“MAN, you sure stank up the court today,” she said. She dribbled the ball as she talked. It distracted Theo, like someone snapping fingers in his face.

He tried to pass her as if she wasn’t there.

She slid in front of him. “Major fail, dude. Was that your first time playing?”

His heart thumped with anger. She talked so casually, like they were friends instead of mortal enemies. It was as if the Joker came up to Batman and said, “Wanna grab a movie, Bats?”

Theo wanted to say something really mean, call her some nasty names, see how she liked it. He looked at her, searching for a target he could mock. Maybe something about her short haircut (“You look like boy!”) or freckled nose and cheeks (“Somebody shoot you in the face with a paintball?”). But he decided to just ignore her, be the mature one.

He kept walking.

“Rude much?” she snorted.

Theo spun and barked, “Me? I’m the rude one? You and your pals heckled me the whole game! You called me Sasquatch!”

So much for being the mature one.

She chuckled. “Yeah. That was pretty funny.”

“Funny? How was it funny? It was hurtful.”

“Boo-hoo. If you’re gonna cry, call the wambulance. I’m a girl, dude. A girl with short hair who plays basketball, whose family is—” She broke off abruptly. “You wanna hear some of the names I get called?”

Theo didn’t say anything. Actually, he was a little embarrassed to think of some of the names he’d called girls when hanging with his guy friends. At least he’d never done it to their faces.

She stopped dribbling and pinned the ball against her hip. She looked him over and frowned. “You aren’t going to blame me for how badly you played, are you? Because you looked like someone learning to ice-skate for the first time.” She dropped the ball and did an imitation of someone trying to keep his balance on the ice. She laughed, which sounded like someone shaking a can full of nickels.

“Whatever,” Theo said, and started walking away again.

“‘Whatever?’ I see you’re just as good with words as you are with a basketball.”

Theo kept walking, grinding his teeth in anger.

She grabbed her basketball and caught up to him, dribbling as they walked. “Anyway, they weren’t my friends. I just happened to be sitting next to them.”

“And because they were yelling stuff, you had to, too?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t have to. But it made the game more fun. To be honest, both teams kinda sucked. Yours happened to suck more.”

Theo stopped walking and looked at her. She had reddish-brown hair cut in a bowl shape, a massive spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and an expression on her face that said she wouldn’t take crap from anyone. Mess with her, that expression said, and expect to get it back—twice as bad. She was athletic-looking and wore blue basketball shorts that hung below her knees and a red Philadelphia 76ers jersey with the number 6 on it.

She saw Theo looking at her jersey. “Dr. J’s number,” she said proudly.

Theo shrugged. He’d heard of Dr. J, but he had no idea who exactly he was or why he was called “doctor.” He’d never followed sports of any kind. That was his dad’s thing.

She wrinkled her nose at his apparent indifference. “You don’t even know who Dr. J is, do you? Julius Erving. Fifth top scorer in NBA history. He got his nickname in high school from a friend. Julius called his friend ‘professor’ and his friend called him ‘doctor.’ It stuck. Later, when he became so good at the slam dunk, they called him the Doctor of Dunk. Cool, huh?”

Theo shrugged again.

She shook her head in disgust. “No wonder you stink at basketball. You’ve got no appreciation for the game or its history.”

Theo leaned down so his face was close to hers and glared. “Yeah? Do you know who Magnus Carlsen, Levon Aronian, and Vladimir Kramnik are?”

She seemed to lift up on her toes to return his glare. When she didn’t answer, Theo straightened up and grinned. “See? The world doesn’t revolve around basketball. There are other things. More important things.”

She put the basketball on her finger and spun it like a globe. “Those are the three top-ranked chess players in the world. Carlsen from Norway, Aronian from Armenia, and Kramnik from Russia.”

Theo’s jaw dropped open like a cartoon animal’s. He was surprised it didn’t clunk against the ground.

She laughed. “Lookin’ smart there, Sasquatch. Hey, maybe because of me, your nickname will be ‘Sasquatch.’ When you’re famous they’ll mention me in the Wikipedia entry about you. ‘Cute, awesome girl he knew who used to beat his butt at basketball.’ How’s that sound?”

“You haven’t beat me at anything.”

She nodded toward the court. “You wanna try me, Sasquatch?”

“Shut up,” Theo snapped.

“Wow, nice comeback. Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to say ‘shut up’?”

“My mom’s dead.” Theo hadn’t meant to say that. There was something about her that made him just blurt things out. She’d make a good cop.

She shrugged as if his mom dying was no big deal, as if he’d told her he’d stubbed his toe. “So, what happened?” she asked. “You go through some growth spurt over the summer and they dragged you onto the team? You’re some kind of nerd and you saw this as a chance to have everyone see you differently? Win the big game, get the hot cheerleader?”

Theo sighed. There was no point in faking it with this girl. “Pretty much.”

“Now you know, height’s not the main thing in roundball. What you need is some sort of Karate Kid–Miyagi guru who’ll lay down all that wax-on-wax-off stuff. Only about basketball.”

“I suppose that would be you,” Theo said with a snort.

She laughed. “Me? No way, dude. I don’t have the patience. And the poor dope who teaches you is going to need a lot of patience. But I know someone who might help.”

“For a fee?” Theo said smugly.

“That’s between you and him.”

A scam. He should have guessed.

“No thanks. I already got a coach.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Just then, a motorcycle revved loudly nearby. Her head jerked up at the sound. Theo noticed a shift in her expression. Not scared exactly, but something close. Like someone bracing to take a charge from a much bigger player.

The biker was parked on the jogging path, which had signs forbidding skates, skateboards, and bicycles. He was dressed all in black leather and wore a shiny black helmet with red flames on the side and a dark visor.

Theo couldn’t see his face, but he seemed to be looking straight at the girl.

“Do you know him?” Theo asked.

But she was already walking up the slope to meet Motorcycle Guy. He whipped off his helmet. He looked like he was about eighteen, with crow-black hair and dark skin. Not as dark as Theo’s, but definitely surfer tan.

The biker immediately started talking to her in a foreign language Theo didn’t understand. It seemed kind of Russian, the way he sounded like he was chewing tough meat while talking.

She answered in English with, “I don’t care.”

The reply seemed to anger the biker even more. He stomped on the kickstand so the bike wouldn’t fall, and jumped off with an athletic grace that Theo admired. He marched up to the girl, grabbed her by the shoulders, and hollered in her face, “This is your last chance!”

She shook her head and hollered back, “Leave me alone!”

He shouted something in that foreign language.

She jerked free from his grip and said, “Mind your own business.”

He slapped her across the face so hard she fell to the ground. Her basketball slipped from under her arm and rolled away. Theo wasn’t sure what shocked him more, the sudden slap, or the fact that she went down. He’d imagined her too tough to be knocked down by anything less than a truck.

The girl—Theo realized that he didn’t know her name—stood up, rubbed her face where she’d been smacked, and kicked Motorcycle Guy hard in the shin. He groaned at the contact and hobbled back a few steps from the pain. He shouted some words in that foreign language and raised his hand high as if to slap her again, harder.

“Hey!” Theo heard himself shout. Then he realized his feet were running up the slope toward Motorcycle Guy. He didn’t remember telling his feet to do that. In fact, he wasn’t at all happy about the direction they were heading. Because there was no way he could beat up Motorcycle Guy. Yet he was still running up that slope, still yelling things like “Leave her alone!” and holding up his cell phone: “I’ve already called 911!” Actually, that would have been a good idea. He started to press the numbers when Motorcycle Guy turned his head and looked at him. He stared as if memorizing Theo’s face, which made Theo’s stomach drop.

Then Motorcycle Guy jammed his helmet back onto his head, limped to his bike, climbed on, and roared off.

“You okay?” Theo said, a little breathless after running up the slope.

There were no tears in her eyes. She didn’t shout angrily after him. She just stood without any expression at all. “Of course,” she said, as if that was a silly question. “You just have to roll with the punch. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to fight?”

“I’ve never been in a fight.”

She frowned at that, as if unsure whether he was lying or crazy. Then she shrugged and said, “Probably just as well, because you’re not in very good shape. I thought you’d pass out running up this slope.”

“You’re welcome,” Theo said. He picked up her basketball and handed it to her. “Who was that guy? What language was that? Why did he hit you?”

She smiled at him, the side of her face bright red from the slap. Then suddenly she ran off, calling over her shoulder, “See you around, Sasquatch.”