All of campus is talking about the game tonight. Blue and yellow floods University Hall. The café has been busy, students and professors alike getting their caffeine in anticipation to a late night watching the first round of the tournament.
One week. Seven days. Long, excruciatingly empty days without Joel. He hasn’t texted, not that I expected him to. The fantasy is officially over.
It’s the first Thursday, outside of holidays and school breaks, that Joel has missed, and I can’t help but wonder if he’d have come even if he weren’t in Salt Lake City.
Gabby appears at the back of the line and waves. I’m so happy to see her I focus and get the four orders in front of her done quickly.
“Hey!” I say when she’s finally at the counter. “What are you doing here?”
She’s not taking classes on campus, so her presence means she’s come to see me.
“I wanted to invite you to The Hideout tonight. It’s my first night working all on my own and Blair, Vanessa, and some of the baseball guys are coming to watch the game.” She looks at me hopefully. “And for moral support. Please? I need at least one table that I know won’t yell at me.”
Gabby has a way of pulling smiles from people without even meaning to and I feel the first crack of a real honest to God smile since Joel broke my heart.
“Of course, I’ll be there. Christian is with Victor this weekend.”
And I could use the distraction. I know I won’t be able to not watch the game and watching the game can only lead to thinking of Joel. As if I’ve done anything but that this past week.
“Great. Thank you.” She leans over the counter and hugs my neck. “My shift starts at six.”
The rest of the day goes by without too much dwelling on my shitty week, and when the game starts and I’m sitting between Blair and Clark, a friend of Mario’s from the baseball team, I almost feel good.
Almost.
Part of me is even excited to see Joel on the flat screens plastered on every wall. Except it’s not the real Joel. It’s some solemn, defeated looking impersonator. As the halftime buzzer sounds and the announcers begin to discuss the first half of the game, I realize he’s just as miserable as me and it shows in his less than stellar performance.
Maybe it’s stupid of me to not be jumping up and down at this knowledge, but if Joel isn’t going to be with me, I want him to go back to the charming easy-going guy I longed for. I don’t want or need his pain. It certainly doesn’t make my own misery feel better to have company.
“This was supposed to be an easy game,” Mario says as Gabby brings a new pitcher to our table.
I’m still shocked that Gabby took a job at the most popular college hangout. Half the time she’s hiding behind her hair hoping no one will notice her, but there is no hiding her gorgeous blonde hair and “remarkable ass.” That from Clark who, bless his heart, tried to say it as a compliment but sent Gabby running back behind the bar.
The rest of the table weighs in on the game, but I stop listening and pull out my phone.
I know there is very little chance that the guys spend halftime checking their phones, but I do know someone that may just be able to get a message to him.
Joel
Coach’s suit jacket is tossed over a chair and he’s currently pulling at his tie. What a shitty first half. Florida Gulf is playing the half of their lives, but even so, we should be destroying them. Shaw, our rookie point man, is overwhelmed in his first tournament game and I’m tossing up bricks.
Letting go of distractions and focusing on the present is something athletes learn to do when they get to a competitive level. It’s necessity. For some players, they switch gears and are able to leave it all off the court, some use bad days to fuel their motivation. To be honest, I’ve never really needed to develop a coping mechanism. After Polly, I turned off that part of my brain, not just when I was playing ball but all the time. Until Katrina.
“Moreno,” Coach’s voice pulls me out of my own thoughts. “Gonna let you start the second half, but I’ve got Johnson on standby if you can’t pull it together.”
Spectacular.
Z nudges me, giving me a silent pep talk with his serious gaze.
Coach gives us our final marching orders for the plan of attack, and we stand to head back onto the court.
“Hey,” Wes motions with his head and I hang back.
“Dude, I swear to God if you give me another pep talk about heart, I’m gonna lose my shit.”
He chuckles. “Damn, I need new material.” He passes me his phone. “I think this is better than whatever I could have come up with.”
Confused, but intrigued, I take his phone and see a text from Katrina.
Wes pats me on the back. “See you out there, man.”
I sit back on the bench in front of the lockers and run a towel over my forehead. Let out a breath and read.
Kitty: If you’re reading this after the game and you lost, well, just stop reading. But in the off chance, Wes is able to get this to you at halftime, here goes…
You said once that I was your lucky charm. I don’t know if you were telling the truth or not, but there is a whole bar of people at The Hideout about to riot so here’s hoping.
I gave this careful consideration and I’ve decided to go with wisdom from someone I know you’ll listen to, yourself. Ready? Winners want the ball. Yep, that's it. And if that doesn’t work, then just know, for whatever it’s worth, I believe in you.
Read it three times before I stand, knowing I need to get out there but wanting to let her words motivate me. A lot of questions and thoughts of Kitty pull at my focus, but there’ll be time later to decipher the way it makes me feel to know she has my back even when I’ve given her every reason not to.
Wes is waiting for me outside the locker room. Should have guessed. He looks me up and down carefully. “You good?”
I hand him the phone. “Yeah, all good.”
The sound of the band playing “Tequila,” the echo of basketballs hitting the wooden floor, I let it soothe something inside of me that I wasn't able to before Katrina's message.
Fifteen thousand fans are here. This is what I live for – doing what I love in front of thousands of people. Giving them something to hope for, to cheer for. For two hours, they get to leave everything else behind. It’s more than a game. It’s a chance to be part of something bigger than myself.
Wes pulls out the dry erase clipboard he held under one arm and glances down at what looks like a list. A long list.
"Got a few notes for me, Coach Dubya?"
He grins. "Thinking you should attack the basket this half."
I play my best ball on the outside – long shots, jumpers, and fadeaways – that's my clutch move. I’m real good at the fadeaway. The best. On the court and off. You can’t guard someone who shoots and moves backward. You just can’t. I’ve staked my future and my personal life on that one move.
"But they’ve got Louis down low. Man's a brick wall."
"Yeah, which is why they aren't expecting it. I think you can get two or three good drives off him before they adjust and then start looking to Z and Malone. Don't need it to work all night, just to rattle them and gain some momentum."
Florida Gulf is a fifteen seed - nobody expected them to give us trouble tonight. Wes is right, if we get some momentum and throw them off, they'll likely crumble.
"Alright. Far be it for me to go against your years of coaching experience."
Relief smooths out his features. “Alright then. Let’s have a game.”
Yeah, let’s have a game.