end of the hall.”

Grant stared at the woman who was the walking embodiment of a schoolmarm from a bad music video. She had a beehive hairdo, wore a plaid dress with a collar lined in lace and wore glasses with lenses that looked like the bottoms of two, glass, Faygo bottles.

“How old is she?” Grant asked.

“Old enough that if you misbehave she makes you stay after school and write sentences on the chalkboard,” Hailey shrugged. She gestured toward a small, square room the size of a large closet. “That’s the lunch room,” she informed Grant.

He glanced inside to see one long table with plastic, mismatched green, yellow and orange chairs spread around it.

“At lunchtime Maude sends her husband Jim over with the daily lunch special,” Hailey said. “He usually brings a jug of sweet tea with it.”

“What’s her name?” Grant whispered as he watched a girl walk by in short denim shorts, a red and white gingham top and pigtails, looking as though she had gotten lost on her way back to the set of Gilligan’s Island.

“Mary Ann,” Hailey answered casually.

Grant pinched himself on the arm, sure he had reached that point in the dream, right before you wake up, when what seems real begins to be filled with zany reminders that you’ve actually not somehow been transported to the set of Green Acres or been randomly dumped in the middle of Hazzard County, only to learn that you’ve been cast as Bo Duke, minus his General Lee.

“How many kids go to this school?” Grant asked cautiously.

“Twenty-five,” Hailey shrugged. “Eight in the senior class.”

Back in North Carolina there had been fifteen boys on Grant’s varsity basketball team alone. He scanned the pool of plaid and denim and realized he was looking at the entire student body.

A large boy clopped toward them, walking as though his feet were the size of snow skis. He was wearing dirty overalls, and, of course, a plaid, flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, displaying an odd combination of muscle and flab.

When the husky country boy opened his mouth, Grant could only stare. His accent made Granny Miller’s thick as stew accent sound almost regal. “Hailey, Mrs. Simmons marked you tardy this mornin’, but she said she done talked to you yesterday at church and she knowd you got some friends from the city stayin’ at your place, so she said she figured you’d be here before class got started real good.”

“Well, I made it,” Hailey smiled. She turned to Grant. “Billy Wayne Harper this is Grant Cohen.”

Billy Wayne stuck his hand out to Grant.

“Hi, Billy,” Grant said, shaking his hand firmly.

“It’s Billy Wayne,” Billy Wayne said confused.

“I should have known,” Grant nodded.

“Where you from?” Billy Wayne asked.

“I’ve been a little bit of everywhere,” Grant replied.

“I figured it must be somewhere real far away,” Billy Wayne nodded, “‘cause you don’t sound much like the folks from around here.”

“By the grace of God,” Grant nodded without cracking a smile.

Hailey rolled her eyes.

Mrs. Simmons stood at the end of the hallway, ringing a handheld bell, and, when Billy Wayne took off running toward his class, Grant smiled at Hailey. “Run, Forrest, Run!”

Hailey slapped Grant’s arm, which, naturally, Grant took as a good sign.

Out of the corner of his eye, Grant noticed a tall boy wearing Wranglers and a University of Tennessee t-shirt, and he immediately pegged him as the leader of the pack. Grant watched as two boys he knew to be Joe John Jordan and Billy Wayne Harper followed behind their ringleader like two oversized lackeys. “Who is he?” Grant pointed.

“That’s Paul Mason,” Hailey offered. “His daddy is the town doctor, and his mama does all the sewing for everybody. She made that quilt that’s on my bed and the curtains in our living room. She used to make me little dresses until she realized I was never going to be caught dead in one of those frilly things, and she stopped wasting her time. Paul’s the captain of the basketball team, and me and him…no… he and I…however that goes…are the only two people to make straight A’s all the way from kindergarten through senior year. People say Joe John has done it too, but that’s only because he gets special treatment, his daddy being principal and all. I distinctly remember that he made a B in math the first quarter of sixth grade!”

“So you’re alleging that the good preacher lies about his son’s academic record?” Grant smirked.

“No, that’s not what I said,” Hailey rolled her eyes.

“You know, if you keep doing that, your eyes are going to get stuck like that,” Grant shrugged.

“And you’ll only have yourself and your big mouth to blame for it,” Hailey quipped.

Grant put his arm around Hailey’s shoulders. “Lead the way to class, Miss Hailey Jane.”

“Don’t make me smack you,” Hailey grumbled as she bumped Grant away with her hip.

Upon entering the classroom, Grant found a desk in the second row. Watching him help himself to it, Hailey put her hands on her hips. “Oh, I don’t think so; get out of my desk,” she insisted.

“I don’t see your name on it,” Grant shrugged.

Hailey took out her pencil and scribbled her name on the desktop. “Better?” she shrugged.

Grant shook his head and grinned. “I believe that’s called vandalizing school property…don’t make me take you to the principal’s office. He might arrest you or send you to confession…one or the other.”

“That’s cute, very cute, but that is my desk you’re hogging,” Hailey groaned. “I have sat in this desk since freshman year, Grant. Don’t mess with tradition.”

“So where do I sit?” Grant replied. “Or are you people as set in your ways when it comes to desks at school as you are about pews in church?”

“How in the world would you know anything about how I am regarding my place in the pew?” Hailey grumbled. “As I recall, you couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed in time to make it to services yesterday.”

“Well, maybe if Herbert had let me sleep in just a little while…” Grant protested.

Hailey bent down close to Grant’s face. “Do I look like I care where you sit?” she shrugged. “Go sit in someone else’s desk; just get out of mine.”

Misty Munk and Paul Mason walked into the classroom with their books in hand, but, when Misty spotted Grant, she nearly dropped hers. “Have I seen you before?” she gulped. “You seem familiar.”

“I don’t think so; my name’s Grant,” Grant replied as he shook Misty’s hand.

“Oh my gosh…the Grant?” Misty exclaimed as she turned to Hailey.

“No,” Hailey snapped, resisting the urge to stomp on Misty’s foot. “No…no…I don’t have the slightest clue who you’re talking about…this is just Dottie Miller’s grandson…he’s staying with us because his mama is an old friend of my daddy’s.”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Mama told me she heard Coach’s old gal was back in town. Old flames rekindled…what do you think about that, Hails?”

Grant whispered something under his breath in a language that was either not English or just chocked so full of words Hailey couldn’t define that it sounded foreign. Hailey had no idea what he’d said, and she really didn’t care. For the moment, she decided to dismiss Paul’s rather crude and disingenuous commentary and focus only on making sure that her best friend Misty managed to keep her foot out of her big mouth.

“Coach tells me you play ball, Grant?” Paul said as he took his seat.

“Yeah,” Grant smiled as he extended his hand to Paul. “I’m your new point guard.”

“I see.” Paul shook Grant’s hand as he glanced at Hailey. “Did you hear that?” he chuckled. “He’s our new point guard, Hails.”

“I heard him,” Hailey gulped.

“Okay, class, take your seats,” Mrs. Simmons called as she clapped her hands. Grant shrugged, and, rolling her eyes, Hailey reluctantly slid into the desk beside him. “Quiet, class!” Mrs. Simmons sang out as she walked toward Grant’s desk. “You must be Mr. Cohen,” she smiled. “I heard you would be joining us today, but I see you haven’t been issued a book yet. Why don’t you just share with Miss Nelson. You can scoot your desks together for the time being.”

“Why me?” Hailey sighed, even as she obeyed.

“Class, let’s begin reading chapter fifteen to ourselves,” Mrs. Simmons instructed. “Read quietly, and I will finish recording your grades from last Friday’s test in my grade book, so I can get those on back to you.”

Hailey opened her history book. “What chapter did she say?” she whispered across the aisle to Misty.

“Not the sharpest knife in the drawer are you?” Grant smiled.

“Misty, what chapter?” Hailey whispered again.

“Fifteen, Hailey!” Grant said as he snatched the book from her.

“Thank you,” Hailey huffed as she yanked the book back.

“Sorry, just trying to be of assistance,” Grant shrugged, holding up his hands as he leaned away.

“I’m fairly certain I’m capable of opening this text book without a big, strong man to do it for me,” Hailey rolled her eyes.

“Big and strong, huh?” Grant considered.

“Or, in your case, annoying and obnoxious,” Hailey fired back.

“Shh, Hailey,” Mrs. Simmons scolded, pressing her finger against her own lips for a long, exaggerated moment. “You’re supposed to be reading, not talking.”

“Me?” Hailey grumbled. “He started it!”

“What was that, Miss Nelson?” Mrs. Simmons asked. “You’ll have to speak up; you know my hearing is going.”

“Nothing,” Hailey sighed as she began following her finger along the words on the page as she read.

“What are you doing?” Grant shrugged as he stared at her.

“I’m reading,” Hailey replied.

“Well, your hand is in my way, Darlin’; it ain’t Braille for crying out loud,” Grant snickered.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Hailey rolled her eyes.

“If the two of you cannot work together, I’ll be forced to separate you,” Mrs. Simmons warned.

“Please,” Grant nodded.

“Read, children!” Mrs. Simmons pointed.

Grant and Hailey stared at the book, each reading silently. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Grant exclaimed all of a sudden.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Cohen?” Mrs. Simmons asked.

“Isn’t there always,” Hailey rolled her eyes.

“This text is seriously third grade level,” Grant ranted. “The title alone, ‘General Custer: American Hero’, is insulting. We’re eighteen years old, so why don’t they just give it to us straight? I mean, yeah, Custer’s death made him a legend, but he was never really a hero, at least not by my definition.”

“It says he was courageous and confident,” Hailey replied. “And that he defeated…”

“Do you believe everything you read?” Grant shrugged.

“Let’s just say I value what this text book says about the guy more than I value your opinion of him,” Hailey nodded.

“Mr. Cohen, I would be very interested to know more about your thoughts on the subject. Would you mind sharing?” Mrs. Simmons asked as she crossed her arms, sat on the edge of her desk and waited, seemingly eager to hear his reply.

Misty leaned over to Hailey. “Look how excited she is to finally have someone who cares what she’s talkin’ about.”

“Custer was a pompous, arrogant fool,” Grant said confidently.

“You would know the type,” Hailey snickered.

Misty leaned toward Hailey’s ear again. “What is he doing here? Is this why I haven’t heard from you all weekend? I had no idea where you disappeared to.”

“Why weren’t you at church yesterday?” Hailey whispered.

“I miss church one week all year, and you show up with the best thing that has ever happened to you?” Misty contemplated.

“Hardly,” Hailey scoffed.

“Hailey, what kind of friends are we?” Misty sighed. “Your summer crush shows up out of the blue to redeem the error of his ways, and I don’t even get the courtesy of a phone call?”

“Keep your voice down, please!” Hailey swatted Misty away with her folder, only to notice the huge blob of whiteout covering a doodle that had, not long ago, read H.N. hearts G.C.!

“Well, let’s see what I can tell you about good ole George,” Grant pondered as he leaned back in his seat. “First off, the guy graduated dead last in his class at West Point; history wouldn’t even remember his name had it not been that he graduated at a time when, because of the war, the Army was in desperate need of new officers. He saw to it that he became a media darling promenading as a hero by launching a public relations campaign worthy of an attention crazed A-lister and not a military officer. Custer abandoned his troops in battle and left them in hostile territory to be massacred; he made critical mistakes brought on by his own bravado. None of that is acceptable.”

“But,” Misty broke in, “it says he won battles…”

“That’s all fine and dandy,” Grant shrugged. “What it doesn’t tell you is that this guy was so full of himself that he couldn’t be satisfied with a distinguished war record. His own ego led him to abandon morality is search of glory. Does the book tell you that he abandoned Major Joel Elliot and his eighteen men who had ridden off after the enemy? Custer never even bothered to look for them! That isn’t the way a general in the U.S. Army operates.”

“Why didn’t he look for them?” Paul asked curiously.

“My opinion,” Grant sighed, “the man was always looking out for number one, and he couldn’t have cared less about the men below him. I’ll give you an example. You’ve all heard of Custer’s Last Stand. Well, what you probably don’t know is that Custer chose to attack on Sunday, June 25, 1867. Do you know why? I’ll tell you why…the guy had plans…he thought big…huge…”

“What was significant about June 25th?” Misty asked, caring little about the answer but lots about how Hailey looked at Grant when he spoke.

“The way Custer saw it, he had one day before the democratic national convention,” Grant said with an air of confidence that was engaging. “Attacking on Sunday, when his men and his horses were exhausted was no oversight. He knew he was outnumbered, but he was so disillusioned that he didn’t care. Custer thought he could win the battle, be proclaimed a national hero, play off his popularity with the public and get himself nominated for the presidency. War was a game of self-promotion to him, and a lot of men died because of his negligence.”

“So why didn’t he win the battle?” Paul asked.

“Because his men and horses were tired,” Misty suggested, chiding Paul for not hanging on every word Grant said, the way she was.

“Yeah, that too,” Grant smiled. “But, his biggest problem can be summed up in one word…reconnaissance.”

“And what does that mean, pray tell?” Hailey rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you intend to enlighten the rest of us ignorant…”

“He didn’t know where his enemy was,” Grant cut her off. “He knew he was outnumbered, but he didn’t know how many of them he was up against, where they were positioned or how he should best formulate a plan of attack. Then, on top of that, he split his command. The number one rule of battle is …”

“Okay,” Hailey chuckled. “You’ve impressed everyone. Everyone give him a round of applause. We’ll all write in the margin of our text books that this does not necessarily coincide with definitions presented by the great war scholar Grant Cohen who thinks he knows it all…well, because his daddy is a four- star general.”

“I would wholeheartedly concur that my father’s rank certainly does not make me an expert,” Grant shrugged. “I mean that would be like thinking that just because your daddy is a basketball coach that you’ve got game.”

Hailey’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “You know I can play ball, Grant!” she insisted as she swatted his shoulder with a resounding pop.

“Miss Nelson, I’m surprised at you. That’s not the way we behave in this classroom,” Mrs. Simmons scolded.

“Sorry,” Hailey groaned.

Grant smiled, massaging his shoulder and milking Mrs. Simmons’ sympathy.

“What are you smiling like that for?” Hailey asked as she shoved him.

“You’ve got spunk…I like it,” Grant shrugged.

Hailey turned away, rolled her eyes, leaned her elbow against her desktop and, bringing her pen top to her mouth, she smiled.

“Hailey!” Paul cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled down the hallway. “Get over here! We need to talk!”

“Go!” Misty urged, almost too eagerly. “I’ll walk Grant to our next class.”

Hailey grabbed the strap of Misty’s backpack and pulled her toward her. “Ask him anything about last summer, and I will kill you,” she whispered.

“Me?” Misty sighed with an innocent tilt of her head.

Hailey trudged toward Paul, knowing all too well what he had to say.

Misty was cute and friendly in a way that made Grant immediately comfortable around her, even if he occasionally had trouble following her long, rambling explanations. She was significantly shorter than Hailey’s five foot eight inches and not nearly as fit, but, unlike Hailey, she wore makeup; she had pierced ears, and her fingernails were painted hot pink.

Grant glanced back at Hailey and saw her talking to Paul who was using frantic hand motions to make a point. As Paul talked, Hailey tugged a ponytail holder from her wrist and began gathering her mop of hair into her hands. Without a mirror or a moment’s worth of vanity, she tied her hair up into a lopsided fountain of curls.

“So, tell me about yourself, Grant,” Misty insisted, gently turning his chin toward her, forcing Grant to notice that he had been staring at Hailey.

“There isn’t that much to tell,” Grant laughed.

Misty pulled a bag of animal crackers from her purse and neatly unfolded the crease in the top of the package; she took one for herself and, reaching the bag toward him, offered one to Grant. “I missed breakfast,” she smiled.

“I’ll pass,” Grant shook his head. “My mom made me and Hailey sausage and eggs before we left the house.”

“I’m a vegetarian,” Misty offered. “I guess that comes from years of seeing my daddy slaughter animals that I was naïve enough to name. At first I only avoided cows, pigs, that sort of thing. Then, one Thanksgiving when I was eight, Mama cooked up Tommy the turkey for Thanksgiving dinner, and now I avoid meat all together.”

Grant laughed, struck by the irony. “Should a vegetarian really be eating animal crackers?”

Misty grinned shyly and bit the head off of a camel.

“I’m just kidding,” Grant winked. “So, how long have you and Hailey been friends?”

“Hailey and I have been best friends since we were bed babies in the nursery at church,” Misty replied chipperly. “I’ve been going out with Paul since like sixth grade or so.” Without so much as stopping to take a breath, she continued. “Our click pretty much consists of, Paul, me, Hailey, Jess, Joe John and Billy Wayne. It’s such a small town that we’re all really like one big extended family.”

Misty started speaking again, but Grant was only half listening.

“My mama and my granny still talk about how your mama disappeared after her senior year,” she said, and Grant’s ears perked up. “Of course, I didn’t realize that Nora Miller was your mama until Hailey told me about five minutes ago. People around here get very set in their ways, so to them I guess she will always be Nora Jean Miller instead of Nora Cohen. That’s why it took me a minute to put two and two together. All you have to do is go sit down at Maude’s for ten minutes, and you can catch up on what everybody in town is up to. Yesterday at church your granny told my granny, who told my mama, that Nora Jean’s boy, and I’m guessing she means you even though I didn’t know that at the time, is nothing but a fancy talkin’ bundle of trouble waitin’ to happen. Is that true? Are you bad news?”

Grant shook his head, imagining two old women in their Sunday best, talking smack about him in the pews, and the image made him grin. “Does anyone really ever answer yes to that question?”

Misty shrugged. “I mean if your own granny says you’re trouble, then…”

“Yes,” Grant nodded, “I am an awful human being with no morals and no values, here to corrupt you wholesome country folks with my big city vocabulary.”

“You don’t seem so bad,” Misty said after a moment.

“So what’s the word on me over at Maude’s?” Grant chuckled.

Misty shook her head dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I remember one time when I was real little, it got around town that I had lost my first tooth, and people kept on asking me if the Tooth Fairy had come. The truth was, my tooth was barely loose, even though I had wiggled it for days tryin’ to get that money. So, sometimes they get it wrong.”

Upon entering his next class for the day, Grant learned that Mrs. Jordan the English teacher pulled double duty as the math teacher as well.

“Well, hi there, Sweetheart,” she greeted him when Grant stepped inside. “You must be Nora Jean Miller’s boy. They warned me you were cute as pie.”

“Hey there!” Joe John stuck out his hand, and Grant shook it.

“This is my boy,” Mrs. Jordan said proudly. “Joe John, this here is Grant. He’s gonna play ball with y’all.”

“Where you from?” Joe John asked as his mother excused herself to go prepare for class.

“Around,” Grant shrugged.

Billy Wayne poked his head into the conversation. “He’s been a little bit of everywhere,” he declared. He looked Grant over curiously. “Have you been to every state?”

“No,” Grant smiled wryly, “only fifty of them.”

Billy Wayne nodded. “Oh yeah…well, I’ve been to all fifty two…you know, including Hawaii and Alaska.”

“I thought that might be the case,” Grant nodded.

“Go on now, Billy Wayne,” Misty said, as though shooing away a stray dog.

Billy Wayne trotted off and Joe John followed him.

“That boy must have snuck into the gene pool while the lifeguard was off duty,” Grant smiled.

Misty laughed. “Rule number one…if you’ve done it, Billy Wayne Harper has done it bigger and better. I swear if I announced I was pregnant, Billy Wayne would miraculously conceive twins.”

Grant grinned. “So…is he on my new team?”

Misty pursed her lips together.

“Great,” Grant rolled his eyes.

“Go easy on him,” Misty laughed as Mrs. Jordan began ringing her bell and shushing her students.

Laughing, Grant leaned down to whisper something in Misty’s ear as Paul and Hailey arrived late to class. “Hey,” Paul hollered, shoving Grant from behind. “Do you think you can just show up here and start flirting with my girlfriend?”

“Paul, what did you do that for?” Misty yelped. “We were just talkin’!”

“Excuse me!” Mrs. Jordan said, stepping between the two boys. “Why don’t you both find a seat?”

Paul glared past his teacher at Grant. “I don’t know what it is that makes girls lose their minds around you,” he pointed, “but I’m warning you…”

“You’re warning me?” Grant laughed, and instantly their relationship was on shaky ground.

“Both of you, shut-up and sit down,” Hailey grumbled.

Misty grabbed Paul’s arm and led him to the opposite side of the room from where Hailey shepherded Grant.

“Class, as you know,” Mrs. Jordan began as she started passing out papers, “we have a test today.” She stopped at Grant’s desk. “I don’t know if you have covered this material yet at your old school, so I won’t require you to take this.”

“It’s fine. I’ll take it,” Grant shook his head.

“Okay, well, I like that attitude,” Mrs. Jordan said, her voice full of praise. “You go ahead and give it a try, and if you have too much trouble, we’ll get you caught up and let you take it again.”

Grant took the test paper and began scribbling down answers. Just as Mrs. Jordan managed to hand out the remainder of the papers, he was finished. He handed his paper in, and the teacher smiled. “Did you change your mind?”

“No,” Grant shrugged. “I’m finished.”

Mrs. Jordan let out a little chuckle. “Oh, Darlin’, there is no way.”

“It wasn’t exactly rocket science,” Grant rolled his eyes.

“There is no way you’re finished already, Showoff,” Paul bellowed. “I’m always the first person finished, and I’m still on the first problem.”

“Well, take all the time you need,” Grant shrugged, “but I’m done.”

“Hey, Paul, what if he plays basketball better than you too?” Billy Wayne marveled in a loud whisper.

With one sideways glance, Paul was able to intimidate Billy Wayne into a retraction.

“Not gonna happen,” Billy Wayne grumbled, loyally squeezing Paul’s shoulder.

“Will everyone be quiet?” Hailey begged. “Some of us are trying to concentrate.”

“Amen to that,” Misty concurred.

Mrs. Jordan handed Grant’s paper back to him. “Why don’t you at least take your time and give me a solid effort? It’s not a race.”

Grant took his test paper back, crumpled it up in his hand, shot it into the trashcan and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

“Oh my!” Mrs. Jordan gasped.

Hailey fidgeted in her chair, trying to focus on the problems on the page, but she found herself raising her hand instead.

“Yes, Hailey?” Mrs. Jordan asked.

Hailey spoke softly. “My throat is really dry. Can I go get a sip of water?”

“Sure, Sweetheart,” Mrs. Jordan nodded, and Hailey bolted for the door.

Hailey found Grant sitting outside on the front steps of the school. He heard the door open behind him but refused to turn around.

“Hey,” Hailey said, nudging him with her foot, “you can’t just run out of class.”

“I didn’t run. I walked,” Grant corrected.

“Either way,” Hailey rolled her eyes. “You have to come back.”

“No, I don’t,” Grant shook his head. “This is a colossal waste of my time. It’s a joke, and I’m not in the mood…”

“Did you really finish your test that quickly?” Hailey asked, sitting down next to Grant.

“Shouldn’t you get back inside and finish yours?” Grant replied.

“How did you work out all those problems that fast?” Hailey asked.

“I don’t know,” Grant shrugged. “I just look at them and calculate the answers in my head. It comes naturally to me.”

“That’s amazing,” Hailey sighed.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Grant shook his head.

“So are you like Matt Damon’s character in Good Will Hunting?” Hailey pondered interestedly.

Grant grinned. “Sure, only smarter and better looking, and I can do a pretty mean Boston accent too. How do you like them apples?”

“And so modest on top of it,” Hailey laughed.

Suddenly, the door opened behind them, and Hailey glanced back over her shoulder to see her father staring back at her. “What is going on here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t the two of you be in class?”

“I’ve decided to go back to North Carolina,” Grant declared. “I’ve had about all of Hope Hull that I can stand.”

“Oh, come-on now,” Jack frowned. “I’m sure everyone feels out of place on their first day at a new school.”

“Jack, I hate it here,” Grant argued. “I hate everything about this place.”

Hailey stared down at her father’s shoes, disappointed.

“At least give it until after our first practice,” Jack suggested as he ushered the kids back inside the building.

Grant was shocked to find himself actually walking back to class, lured by a mysterious force that he didn’t fight. He managed to get away with resting his head on his desktop until Mrs. Jordan rang the bell that signified the end of class, only to discover he got to stay put for his next period English class.

“Let’s get started,” Mrs. Jordan smiled as she held up a paperback copy of Macbeth.

“Mrs. Jordan,” Billy Wayne said, raising his hand. “I didn’t get a chance to finish my readin’ last night, ‘cause we had church, and I had to study for my math test.”

“Did everyone else get a chance to complete the reading assignment?” Mrs. Jordan asked.

“I read it,” Misty blurted, “but I didn’t get it. I don’t understand why we have to keep reading Shakespeare. The characters talk funny, and it’s not like the stories are relevant to anything that actually goes on today.”

“Yeah,” Joe John groaned. “It’s not like we’re ever gonna need to know this stuff, Mama.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Grant shook his head. “It’s entirely relevant.”

“Oh, so I take it you’ve read it?” Mrs. Jordan nodded at Grant.

“Macbeth?” Grant scoffed. “Yeah, I’ve run into it a time or two.”

Mrs. Jordan turned to her chalkboard and began writing WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE as though the author wasn’t duly noted on the cover or, for that matter, by anyone with the semblance of a sixth grade education.

“What I got out of it is basically that this Macbeth loser is a bad dude,” Paul declared. “It’s an interesting story, but I was glad the guy died in the end.”

“I’m glad you got something out of it,” Misty grumbled. “I didn’t get it at all.”

Mrs. Jordan smiled. “Don’t worry about it. We will go through the play, and I will tell you exactly what you need to know for the test and exactly what you should take from Shakespeare’s words.”

“I don’t understand how you plan to present your analysis as fact when literary interpretation is entirely subjective,” Grant shook his head.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Jordan said, clearing her throat.

“Grant, let it go,” Misty laughed. “It’s not like anything he said still matters today. Just learn whatever she wants you to know and ace the exam.”

“Just because Shakespeare wrote in a different time doesn’t mean his words aren’t still relevant,” Grant said calmly. “By that standard, the argument could be made that the Bible isn’t relevant today, and I think Mrs. Jordan’d probably be the first to be up-in-arms if I was to suggest such a thing.”

“I am only trying to help the class understand the play,” Mrs. Jordan said, as though working to bite her tongue. “There is no need to offend anyone.”

“You’re missing my point,” Grant shook his head. “The exploration of human nature is timeless, that’s why the works of Shakespeare are just as relevant, if not more relevant, today as they were in his own time.”

Paul rolled his eyes. “You’ve already thrown poor General Custer under the bus today, so please don’t tell me you’re now planning on defending Macbeth. The story is about a crazy dude. Period.”

“It’s a play about blind ambition and desperation,” Grant began. “It’s the story of a man who is so hell-bent on rising to power that right and wrong become blurred. That’s why, from the very onset, we are introduced to the theme: ‘Fair is foul, and foul is fair.’ Macbeth becomes so desperate that he is willing to commit regicide to clear a path to power.”

“Mama, what does regicide mean?” Joe John asked.

Mrs. Jordan stared back at her son, waving off his question with an uncomfortable shake of her head.

“It’s the deliberate killing of a monarch,” Grant added before moving on. “Macbeth is a tragic character, his fatal flaw being inordinate ambition to the extent that, in his eyes, becoming a murderer was a more acceptable fate than failing to achieve his goal of becoming king. He feels remorse, but he keeps his eye on the prize and acts against his conscience. He was once a strong leader held in high esteem, a noble man by all accounts, but he was corrupted by a lust for power. It speaks to the good and evil inside each of us…Macbeth let himself be consumed by the latter.”

“Hailey, can you make him shut up?” Paul scoffed.

“Do I appear to have any control over him or anything that comes out of his mouth?” Hailey protested. She wrinkled her nose. “Besides, it’s more than I got out of the story.”

“Whatever,” Paul exhaled. “Just tell me what I need to write on the test, Mrs. Jordan, and I’m good to go.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Mrs. Jordan agreed. “Get out your notebooks, class, and I’ll write a few notes on the board.”

“Seriously?” Grant said, stunned. “We aren’t even going to have a discussion? If you narrow such a complex play down to a few spoon-fed sentences, all you have accomplished is stifling independent thought. I mean, are you going to fail me if you give me a test and my essay doesn’t regurgitate your own interpretations?”

“That’s what school is about,” Mrs. Jordan shrugged. “We learn the material and then take tests on it.”

“That might work in some capacity in an objective field such as calculus,” Grant replied, “but literary analysis is about discussion and generating conversation. You might think you’re teaching us something by asking us to memorize your world view for the sake of a grade, but, in actuality, the test only operates as an intellectual prophylactic.”

“What does prophylactic mean?” Joe John laughed.

Grant exhaled slowly. “You know…it’s a preventative…an agent that works to ward something off…prophylactic.”

Joe John stared back at him, confused.

“Like a condom,” Grant offered with a shrug.

The gasp that leaped from Mrs. Jordan’s throat silenced the classroom. “I think you might benefit from taking a little trip to visit my husband, young man,” she pointed.

“Hey, listen,” Grant held up his hands, “I was only trying to help expand your son’s vocabulary.”

“Get up and walk yourself down to the principal’s office,” Mrs. Jordan pointed. “We don’t talk that way in my classroom.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Grant sighed. “What did I do? Your son asked the question. I was only trying to use an analogy I thought he would understand. Tests act as prophylactics to learning like contraceptive prophylactics prevent…well, I’m not gonna explain that one to him, and if he doesn’t get it perhaps he needs to be the one to go down to the office to have a conversation with Daddy…not me.”

Mrs. Jordan crossed her arms. “Grant, please stand up from your chair and march yourself out of my classroom and straight down to the office before I send for someone to come and escort you there.”

Grant stood, laughing. “And what offence should I admit to committing?”

“Hailey,” Mrs. Jordan motioned. “Walk down the hall with Grant and see that he gets to where he’s supposed to be going.”

“Why me?” Hailey gulped, but she got up and did as she was told, staring silently at the floor as the two of them walked down the hall.

Grant was sitting in the principal’s office when Jack walked by. He poked his head in the door, concerned. “What happened? Why are you in here?”

“Hi, Jack, come-on in,” Principal Jordan motioned. “Your new friend and I aren’t exactly getting off on the right foot.”

Grant was looking away, staring at a tacky, yet colorful, styrofoam model of the planets that hung behind the principal’s desk. “You know…perhaps the memo hasn’t reached this bustling metropolis, but Pluto’s planetary status was recently revoked.”

“Zip it,” Jack sighed.

“Fine.” Grant held up his hands.

“It seems he’s been sayin’ some inappropriate things in my wife’s classroom,” Principal Jordan explained.

“What did you say, Grant?” Jack asked.

“Listen,” Grant declared. “I hate to infringe on the system, but classrooms in this country have become overrated social gatherings where one must abandon ideology, submit to authority and conform to the reckless indoctrination of America’s youth by a system overrun by educators who have become little more than babysitters. It is not only naïve, but dangerous, to continue to think that, just because someone is eight, thirteen, seventeen years old, he or she is not capable of inconceivably more than the powers- that-be seem to believe.”

“He is unbelievable, isn’t he?” Principal Jordan sighed as he sank down into his chair.

“Well,” Jack replied, glancing back and forth between his houseguest and his colleague, “I would agree, however, not in the negative sense you seem to suggest.”

“I can appreciate his candor up to a point, Jack,” Principal Jordan nodded, “but when he starts becoming offensive…”

“I apologize for my perceived lack of decorum,” Grant offered, “but you and your wife have managed to miss my entire point by focusing on something completely irrelevant…and immature, I might add.”

“What is all this about?” Jack insisted.

Principal Jordan motioned toward Grant. “I will give you the floor and let you explain what sort of things you find it appropriate to say in the presence of mixed company, including my wife and the coach’s daughter.”

“Honestly, Jack, it has all been blown way out of proportion,” Grant rolled his eyes. He turned back to Principal Jordan. “You’re the sheriff, right?” he smiled. “Just shoot me now.”

After the school day was over, Hailey showed Grant to the gym, and he had to admit that the basketball court was much nicer than he had imagined it might be. The walls were freshly painted; the floor was freshly lacquered, and the backboards were polished in anticipation of the new season.

“Nice,” Grant nodded as he looked around.

“We’re glad you approve,” Hailey smiled. “Our town pretty much revolves around high school basketball; I mean it’s not like we have a football team or a baseball team or anything like that. It’s all basketball all the time, so people get pretty fired up about it! Come-on, I’ll show you the locker room,” she offered.

They walked inside and found most of the team already dressed for practice. Grant was a little taken aback by the boldness with which Hailey burst into the guys’ locker room, but he chose not to comment on it as his eyes swept over the trophy case.

“So, you guys any good?” Grant asked Paul as Hailey disappeared.

Billy Wayne stood in what seemed to be his assigned spot next to Paul. “If we hadn’t had so many turnovers in the state championship game last season we would’ve won!”

“Let me see if I can put this is terms you’ll understand,” Grant nodded. “If a cow had wheels, it would be a milk truck.”

“We should have won state last year,” Paul insisted.

“Should have?” Grant inquired. “What does that mean?”

“Our star point guard sprained her ankle right before half-time…slowed her down and totally threw off her shot,” Paul explained as Grant began to change his clothes.

“Oh,” Grant scoffed, “so you mean the girls’ team almost won state last year? How did you guys do?”

“We don’t have a girls’ team,” Paul shrugged. “Small town…not enough interest.”

“Of course you have a girls’ team,” Grant laughed, trying to make sense of Paul’s revelation. “Because…”

“No, we don’t,” Hailey said, emerging dressed for practice with basketball in hand. “Now, hurry up…being late for class is one thing, but being late for practice is a whole other thing!”

Grant stared at Hailey, unable to speak.

“Wow,” Paul snickered. “Grant Cohen stunned to silence!”

Grant pointed at Hailey, still at a loss for words.

“That’s right,” Hailey laughed. “You’re looking at the star point guard.”

“But you’re a girl!” Grant exclaimed.

“Yeah, keep that in mind when this girl schools you on the court,” Hailey said as she and Paul shared a high-five. They walked out of the locker room, leaving Grant behind to try to make sense of what had just happened.

When Coach Nelson gathered the team at center court, Grant still hadn’t been able to convince himself that all of this was actually happening. He looked around at the nine man and one girl roster and shook his head. Jack quickly reintroduced everyone to Grant, clapped his hands together once and told Hailey to lead the team in a ten lap warm-up around the court.

Grant and Hailey jogged side by side, and, as one tried to edge out the other, the pace began to increase.

“You’re a chick; you can’t play with the guys,” Grant whispered.

“I’ve done it all my life,” Hailey shrugged.

“How come you kept this from me?” Grant insisted.

“I don’t know,” Hailey laughed, “but I’m glad I did because the look on your face right now is priceless.”

“I can’t play against you,” Grant protested.

“Don’t worry,” Hailey grinned. “I’ll slow down every now and then and give you a chance to catch up.”

“Let’s keep it at a jog you two!” Paul called.

“Hailey,” Joe John yelled, “slow it down!”

Coach Nelson looked up from his chair on the sidelines to see Hailey and Grant practically sprinting around the court as they lapped their teammates.

“Slow it down…I want you guys warmed-up not tired-out!” Jack shouted.

When their ten laps were done, Hailey and Grant stood waiting for the rest of the team to finish.

“I’m pretty fast, huh?” Hailey said grinning up at Grant.

“Yeah…for a girl,” he nodded.

“You know,” Hailey said as she poked Grant in the shoulder, “before you go shooting off that smart mouth of yours, I think you should know I’ve been known to beat up a boy or two in my day. Ask anybody here.”

“I believe it,” Grant said, trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin.

“Out here, I’m just one of the guys,” Hailey shrugged.

“We’re gonna start with a full-court scrimmage,” Jack said as he tossed a basketball to Grant. “Grant, you’ll be captain of one team; Hailey, you’ll be captain of the other.”

As Jack began assigning teams, Grant nudged Hailey with his elbow. “So, shall we do shirts versus skins?”

“You just want an excuse to take your shirt off and show off your six-pack,” Hailey rolled her eyes.

“Actually, I was thinking my team would be shirts,” Grant winked. “Just one of the guys, right, Babe?” Grant shrugged, with an ol’ buddy, ol’ pal punch to the shoulder.

“Gosh, I hate you,” Hailey grumbled as she started to take off her shirt.

Grant quickly tugged her shirttail back down as his eyes darted around at his new teammates.

“Geez, I have on a sports bra, same as I wore on our run this morning,” Hailey rolled her eyes.

Grant swallowed hard and mumbled something under his breath as he pulled his own shirt over his head.

Once the game began, it didn’t take long for anyone to discover Grant’s ability and willingness to show off his skills.

“Hey, Paul,” one of the boys whispered after Grant’s second three pointer, “I guess it’s safe to say you won’t be the high scorer this season.”

“Shut up,” Paul snapped. “He’s a ball hog!”

“No kidding,” another teammate added. “Would it kill him to pass the ball?”

The next time down the court, Grant drove the lane and pulled up for a quick two-pointer.

“Come-on,” Paul screamed, “I was wide open under the basket!”

“See your offence, Grant,” Jack clapped.

“I saw him,” Grant shrugged. “He was in perfect position for the rebound, in the rare instance I missed…nice job.”

“Could you be any more full of yourself?” Hailey groaned as she dribbled the ball.

“Could you score and make this game challenging?” Grant replied as he played defense.

“Grant, did anybody ever tell you that you have a smart mouth?” Paul yelled.

“I think it’s safe to say you aren’t the first,” Grant snickered.

Jack blew his whistle. “That’s it…Paul, switch teams with Joe John.”

“Thank you,” Paul laughed.

“Don’t thank me, just get your head in the game and play ball,” Jack replied sternly.

The next time Grant drove the lane, Paul was there to meet him with an aggressive foul.

“Hey! Come-on!” Jack hollered as Grant peeled himself off the ground.

“My bad,” Paul smiled.

The game went on, and, for a few minutes, things seemed to be running smoothly.

Hailey dribbled down the court, Grant mirroring her all the way. “It’s tied,” she reminded him. “When we score this time down it’s all over…we win, you lose.”

“It’s only tied because I’m handicapped by two guys who apparently think that playing defense entails standing in the lane with their hands on their knees,” Grant retorted.

“Hmm, that’s funny,” Hailey smiled. “I pretty sure it is tied because I faked you out and collected three points last time down.”

Grant reached in and got his hand on the ball, succeeding in knocking it away from Hailey, but she was able to recover quickly.

“Nice try,” she commented, and her voice lacked the sarcasm that Grant expected.

“Nice recovery,” Grant smiled back.

“Is it just me, or did we compliment each other?” Hailey grinned.

“Don’t get used to it,” Grant scoffed.

Hailey stopped dribbling and held the ball. “Oh, don’t worry,” she shook her head. “I’m all too aware of your Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality.”

“You don’t know me at all,” Grant shot back.

“You’re right about that,” Hailey quipped. “I thought I did, but I don’t. You changed, and part of me wishes you had never come here.”

“Do you think I want to be here?” Grant yelled back. “Do you think I was just dying to make this little impromptu pilgrimage to the American South…full of cultural enlightenment and the grace and hospitality befitting a southern belle such as yourself?”

“Do you enjoy being a jerk?” Hailey huffed.

Grant shrugged. “If nothing else, it usually succeeds in keeping people at bay…I see you are immune to its perks.”

Jack walked over and took the ball that was now tucked under Hailey’s arm. “We’ll wait,” he nodded sarcastically. “We wouldn’t dream of letting our basketball game interfere with your fight.” When Grant and Hailey hardly seemed to notice and continued on with their banter, Jack blew his whistle. “I think I’m gonna call it a day,” he said, eyeing the two of them. “You guys go home and show up tomorrow ready to practice.”

Following their third day of practice, Jack brought his team to mid-court. His arms were crossed; his face was grim. “Hailey, Grant, Paul, Joe John and Billy Wayne, I would like you guys to sit tight for a moment; the rest of you can go.”

Paul cut his eyes toward Grant, and Grant stared back at him hatefully.

When their teammates had left the gym, Jack stared at his starting five. “So much for the third time being a charm, huh?” he frowned. “After two days of fights during which a practice happened to break out, I was thinking we could actually get down to business today. I guess I wrong.”

“Coach, I had no problem today until Grant started firing passes across the lane like rockets,” Paul argued.

“You’ve gotta be able to catch those!” Grant scolded.

“No, you were throwing it entirely too hard to be that close just to tick me off, and you know it,” Paul shot back.

“Would you rather I had lobbed it over to you and gotten it picked off?” Grant yelled. “Hailey…a girl … can catch my passes, so why can’t you?”

“Both of you, stand up,” Jack demanded. “Walk over to the baseline, give me twenty suicides, and then we’ll chat.”

Paul groaned as they jogged toward the line. “This is all your fault, Cohen!”

“I wasn’t the one who started complaining; that was you,” Grant shrugged.

Jack stood next to the other three kids, who sat silently watching their teammates. “Nice job, guys,” he clapped when the boys finished their final time down the floor. “Come back over here and join us.”

Both boys breathed heavily as they rejoined the team.

“Who would like to be next?” Jack asked, and no one said a word. “That’s what I figured,” he smiled. “Now, I’m looking at y’all…my seniors who are supposed to lead this team, and, instead of seeing a team, I see five individuals. Can someone please explain to me how we are supposed to win a single game this season if you guys can’t learn to play together?”

“We won’t,” Hailey shrugged.

“No, we won’t,” Jack nodded. “So, is that what you guys want out of your senior year? A miserable season during which we continually beat ourselves?”

“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.

Hailey pulled past the house toward the barn, and Grant noticed a few other trucks. He eyed the field of cows and managed to refrain from commenting on the smell, but, when Paul and his posse walked from the barn, he couldn’t hold back any longer. “What are we doing here, Hailey?” he exclaimed.

“It’s an impromptu team meeting,” Hailey replied. “Paul and the guys just want to talk to you.”

“They don’t look like they want to talk,” Grant commented. “Do they look like they’re in the mood for conversation to you?”

“Paul said on the phone that he just wants to talk,” Hailey insisted. “He thinks we should get a few of our team problems worked out without my dad around to referee.”

“I’ll bet he does,” Grant rolled his eyes.

“Come-on,” Hailey urged. “They’re all really great guys if you just give them a chance.”

Grant eyed the chickens that ran about the barnyard as he got out of the truck.

“Hi, Grant,” Paul said as the rest of the team stood unified behind him. “I’m glad you agreed to come.”

“Something like that,” Grant muttered.

Hailey walked over and stood by Misty. “What’s going on?” she asked. “What are you doing here? I thought this was just a simple team meeting?”

Misty shrugged. “Paul called it an intervention.”

“Over the past few days,” Paul began with an overconfident flick of his head, “it has become obvious to me that you and I are not going to be able to make it work as teammates, and, because I have lived in Hope Hull all my life, and you have only been here a matter of days, I think it is only fair that I be the one to lead this team to the state championship this year. So, I’m going to ask you to do the right thing and quit the team.”

Grant laughed. “Let me think about that one,” he rolled his eyes.

“We thought you might react that way,” Paul nodded. “So we have a Plan B.” Paul pointed toward the field. “Do you see those two tractors?”

Grant nodded.

“The game’s called Chicken…it’s simple…you drive one tractor, I drive the other…we drive toward each other and the guy who bails out first loses. If I win…you quit the team.”

Grant laughed. “Oh wow! This is rich! People actually do this stuff? I thought this only happened in Footloose.”

“So, you in?” Paul asked.

Grant chuckled as he shook his head. “Despite the rich comedic potential this situation possesses, and I appreciate the sheer hillbilly nature of it I assure you, I have a more practical suggestion.”

Paul laughed. “So, you’re chicken before the game even starts?”

Grant stared at the stone-faced boys backing Paul and shook his head. “Call me crazy,” he grinned, “but, I just don’t see the point in involving innocent farm equipment in something that deals strictly with basketball.”

“Okay,” Paul conceded hesitantly, “I see your point.”

“It was a difficult concept, but I thought you might,” Grant nodded.

“So what’s your bright idea?” Paul shot back.

“One-on-one…we’ll flip for first possession,” Grant replied.

Paul nodded. “And if I win…you’ll quit?”

“Yeah,” Grant nodded back, “and if I win, what do I get? Besides, of course, the satisfaction of showing you up in front of all your fellow farmhands.”

Paul glanced over at Hailey. “I’ll tell you what,” he smiled. “If you win, which you won’t, I’ll give you a break, and I won’t tell Coach Nelson what you did to daddy’s little girl last summer.”

Grant shrugged. “What exactly did I do to her?” he inquired. “Just so we’re clear.”

Paul walked over and put his arm around Hailey. “You played her, then you broke her heart, and now you’re back to do it again.”

“Where is this coming from? Misty, what did you say to him?” Hailey hollered.

“Paul, you knew that was supposed to be a secret!” Misty cried.

Hailey sunk out from under Paul’s arm. “I can’t believe you told him about the summer, Misty; I told you about camp in confidence, and you knew it!”

“And here I thought everyone just hated me for no reason,” Grant snickered at Hailey. “It’s nice to know where the general sentiment came from.”

“It’s not like that,” Hailey insisted.

“It is like that,” Grant snapped. “You’re the reason everyone in this town hates me; I just wasn’t supposed to know it.”

“Misty is the only person I told about our summer,” Hailey pled. “She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone else!”

“Hailey, Paul is the only person I said anything to,” Misty promised.

“It was a secret, Misty. It was personal,” Hailey yelled, doing her best to fight back tears. “I trusted you. You were my best friend.”

“Were?” Misty threw up her arms. “That’s just great, Hails. You can’t just throw away a lifetime of friendship. How about directing your anger at the person you’re really mad at!”

Hailey’s eyes flashed over to Grant. “You don’t know what it was like to be me last summer,” she insisted.

“I know that I wish I had never laid eyes on you,” Grant groaned as he turned away.

“Back at you,” Hailey snapped as she crossed her arms. “You didn’t exactly turn out to be Prince Charming.”

Grant spun back around quickly. “Well, let’s face it, Princess; you’re not exactly my dream girl,” he retorted.

“I know you’re not from around here, Grant,” Paul broke in, silencing the bickering, “but in these parts when a man finds out some punk in town has dishonorable intentions toward his daughter, he tends to go for his huntin’ rifle to eliminate the problem.”

Grant rolled his eyes. “Well, first of all, you have obviously not caught on to the fact that Hailey and I can hardly stand the sight of one another. Thus, my disdain for the girl being a serious impediment in regard to my desire to pursue her. Secondly, I seriously doubt Hailey’s dad will retrieve his shotgun upon hearing whatever it is you think you have to tell him, seeing as how shooting me would most likely effectively end his evil scheme to finally get my father’s wife into his bed.”

“Do you know what your problem is?” Hailey groaned. “You just love to hear yourself talk…you really do…you love to hear the sound of your own voice.”

“Well,” Grant snapped, “I have learned that when I stop talking, other people, much like yourself, feel the need to interject, and I find the result is damaging to my sanity.”

“You are slightly passive aggressive, you realize that, right?” Hailey shook her head.

“Only slightly…I must be losing my touch,” Grant replied.

“Ever heard of sarcasm?” Hailey grumbled.

“Sarcasm?” Grant shrugged. “No, what is that… some sort of tractor part?”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Hailey sighed as she turned to walk away.

“Oh, please come back,” Grant called, rolling his eyes. “I find your snarl so endearing.”

“If you two lovebirds are done,” Paul interjected, “we should take this to the court.”

“Fine,” Grant nodded, “but let’s raise the stakes a bit. If I lose…I quit. If you lose…you quit, and I lead this team to state.”

“Deal,” Paul agreed. “Meet me at the court behind the school in five minutes.”

“I’ll be there,” Grant nodded.

As the crowd began to disperse, Hailey walked up to Grant. “Grant, listen,” she sighed after a moment. “I didn’t know anything about this ambush…I swear.”

“Okay,” Grant shrugged.

“You believe me, don’t you?” Hailey gulped as they got into her truck.

“Just take me to the school, Hailey,” Grant frowned. “I don’t have anything to say to you right now.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened this summer?” Hailey gulped.

“No,” Grant replied coldly.

“If you lose this game, are you really going to quit the team?” Hailey asked softly.

“You heard the terms, just like I did,” Grant shrugged.

When they arrived at the school, Paul and his posse were already gathered under one basket. Hailey walked beside Grant, searching for the right words to say. “Grant,” she gulped, and she grabbed his hand to get his attention. “I want you to know that I didn’t want it to come to this.”

“It’s okay,” Grant shook his head. “I’ve never been the most popular kid in school.”

“This isn’t fair,” Hailey protested, and, noticing she was still holding Grant’s hand, she dropped it.

“Wish me luck?” Grant asked.

Hailey turned her head to the side, unable to look Grant in the face. “Good Luck,” she said softly.

“Hailey!” Paul called. “Get over here on my side before I start to think you’re rooting for the loser!”

“Come-on, Hails, the game’s about to start!” Misty chirped as she massaged her man’s shoulders.

Hailey glanced at her friends, then back at Grant.

“Hailey!” Billy Wayne bellowed. “Whatcha waitin’ for?”

“You don’t have it in you to be a traitor, Hails, so get over here,” Paul called.

“It’s okay…go ahead…” Grant nodded.

“What if I want to stay on your side?” Hailey asked seriously.

“You’d be the only one,” Grant shrugged. “They want me gone, and I think, if you’re honest with yourself, that’s probably what you want too.”

“Hailey!” the boys continued. “Get over here!”

Hailey’s eyes watered, and Grant knew the decision to stay or go was weighing heavily on her. Without meaning to, she reached for his hand again.

“Go, Hailey,” he nodded solemnly.

“Hailey, get over here!” Paul barked.

“Seriously, Hails,” Joe John added, “you’re a part of this team… how ‘bout actin’ like it?”

Hailey squeezed Grant’s hand, and, for a moment, he thought she might stay, but, as she turned and jogged to join Paul’s entourage, the disappointment shone on his face.

The game was overly aggressive from the start; fouls went unrefereed, and the shouting from the sidelines only encouraged and amplified the intensity on the court. Grant was up by four when a loose ball resulted in exactly what the cheering section had feared from the outset.

Both boys gave chase, tugging, pushing, pulling, and throwing elbows as they chased the ball across the court. Then, in what seemed like slow motion to the kids watching from the sidelines, both boys lurched toward the ball, their bodies colliding and propelling them into the set of metal bleachers that sat just along the asphalt court.

There were screams from the sideline as Paul and Grant both lay motionless beside the bleachers. The small crowd hurried across the court in a panic, and, as Misty and the team swarmed Paul, Hailey knelt beside Grant.

Grant was lying on his side, his eyes closed, his body limp as Hailey rubbed his arm. “Please, Grant,” she begged. “Please…say something. Are you okay?”

“Paul?” Misty cried. “Paul, wake up!”

The girls looked up at the exact same moment and caught each other’s fear filled eyes.

“What do we do?” Misty asked.

“I don’t know,” Hailey panicked.

“They just knocked theirselves out,” Joe John said confidently. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“What if they’re not!” Hailey shouted.

“Somebody run get Doc Mason!” Misty cried.

“Grant smacked his head pretty good; I saw it,” Billy Wayne gulped.

“Look,” one of the boys pointed. “There’s Coach Nelson! We’re gonna be in so much trouble.”

Hailey looked up to see her father’s truck pulling into the school parking lot, and she felt nervous and relieved all at once.

“Coach!” the crowd shouted as they waved him toward them.

Jack jogged over, his heart racing at the sight of two boys lying amongst the others.

Just then, Paul opened his eyes and glanced up at Misty.

“Paul, you okay, Son?” Jack asked as he helped Paul sit up. “What in the world happened here?”

Paul moved his neck around and rubbed the side of his face before nodding. “I’m okay, Coach.”

Misty threw her arms around her boyfriend. “You scared me to death!” she cried.

Paul glanced over toward Grant, and his eyes widened. “Is he okay?” he gulped.

“Grant!” Hailey begged, her lips close to his ear. “Grant, can you hear me?”

Jack knelt beside his daughter and cautiously rested his hand on Grant’s shoulder.

“Daddy, why isn’t he waking up?” Hailey bawled.

“He took a pretty good shot to the back of his head, Coach,” Billy Wayne said, his mounting concern evident in his voice.

Hailey gently stroked the side of Grant’s face. “Please, God…he has to be okay,” she cried.

Jack squeezed Grant’s shoulder. “Come-on, Kid,” he said, trying to remain calm. “Come-on, Grant…open those eyes up for us.”

“Coach, do we need a doctor? Should I go get my dad?” Paul gulped.

“Come-on, Grant,” Hailey sobbed. His hand was limp on the ground, but she reached for it and held it in hers.

Slowly Grant opened his eyes and glanced up at Hailey’s tear stained face. “Hailey?” he said groggily.

Jack helped Grant sit up. “Take it slow. Are you okay?” he asked. “Are you dizzy at all?”

“I’m fine,” Grant mumbled.

“Oh, Grant,” Hailey sobbed as she wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest, “I’ve never been so scared…ever!” She gently stroked the back of Grant’s hair, and he winced. “We’ll go inside and get some ice for that,” Hailey offered.

“I could use some ice too, Hails,” Paul said.

Hailey stood and looked down at Paul. “You can get your own ice,” she rolled her eyes. “If it hadn’t been for your jealously, none of this would have happened.”

“Hailey!” Misty exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, Misty,” Hailey said, standing her ground. “You’ll just have to be mad at me if you want, but if Paul hadn’t cared more about himself and his stats than he did about the well-being of our team, this never would have happened.”

“I don’t believe this…we’ve been friends for eighteen years, and you’re taking his side?” Paul huffed.

“How good of friends were we when you decided to call a team meeting and leave me in the dark about what was going down?” Hailey screamed.

Jack shook his head. He pulled his whistle from his pocket and silenced the crowd. “There are no sides here; don’t you get that, Paul?” he asked loudly. He turned to Grant. “Don’t you guys understand that you’re teammates? You’re on the same side!”

The boys glanced at each other, then quickly looked away.

“I want to know what happened here, and I want to know now,” Jack insisted.

“We were playing a game of one-on-one…loser was supposed to quit the team,” Paul admitted.

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure I was winning,” Grant said groggily.

“Shut-up,” Paul rolled his eyes.

“In order to win state…we need both of you,” Jack continued, “and we need you playing together.” He turned to Hailey. “That goes for you too,” he nodded. “Any team in the state would be lucky to have any of the three of you. When you scrimmage against one another, your only objective should be to help make the other one better. We are a team; we win together, and we lose together.” He shook his head and offered a relieved smile. “Now, get out of here you bunch of rascals, and go do some homework or something.”

The crowd broke up, and Jack took Grant by the arm. “Sit down for me for a second,” he said as they sat on the bleachers. Jack waved three fingers in front of Grant’s face. “How many fingers?”

“Three or four or so,” Grant smiled. “I’m really fine, Coach.”

“Why don’t I take you to the house?” Jack offered.

“Sounds good,” Grant nodded.

“See you at home, Hailey?” her dad asked.

“Yeah,” Hailey gulped. “I’ll see you there.”

Hailey and Misty stood in front of the coke machine inside the Country Stop, filling large paper cups with Dr. Pepper.

“Hailey, say something,” Misty begged. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Nah,” Hailey smiled. “After the testosterone-fueled showdown we witnessed this afternoon, I’m just too bummed about how the season has started out to be much good at chit-chat.”

Misty frowned. “You were a little harsh to Paul after the accident, don’t you think?”

“Are you kidding me?” Hailey argued.

“It’s not like it was all his fault,” Misty sighed. “I mean, from where I was standing, Grant was playing just as rough as Paul was.”

“Paul called a secret meeting to try and get Grant kicked off the team,” Hailey groaned. “What was he supposed to do, back down?”

“I have to ask you a serious question,” Misty began, easing into her inquisition. “Do you like Grant? I mean, I know you were totally smitten with him last summer, but, given your hysteria back there at school, I’d say some old feelings have resurfaced.”

“Oh grow up, Misty,” Hailey scoffed. “The guy was unconscious, and I expressed a little concern. What is the big deal?”

“A little concern?” Misty exclaimed.

“So it scared me! What’s your point?” Hailey shrugged. “He was hurt, and I have a heart!”

“Paul was hurt too, and you hardly noticed him,” Misty recalled.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hailey rolled her eyes. “I thought that you and the entire rest of the team were showing plenty of concern for his wellbeing.”

“I’m just saying,” Misty shrugged.

“Saying what?” Hailey laughed.

“That whether you admit it or not, you still like Grant,” Misty said confidently.

“Do you want a candy bar?” Hailey huffed as she scanned a row of chocolate. “Just settle down; I’m not in love with the guy.”

“Oh wow!” Misty gasped.

“What?” Hailey smiled as she put her money on the counter.

“I accused you of liking Grant,” Misty enunciated, “and you announced that you don’t love the guy! That was a huge leap, girlfriend.”

“You’ve lost your mind, you know that?” Hailey laughed.

Barbra Harper stood from her stool behind the counter where she had been eating an egg salad sandwich ever since the girls walked in. “You better watch yourself, Hailey,” she said with a cautionary raise of her overly manicured eyebrow. “Word at Maude’s is that Blondie is bad news.”

“Well, it sounds to me like Maybelle and Maude and all their equally nosy cohorts in this town should mind their own business,” Hailey grumbled.

“I was just tellin’ you what I heard,” Barbra held up her hands. “To hear Billy Wayne tell it, you ain’t exactly Blondie’s biggest fan, so why you gettin’ so defensive?”

“He has a name,” Hailey rolled her eyes.

“Grant,” Misty said in a swoon.

Hailey shoved Misty away. “Besides, Barbra, nothing against your brother, but he’s never been the most perceptive person I know.”

“So you are a big fan then?” Misty grinned.

“No!” Hailey snapped. “That is not what I meant to imply.”

Barbra handed Hailey her change and moved back to her stool. “Sheriff Jordan was in here earlier, and I overheard him and Doc Mason saying that Grant wouldn’t even be on the team if your daddy hadn’t always been sweet on Nora Miller.”

“And have either of them ever seen Grant play?” Hailey shrugged.

“I don’t reckon so,” Barbra shook her head. “But Billy Wayne calls him a ball hog.”

“On the other hand, any time Billy Wayne gets his hands on the ball, he can’t get rid of it soon enough,” Hailey scoffed. “God forbid he actually takes a shot every now and then.”

“Hails, are you done taking swipes at your friends yet?” Misty sighed. “First me and Paul and now poor Billy Wayne.”

“I’ll stick to Paul if you prefer,” Hailey rolled her eyes. “Heaven knows Billy Wayne didn’t come up with his opinion of Grant all on his own.”

Misty stood in front of the gas station door, blocking Hailey’s exit. “Barbra brought up a good point,” she nodded. “Why have you suddenly taken on the role of Grant Cohen’s public defender?”

“Last time I checked, it wasn’t a crime for people to dislike you,” Hailey rolled her eyes as she squeezed past Misty.

“Is it possible that in a matter of days, you have acquired his love of sarcasm?” Misty blurted as she chased after Hailey.

Hailey thought out loud as she felt Misty tugging on her shoulder. “He feels like nobody understands him,” she sighed, “and most people don’t, but I have to try, Misty.”

Again, Misty turned Hailey, so they were eye-to-eye. “Don’t do it…don’t fall for him, Hails…nobody likes him, and there has to be a reason why, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Hailey shrugged.

“That’s a rather nonchalant reply,” Misty sighed.

“To a rather lousy conclusion,” Hailey nodded as she walked on, leaving Misty behind, stunned. “Maybe none of you like him because none of you know him.”

“How well do you really know him?” Misty fired back.

Hailey’s eyes flashed anger as she turned back toward her friend. “What has come over you? You seemed to like Grant just fine the day you met him. Now, no doubt, after a little badmouthing by your boyfriend, you’ve done a total one-eighty.”

Misty hurried to catch up. “He’s gorgeous, and he comes off as mysterious and charming, I know that, but I also know that he could be gone in a moment, and you would never hear from him again. Does that scenario ring any bells?”

“I don’t care,” Hailey insisted. “He could leave today, and that would be fine.”

“Really?” Misty prodded.

“What Grant and I had was a perfect two weeks,” Hailey shrugged. “It’s over! My defense of him has everything to do with what is right and what is wrong and nothing at all to do with any old feelings I might have once had for him.”

“Well, okay then” Misty conceded.

“How could I have been so wrong about him this summer?” Hailey said, remembering the way things had been.

Misty put her arm around Hailey. “It was just a summer romance. Obviously it meant more to you than it did to him. He made that pretty clear when he never replied to any of your e-mails.”

“Maybe he never got them?” Hailey suggested. “I mean I don’t know too much about computers, and I had to go into town just to create an account on a library computer. Maybe I didn’t do it right, and he never got to read my letters.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Misty sighed. Then, her face contorted. “Have you and Grant not talked about the summer yet?”

“No,” Hailey gulped. “We have managed to avoid the subject completely.”

“Well, maybe you have forgotten how totally and completely Grant Cohen destroyed you when he took off last summer and never looked back,” Misty pled, “but I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgotten how much you cried, how devastated you were that the guy you had cast in the role of hero turned out to be the biggest mistake of your life. He hurt you. He tore your heart into a million little pieces, and I had to be the one to do damage control. You were a wreck, Hailey, and this guy you keep defending is the reason why.”

Hailey took a long sip from her straw, remembering everything about the boy she had met over the summer. “This summer, he was so sweet and funny and fun to be around. We had an instant connection. He held doors. He held my hand. He was the perfect gentleman in every way. He had an opinion on everything, so we were never lost for conversation, but he genuinely seemed happiest listening to me talk about myself. I think I’m pretty boring because there just isn’t all that much to tell, but he didn’t seem to think so. He could make me laugh with nothing more than a look. He didn’t go around trying to impress me; he just did. I remember being struck by the way his brown eyes seemed to be in stark contrast to his blond hair and how perfectly that juxtaposition seemed to fit him.”

“Is that some fancy word he taught you?” Misty rolled her eyes. “People from Hope Hull don’t talk that way, Hails. You don’t talk that way!”

“Why can’t we just walk back to your house, laughing and consuming copious amounts of Dr. Pepper like we always do?” Hailey begged.

“Okay, seriously, Hailey, I’m limiting you to one word of the day type slips of the tongue that only serve to remind me that you and Mr. Smarty-pants are hanging out way more than you and I are these days,” Misty laughed.

“This all got started because I was trying to make a point,” Hailey argued. “He is this walking contradiction in every way. He’s a blond genius! When you see that blond hair, you expect to see bright blue eyes shining out from underneath, but, instead, he has complex, mysterious brown eyes that leave you with more questions than answers. He uses harsh words as a defense, but, when you get down to it, he can be really genuine and very sweet. He has great big muscles, but…”

“He’s nice to look at; nobody is gonna argue that point with you,” Misty smiled, “but just because he’s easy on the eyes, doesn’t mean he is good enough for my best friend!”

“I know; he can be a jerk. I get that,” Hailey nodded. “It’s just that you didn’t meet the Grant I met this summer. He was special, and I knew it right away. We got really close so quickly, and I thought…”

Misty recalled how she had spent hours listening as Hailey excitedly replayed every detail of her summer. “You thought he was the one…”

Hailey smiled. “We spent two perfect weeks sneaking off to see each other every free second we got. I naturally assumed that he was feeling everything I was feeling…”

Misty cut Hailey off. “Hails, I’m a girl; I get it. There is something irresistibly charming about the guy, but please promise me you’ll stay away from him…”

Hailey rolled her eyes. “He’s on my basketball team; he lives in my house. How exactly am I supposed to manage that?”

Misty exhaled, knowing that her warnings would go unheeded. “Just guard your heart, Hailey, that’s all I’m really asking. He broke it once, and guys like him will do it again.”

“That’s just it,” Hailey gulped. “You say guys like him…and, all I can think is, I don’t think there is another guy like him.”

Misty groaned, realizing all at once that she was too late. “Just promise me something, Hailey,” she sighed as the girls walked along the dirt road. “Promise me that you won’t let Grant hurt you again?”

“I promise,” Hailey nodded slowly, wondering if anyone can ever really make any promises at all when it comes to matters of the heart.

When Hailey got home, the house was quiet, and she was surprised to see Grant sitting on the couch. He glanced toward the door when she walked in, and, though he quickly glanced away, Hailey was sure she detected a hint of a smile. Hailey moved slowly, sitting down on the couch and resting one hand on Grant’s knee as she gently ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair. “Does it still hurt?” she gulped.

Grant looked into Hailey’s eyes, then, his eyes moving toward the ground, he put his arm around her and eased her over to rest against him. “It doesn’t hurt nearly as badly as watching you walk to his side of the court,” he said softly.

Hailey backed away and stared at Grant. “But you said…”

“I know what I said, Hailey,” Grant replied. “And I don’t blame you for making the choice you made, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there was a little part of me that was hoping you would tell Paul and the misfits to stick it.”

“They’re my friends,” Hailey said softly.

Then, she sat frozen as she felt Grant’s lips against the side of her cheek. “And what are we?” he asked in a whisper that made her tremble.

Hailey reached over and weaved her fingers between Grant’s, and, though she wasn’t sure that was exactly how she wanted to respond, she felt powerless to stop it.

They sat that way for a lingering moment, both contemplating Grant’s question; neither of them daring to answer it.

“Just because I went and stood with the rest of the team doesn’t mean I wasn’t secretly hoping you’d kick his butt,” Hailey said finally, snatching her hand away from Grant’s.

Grant grinned. “So, I was doing a little research on your kind via country radio,” he nodded, “and isn’t it written somewhere in some sacred manual that you’re supposed to stand by your man?”

“No, see you were listening to the wrong song,” Hailey laughed as she sank easily back into Grant’s arms. “If you had been listening to the right song, you’d know that any man of mine better walk the line.”

The team was gathered in the locker room after another spirited, for lack of a better term, practice when Jack opened the storage closet and pulled out a dusty, cardboard box full of game jerseys.

“Grant, what jersey number do you wear?” Coach Nelson asked as he grabbed the jersey on top of the pile, and, recognizing the number, tossed it over to Paul.

“I always wear number three,” Grant replied.

“Oh no you don’t! Not here!” Hailey exclaimed.

“Hailey, give him a break,” Jack sighed.

“Let me guess?” Grant laughed.

“That’s right,” Hailey nodded, “number three belongs to me.” She stood, so that she was taller than Grant, who sat on the bench next to her.

“Okay,” Grant gulped. “That’s fine.” He hung his head and stared down at Hailey’s shoes. “She can have it; it’s just that number three has always been a little special to me because my brother wore that number before he died, and, ever since, I’ve worn it in his memory. It’s just a sentimental thing, you know? Probably silly.”

“Come-on, Hails,” Jack sighed.

“I don’t buy it!” Hailey insisted.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Grant gulped.

“Yes,” Hailey said boldly. “You’re a liar, a good one, but a liar none the less, and I can prove it.”

“Have a little compassion, Hailey,” Jack scolded.

“Oh right,” Hailey nodded, put off that her father was apparently taking Grant’s side. “He’s new here; he doesn’t have any friends, and, with a personality like his, it’s highly unlikely he’ll ever make any, so why don’t I just give him my jersey number to appease him, right?”

“Well,” Jack frowned, “I’m not going to get in the middle of this, but, as your coach, who would like to finish handing out these jerseys sometime prior to our first game, I suggest the two of you settle this in a timely manner.”

“It’s settled,” Hailey blurted. “Number three is mine! It’s always been mine, and it will continue to be mine! End of discussion!”

“I’ll play you for it,” Grant suggested.

“Is that your answer to everything?” Hailey exclaimed. “There is nothing to play for…the jersey is taken!”

“Well, alright,” Grant shrugged. “If you’re too scared of a little game of one-on-one…that’s fine…you can have it.”

Hailey laughed. “Do you really think you can shame me into actually playing you for it?”

“You’re right,” Grant nodded, “that would be a stupid move. I mean the jersey is yours…why would you give it up?”

Hailey raised her eyebrow. “And if we played for it, it’s a given that I would lose? That’s what you mean?”

“Duh,” Grant replied.

“How uncharacteristically inarticulate,” Hailey rolled her eyes.

“Some things are just too obvious for words, Babe,” Grant shrugged. “I mean…come-on, Darlin’…you’re a girl.”

“Okay, you’re on!” Hailey exclaimed.

“Imagine that,” Grant mused as he picked up a basketball and spun it on his finger.

Hailey snatched the ball. “Let’s play!”

Hailey tried not to sulk as she and Grant walked toward her truck, but, when she looked down at the jersey in her hand, she kicked a clump of dirt. “Thirty-three?” she grumbled. “Thirty-stupid-three?”

Grant opened the passenger’s side door, and Hailey stared at him.

“What?” Grant smiled.

“I suggest you get used to walking home,” Hailey pointed.

“Oh, come-on,” Grant grinned. “You’re not going to be a bad sport about this are you? The great Larry Bird made that number famous in Boston, you know?”

Hailey got into the truck and started the engine. “You know what, Grant. You’ve moved into my old room. You’ve got my dad taking your side over mine. You’ve taken over the position on the team that used to be mine. And now you have my jersey number. I think it is safe to say that you win!”

“I didn’t realize it was a competition,” Grant frowned.

Hailey cut her eyes toward Grant. “This little arrangement isn’t working for me anymore. One day you’re kissing my cheek out of the blue and the next thing I know you’re stealing something that means more to me than it does to you. I just don’t get you! Maybe you should consider going to stay over at your granny’s…or going back to North Carolina for that matter. You hate it here, right? You hate everything about it?”

Grant rolled his eyes. “I’ll be gone soon enough…”

“Well, if you’re planning on leaving before the season gets started real good, why does it matter what jersey number you wear?” Hailey pondered.

“I like the number three,” Grant shrugged.

Hailey plastered her jersey against her chest. “Well, then I would think you would like this jersey doubly good. Interested?”

Grant was quiet as Hailey tossed the jersey aside.

“Do you really wear number three for your brother?” Hailey asked finally.

“My brother didn’t really like basketball,” Grant shook his head. “I guess when you’re used to always being the new kid, you come up with clever ways of getting your way. You bring up the dead brother and people usually become pretty generous.”

“I knew you were lying,” Hailey sighed.

“Yep, you called me on that one,” Grant shrugged.

“How did your brother die?” Hailey gulped.

Grant looked away, pained. “He had the misfortune of being one of the people standing at the base of Mount Saint Cleopatra when it erupted after being dormant for nearly one hundred years.”

“Are you serious?” Hailey gasped.

“Yeah,” Grant smiled. “He’s a statue of molten lava. We keep him in a glass case back home.”

Hailey slapped Grant hard across the chest. “My goodness! You’re awful!”

“Car accident,” Grant admitted.

“I’m sorry,” Hailey nodded.

“It’s okay,” Grant shrugged. “I don’t remember him at all.”

Hailey swallowed. “Then I’m really sorry,” she nodded.

Grant looked out the back window toward the barn. Hailey had been sitting on the ground by the fence for nearly half an hour, and it was almost time for supper.

“Kids!” Nora called from the kitchen. “Wash up. I made chicken casseroles.”

“What is chicken casserole?” Jessica asked as she and Emily walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. “It sounds delicious!”

“Just think Heaven in a Pyrex dish,” Emily replied, and the two girls giggled.

“Hey, Grant, you coming?” Jessica asked.

“Yeah,” Grant smiled, “I’ll be there in a second.”

“Grant loves when Mama makes her chicken casserole,” Emily nodded, sticking her tongue out at Grant. “That way, if he fails his weekly drug test, he can blame it on the poppy seed!”

Grant plastered on his biggest fake smile as he facetiously patted the top of Emily’s head. “While I would love to stay and play this game, which, as you know, I thoroughly enjoy, I have to go call and check in with my probation officer.”

The girls cackled as they skipped into the kitchen.

“Hurry, or I can’t promise we’ll save you any,” Jessica called behind her.

Grant walked down the hall to his room and emerged quickly, holding a Nike shoe box.

“Hailey?” he said softly, trying not to startle her as he approached the barn.

Hailey turned her head slowly, and that’s when Grant noticed she was crying. He looked down at the headstone in the ground in front of her, and he wasn’t sure what to say.

Hailey patted the ground beside her. “Sit,” she nodded.

Grant sat down, sitting the box to the side.

Hailey wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “When Mama got sick, she asked Daddy to bury her here when she died,” she said, without looking at Grant. “She loved her animals; they used to have an entire farm; she loved this place…it was her haven, her retreat. She was simple and warm just like this little town.” Hailey turned to Grant. “At least that’s what Daddy tells me.”

“You don’t remember her?” Grant asked.

“No,” Hailey sighed. “I don’t remember her at all…not the way she looked at me, not the way she smelled, not the way she sounded when she cooed my name. She didn’t live long at all after Jessica was born, so all I have of her are pictures. I don’t even really miss her because I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to miss.”

Grant reached for Hailey’s hand, and she let him take it. They sat in silence for a moment, Grant rubbing her hand with his thumb.

“I don’t know what it’s like to lose a parent,” Grant gulped, “so I won’t say that I know how you feel, but I do know what it’s like to not remember someone who is supposed to be really special to you. I was only two when my brother died; they say he was crazy about me, but sometimes I think they just make that up because they know I don’t know any different. I try so hard to remember…one look, one touch, one smile…but I can’t, and it hurts.”

“Yeah, it does,” Hailey agreed.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to know your mom,” Grant said softly.

Hailey put her arms around Grant and, closing his eyes, he hugged her tight. He held her in his arms for a long moment, their silence speaking more than anything they could say in that moment.

“Why are you carrying a shoe box around?” Hailey blurted all of a sudden, and both of them laughed.

“I brought a peace offering,” Grant said, reaching for the box and placing it in Hailey’s hands.

“You brought me shoes?” Hailey asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Just open it,” Grant smiled.

Hailey opened the lid and pulled out a green basketball jersey. She smiled, touched as she traced the white number three with her finger.

“I want you to have it,” Grant nodded.

“But, I lost the game fair and square,” Hailey shook her head.

“I know,” Grant smiled, “but I got to thinking. You’re right. I probably won’t even be around for the majority of the season, so the least I can do is let you keep this, which, you’re right, probably means more to you than it does to me. Besides…green and white, thirty-three, Boston, Larry Bird…come-on…”

Hailey smiled broadly, and it wasn’t lost on Grant how beautiful her eyes looked under the moonlight. “You do have a heart, Grant Cohen, and, all this time, I was under the impression that you were devoid of such a thing,” she quipped.

Grant nodded. “Well, I have been…since the summer when you stole it.”

Hailey laughed, and Grant responded by putting his arm around her.

Hailey smiled, but her smile quickly faded. “Isn’t it about time that we tackle the subject of the summer that was?”

“We will,” Grant promised. “Right now let’s just go inside and try to have a civilized dinner.”

“I see. Baby steps,” Hailey nodded.

Grant nodded back, a grin stretching across his face.

They stood and headed toward the house.

“Thank you for this,” Hailey said gripping her jersey in her hand. “It was a really sweet gesture. It means a lot.”

“Don’t get all sentimental about it,” Grant grinned. “I assure you I’m still a jerk at heart.”