Full-Court Press Page 3

  We played outside some more after our snack, and the next thirty minutes just flew! When it was time to go, Brian approached me.

  “You were really great with Pete and Max, Elle,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “My older sister has special needs, so I guess that helps make me comfortable around all kinds of people.”

  “Well, she must be a really great influence on you,” Brian said. “Listen, if you ever have time to volunteer again, we’d love to have you come help out.”

  My mind started to whir. Volunteering here would be so much fun! Maybe I could do it on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when I didn’t have practice.

  Then I remembered about wanting to take Zobe to obedience class. I wasn’t even sure how many days a week that class was, or when it met. Mom hadn’t said yes to obedience class yet anyway, but I thought she might say yes to this. She’d have to, right? I mean, she’s a regular champion for kids with special needs!

  “I’d like that,” I replied. “I’ll let you know.”

  Then we headed over to the high school entrance, the school’s official location for picking up kids from after-school activities. I found Avery waiting by the door.

  “Sorry I never made it,” she said. “How’d it go?”

  “Awesome,” I replied. “I played catch with this totally adorable boy named Pete. I think I want to go back and volunteer again, if my mom will let me.”

  Natalie chimed in from behind us. “It was totally fun,” she said. “You were right, Elle, there was nothing to be nervous about.”

  “Cool,” I said. “Maybe you can volunteer again with me sometime.”

  Natalie frowned. “I’d love to, but I don’t know. There’s so much homework this semester, don’t you think?”

  Before I could answer, Mom’s car pulled up. I ran outside to meet her. I was tempted to ask her about the volunteering right away, but I decided to wait until dinner.

  Sometimes, it helped to have Dad in my corner. He was a little less strict than Mom, and he might be able to help me convince her that I could handle this.

  4

  Sooooo Tired!

  I didn’t even have to bring up the subject of the after-school program at dinner. Mom did it for me.

  “So, Elle, tell us, how did your service day go?” she asked.

  “It was really great,” I replied, cutting into my pork chop. “The kids there are all between the ages of six and eleven, and they’re really fun and sweet. Most of them have autism, and a few have Down syndrome.”

  “Well, I’m really glad Coach Ramirez chose that program for your service day,” Mom said. “I’m sure the kids were glad to have some energetic young women to play with.”

  “They were,” I said. “In fact, one of the program leaders, Brian, said that I was so great with the kids that I could come volunteer any time I want to.”

  Dad beamed at me. “That’s my Elle!” he said.

  “So, I was thinking,” I continued, “that maybe I could help out on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when I don’t have practice.”

  Mom frowned, and to my surprise, Dad did too.

  “Elle, that sounds like a big commitment,” he said. “When will you have time to do your homework?”

  “It’ll be easy,” I said. “The program is after school, so I can do homework after dinner.”

  “Maybe,” Mom said. “But that’s still a lot on your plate. When would you have any down time? I just don’t know, honey.”

  “Come on,” I said, nodding to Jim’s empty chair. “Jim has football practice every single day now, and he doesn’t get home until dark. And you don’t think he’s too busy.”

  “Jim is older than you,” Mom said. “He’s learned how to manage his time.”

  “I can learn!” I insisted.

  “We’ll think about it, Elle,” Dad said.

  I sighed and stood up. “Okay, I’m done. I’m going to start my homework.”

  I started to run upstairs, but Dad’s voice stopped me.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked.

  I turned back to see Zobe at my heels, staring at me.

  “Oh right!” I said. “Zobe’s walk. No problem!”

  “I don’t know if I like you walking him this late,” Mom said. “It’s dark already.”

  “I’ll text Blake,” I said, and a few minutes later he and I were walking down the street toward the park, with Zobe on the leash. The park was closed after dark, but it was still nice to walk alongside it.

  We were near the park entrance when Blake suddenly stopped and made a face.

  “Um, Elle,” he said, and he nodded behind me. “Zobe just left a Great Dane–size present on the sidewalk.”

  “He what?” I asked, and I turned around to see Zobe smiling at me, right in front of a pile of poop. “Ugh! I forgot the poopy bags!”

  “Poopy bags? Is that what they’re called?” Blake asked. “That is hilarious.”

  “There is nothing funny about this,” I said.

  And then I saw Amanda walking toward us with her dog, Freckles, who was less than half the size of Zobe, with white and brown fur, droopy brown ears, and brown spots all across her white snout.

  “Oh my gosh, Elle, is this Zobe?” Amanda asked. “He is awesome!”

  “Yes, and he just made an awesome poop on the sidewalk,” I said. “Do you have an extra poopy bag?”

  “Of course,” Amanda replied. She had hers in a little plastic holder attached to the leash, and she pulled one out for me. “Here you go.”

  Cleaning up after Zobe was one of my least favorite things about him, but I knew I had to do it to be a responsible dog owner. When I was finished, and the bag was in the trash, Amanda pulled some hand sanitizer from the pocket of her hoodie and handed it to me.

  “Wow, you think of everything,” I said.

  Amanda shrugged. “We’ve had a dog in the family ever since I was a baby,” she said.

  I glanced over at Blake, who was busy doing something on his phone.

  “So, do you always walk Freckles this late?” I asked.

  “Not usually, but Freckles was whining to go out,” she replied. “I think it was that taco she stole off my plate at dinner.”

  I laughed. “Zobe hasn’t stolen any food yet. I’m surprised, actually. But he’s pretty chill most of the time.”

  “He seems pretty chill,” Amanda said, watching as Zobe and Freckles sniffed each other. “Anyway, I just live across the street.”

  She nodded toward a yellow house.

  “Oh wow, I never realized you lived so close,” I said.

  “We should get the dogs together sometime,” Amanda suggested, “for a doggy date.”

  “That’s a great idea!” I said, and I could feel my cheeks flush a little, although I wasn’t sure why.

  Blake looked up from his phone. “Oh, hi, Amanda.”

  “She’s been here for, like, five minutes,” I said. “Who’ve you been texting?”

  “Bianca,” he replied.

  My eyebrows shot up. “Bianca?”

  When Blake and Bianca had been paired up for the dance, they ended up being really great partners. I suspected that maybe Bianca had a crush on Blake, or he had one on her. I couldn’t blame him. I mean, she was a great athlete and really pretty, with her glossy black hair. And when she wasn’t giving me attitude on the basketball team, she could be nice.

  Blake shrugged. “Well, you know, she was my partner at the dance, and so we talk and stuff,” he replied. “She had some questions about Ebear’s history project.”

  “Oh, right!” I said. “I need to get home and do my homework. I think Zobe’s done what he came to do, anyway.”

  “I hope so,” Blake said.

  Amanda grinned. “See you tomorrow!”

  We took off in different directions. I said good night to Blake, and after Zobe had a long drink from his water bowl we headed upstairs to start my homework. I pulled out all of my books, piled them on my desk, and opened my
laptop.

  I was supposed to study for science, read a chapter of the novel that Ms. Hamlin had assigned plus write a journal entry on it, and do a worksheet for Spanish. The outline of my history project for Ms. Ebear wasn’t due until Monday.

  I did the worksheet first; that was easy. Then I looked at my science notes for half an hour. I read the assigned chapter and started to yawn. I hadn’t even showered yet! I looked at the schedule and saw that even though I was supposed to write a journal entry a day, they weren’t all due for two weeks.

  I can always write the journal entry tomorrow, I reasoned with myself. And start my history project then too.

  Then I had the idea that I could make a spreadsheet and plan out when everything was due, so I wouldn’t miss any deadlines. It was a good idea, but as soon as I opened the program on my computer, all of the rows and columns began to look blurry, and I yawned again. I shut the laptop and headed for the shower.

  There’s plenty of time, I assured myself. I had always gotten all my work done in sixth grade, and I’d played basketball then, too. I knew I could catch up. There was time this weekend.

  After my shower, I said good night to Mom and Dad, and then I crashed, hard. It didn’t even matter that Zobe was stretched out so big that there was almost no space for me on the bed. I curled up into a ball and fell asleep before I even had a chance to worry about the game coming up on Sunday, or wonder what Mom and Dad were going to decide about the volunteering.

  5

  Friday Night Lights

  There you go, Elle! Staying focused! Great job!”

  The rare words of praise from Coach Ramirez reached my ears as I jumped for the basket, but I didn’t let them distract me. The ball bounced off the backboard and sank into the net with a satisfying swish.

  Avery slapped my hand as we made our way back down the court. It was Friday, practice day, and after a bunch more footwork drills we were having another scrimmage.

  Me, Avery, Patrice, Hannah, and Natalie were facing Bianca, Tiff, Amanda, Dina, and Caroline. Dina had control of the ball now and was making her way toward the basket, dodging and weaving between us defenders. Then she threw it to Bianca, but I jumped up and intercepted. I took it down the court and made a layup—without traveling or tripping over my feet.

  Coach blew her whistle. “Great job, everybody! See you all at the big game tonight!”

  I ran into the locker room to get my backpack, because I knew Mom would already be waiting for me. The “big game” was the varsity football game, the last home game at Spring Meadow, and also senior night. Since my brother was a senior, that meant Mom and Dad would get to walk down the field with him at the start of the game, so it was important.

  But as I was sprinting away, I felt Coach’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Elle, can I talk to you for a sec?” she asked.

  I stopped. “Sure,” I replied. Everyone else disappeared into the locker room.

  “I saw some improvement today, Elle,” Coach said. “Keep working hard. You have the potential to be one of the best offensive players I’ve ever seen at this age level. If you continue to focus, you could carry this team to the championships.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and I was feeling a little bit stunned. Me? Carry the team to the championships? That was a lot of pressure. “I’ll . . . I’ll keep working hard, I promise.”

  “I’m counting on you, Elle,” Coach said, and then she let me dash off to get my backpack. I waved good-bye to my friends and hurried outside to the pickup spot, where Mom was waiting for me.

  “Mom!” I cried as I slid into the front seat. Her blond hair was shiny and sleek, not pulled back in a bun or a ponytail, like usual. And she had eye shadow and mascara decorating her bright blue eyes.

  “I know!” she said. “Gary at the salon went a little too far. But it’s a special night, and there are going to be lots of pictures taken, so I thought I needed some professional help. Do I look ridiculous?”

  “No, you look beautiful!” I said. “You just don’t look like you, you know what I mean?”

  Mom nodded. “I know,” she said.

  “Is Beth coming?” I asked. It was difficult for Beth to be around crowds, especially at outdoor events, because the smells and the temperature really bothered her. But we tried to bring her to important events whenever it worked out.

  “Dad and I talked about it, but since we’ll both be busy on the field for a while, she’s going to stay home with Kim,” Mom said, naming one of Beth’s babysitters.

  I frowned. “That stinks. Couldn’t I watch her?”

  “Maybe another time, but it’s going to be hectic down at the field,” Mom said. “Don’t worry, Jim’s got a lot more events this year. Senior awards, prom, graduation . . .”

  I understood, but it was one of the sad things about Beth’s needs. Sometimes it meant she couldn’t do all of the same things we did, and that just didn’t seem fair.

  We pulled into our driveway.

  “Take a fast shower, Elle!” Mom called up to me. “We’ve got to get down to the field early. And wear something nice!”

  I came back downstairs fifteen minutes later with my wet hair pulled back into a ponytail. I had on a pair of dark jeans and my newest hooded sweatshirt with no holes or stains or anything.

  Dad was in the living room, wearing dress pants and a green sweater over a pale yellow button-down shirt (Nighthawks colors).

  “You ready, Elle?” he asked.

  Before I could answer, Zobe jumped up on me.

  “Just gotta feed Zobe,” I replied, and ran into the kitchen, past Mom, who was coming out.

  “Elle! Is that what you’re wearing?” she asked.

  “It’s my nicest sweatshirt!” I protested as I filled Zobe’s bowl with kibble. “Besides, I’m not walking out onto the field with Jim. Just you guys.”

  Mom sighed. “I don’t have time to argue. We’ll meet you out in the car.”

  I said good-bye to Zobe and Beth and we headed out. Because Spring Meadow is a small private school, we share a football field with a college in Wilmington. When we got there, people were just starting to arrive for the seven p.m. game. The Nighthawks marching band was warming up in the parking lot, and as we walked down the path to the field, I could see green and yellow balloons tied to the railings of the bleachers.

  Then, as we walked farther down the path, I saw stakes stuck in the ground. Each one had the name, number, and photo of a senior on it.

  “Look, there’s Jim!” I said, running to his sign. “I need a selfie!”

  I crouched down, whipped out my phone, and took a photo of me with Jim’s sign. I was starting to get excited, and a little sad. I couldn’t believe this was Jim’s last game before the playoffs. And after this year was over, he’d be going off to college! I saw Mom getting teary-eyed as she looked at the sign, and I knew she was thinking the same thing.

  We kept walking and passed the concession stand, which we all call the Snack Shack. A bunch of kids were already on line, buying drinks and chips. Mom’s friend, Mrs. Friedman, waved us over.

  “Jeni! Eddie! You two look fantastic!” she said. “I wish I could get out of here to see you walk the field, but we’re short-handed tonight. You’ll have to show me the pictures.”

  “Of course, Gina,” Mom replied.

  Then Mrs. Friedman turned to me. “Elle! You’re old enough to help now. Maybe you could come back and help us during halftime? I don’t want you to miss any of your brother’s game.”

  “Uh, sure,” I said. I had never helped out at the Snack Shack before, but it looked easy enough.

  Then a bunch of the other senior parents swarmed around Mom and Dad, and I headed off to the bleachers. I found Avery sitting with Hannah and Natalie. Like me, everyone was wearing a Nighthawks hoodie. Natalie’s cheeks were painted with green and yellow stripes.

  “Nice paint job!” I told her.

  Natalie grinned. “Thanks. I’ve always wanted to do this, and I had some makeup
crayons leftover from Halloween.”

  Then the PA system crackled. “Before our game begins tonight, Spring Meadow School is going to honor its senior football players and cheerleaders,” Principal Lubin announced. “Let’s give them all a big hand!”

  We all stood up and started cheering. One by one, the seniors and their parents walked through a big balloon arch on the field, stopped at the fifty-yard line, and posed for a picture. I saved my loudest cheering for Jim and my parents, and of course, my friends helped me.

  “Go, Jim!”

  “Yay, Delucas!”

  Then the balloon arch was whisked away, and we stood while the marching band played the national anthem, and the game against the Pottsville Pirates began. I kept my eyes on Jim the whole first half. His coach had him playing tight end on the offensive line—because Jim is big but he’s also fast and good at catching passes. Every time Jim caught the ball and moved it down the field, I went crazy.

  When the clock ran down at halftime, the score was Nighthawks 13, Pirates 7. I cheered for Jim as he ran off the field—and then I remembered my promise to help out with the Snack Shack.

  “Mrs. Friedman asked me to help at the shack,” I told my friends. “I’ll be back after halftime.”

  “Bring me back some popcorn!” Avery called out.

  I pushed my way through the crowd and entered the Snack Shack through the back. Mrs. Friedman nodded when she saw me.

  “Elle, you’re on drinks,” she said. “Just give each customer the drinks they need and send them on down the line to pay.”

  “Okay,” I said, and moved in front of two giant plastic garbage cans filled with ice and water, soda, and sports drinks. I didn’t have time to process any of this when the next person on line, a boy about nine years old, came up to the counter.

  “Blue sports drink,” he said.

  I dug through the garbage can and pulled a blue sports drink out of the ice.

  “Not dark blue,” he said, “light blue.”

  “What’s the difference?” I asked.

  “Light blue tastes better,” he said.