on his backside before his head bounced off the hardwood floor.
A whistle blew. “Okay, let’s pack it in!” Coach Gwynn yelled. “Davies. See me!”
Another player handed Andre the ball and he stood with it over Farrell. “My ball,” he said. Then he reluctantly joined the coach for a lecture as the other players left the court.
Farrell sat up and looked around. Nora Evans was still in the bleachers. She was looking at him but not with any interest or disinterest. No expression at all. In fact, she seemed to be working hard to look like she didn’t care.
He couldn’t help himself. Farrell was an inquisitive kind of guy and this girl was a mystery to him. He found himself climbing the stairs of the bleachers before he even knew he was doing it and sat down next to Nora.
“Hey,” he finally said.
“Hey.”
Farrell put his hand out for her to shake. “I’m Farrell Halifax.”
Nora didn’t shake his hand. She looked away for a moment, pretending not to care that someone had just sat down next to her, and then looked back at Farrell. “You’re new,” she finally said.
“So do you have a name?” Farrell asked after another uncomfortable moment of silence.
“I do,” Nora said, but said no more.
“Actually, you don’t need to tell me your name. I already know it. Nora Eleanor Evans.”
That got Nora’s attention. “Am I the only girl you’re stalking or am I just lucky?”
“I know your name because we’re in the same history class,” Farrell said.
Nora looked down on the court where Coach Gwynn was yelling at Andre. He looked back at her and saw her sitting there with another boy. He clenched his fists and tried not to lash out at the coach when he really wanted to lash out at Farrell. The smallest of smiles crossed Nora’s lips. She obviously found it amusing that Andre looked so exceedingly unhappy at the sight of her sitting with Farrell.
“Listen, it’s been great but I have to go,” she said to Farrell, even though her body language and the fact that she was leaning in closer to Farrell was saying something entirely different to Andre. She got up and headed down the bleachers. She turned back to Farrell. “Nice to talk to you…or whatever.”
Farrell was smarter than this but not on this day. He had never played basketball before and had never played this game either. Farrell was used to travelling in straight lines. Nora Evans had caused him to swerve.
* * *
Farrell had barely stepped three feet out of the gym before two of the varsity players grabbed him by the arms and dragged him down the hallway.
“Somehow you seem to have the idea that you’re one of us,” said the larger of the two boys, Jon Roberts, a point guard for the team who spent more time gelling his hair than practicing his free throws. “Somehow you seem to think you can do whatever you want. You, my friend, are sorely mistaken.”
The two hulking players lifted up the much lighter Farrell and deposited him, butt first, into a large grey trashcan at the end of the hall. Farrell looked up from his new position among half eaten sandwiches, soda cans, and dirty jock straps to see Andre now looking down on him.
“Listen, Mexican dude,” Andre said, once again confusing Uruguay with some other place he probably didn’t know the location of. “I can’t do anything about you being on my team, but I can do a lot about you talking to my girlfriend.” His girlfriend. Of course. Captain Andre Davies, big man on campus, was genetically programmed to date Nora Evans, cheerleader. How had Farrell missed that? “If I ever catch you even glancing at her again I’ll slam dunk your ass—permanently. Got it?”
Farrell didn’t even struggle to get out of the trashcan. They would have just stuffed him back in again. He knew better than to get into fights he couldn’t win. He wasn’t prepared. You always have to be prepared. “Whatever you say, Chief,” Farrell told Andre.
Andre poured the contents of a
A whistle blew. “Okay, let’s pack it in!” Coach Gwynn yelled. “Davies. See me!”
Another player handed Andre the ball and he stood with it over Farrell. “My ball,” he said. Then he reluctantly joined the coach for a lecture as the other players left the court.
Farrell sat up and looked around. Nora Evans was still in the bleachers. She was looking at him but not with any interest or disinterest. No expression at all. In fact, she seemed to be working hard to look like she didn’t care.
He couldn’t help himself. Farrell was an inquisitive kind of guy and this girl was a mystery to him. He found himself climbing the stairs of the bleachers before he even knew he was doing it and sat down next to Nora.
“Hey,” he finally said.
“Hey.”
Farrell put his hand out for her to shake. “I’m Farrell Halifax.”
Nora didn’t shake his hand. She looked away for a moment, pretending not to care that someone had just sat down next to her, and then looked back at Farrell. “You’re new,” she finally said.
“So do you have a name?” Farrell asked after another uncomfortable moment of silence.
“I do,” Nora said, but said no more.
“Actually, you don’t need to tell me your name. I already know it. Nora Eleanor Evans.”
That got Nora’s attention. “Am I the only girl you’re stalking or am I just lucky?”
“I know your name because we’re in the same history class,” Farrell said.
Nora looked down on the court where Coach Gwynn was yelling at Andre. He looked back at her and saw her sitting there with another boy. He clenched his fists and tried not to lash out at the coach when he really wanted to lash out at Farrell. The smallest of smiles crossed Nora’s lips. She obviously found it amusing that Andre looked so exceedingly unhappy at the sight of her sitting with Farrell.
“Listen, it’s been great but I have to go,” she said to Farrell, even though her body language and the fact that she was leaning in closer to Farrell was saying something entirely different to Andre. She got up and headed down the bleachers. She turned back to Farrell. “Nice to talk to you…or whatever.”
Farrell was smarter than this but not on this day. He had never played basketball before and had never played this game either. Farrell was used to travelling in straight lines. Nora Evans had caused him to swerve.
* * *
Farrell had barely stepped three feet out of the gym before two of the varsity players grabbed him by the arms and dragged him down the hallway.
“Somehow you seem to have the idea that you’re one of us,” said the larger of the two boys, Jon Roberts, a point guard for the team who spent more time gelling his hair than practicing his free throws. “Somehow you seem to think you can do whatever you want. You, my friend, are sorely mistaken.”
The two hulking players lifted up the much lighter Farrell and deposited him, butt first, into a large grey trashcan at the end of the hall. Farrell looked up from his new position among half eaten sandwiches, soda cans, and dirty jock straps to see Andre now looking down on him.
“Listen, Mexican dude,” Andre said, once again confusing Uruguay with some other place he probably didn’t know the location of. “I can’t do anything about you being on my team, but I can do a lot about you talking to my girlfriend.” His girlfriend. Of course. Captain Andre Davies, big man on campus, was genetically programmed to date Nora Evans, cheerleader. How had Farrell missed that? “If I ever catch you even glancing at her again I’ll slam dunk your ass—permanently. Got it?”
Farrell didn’t even struggle to get out of the trashcan. They would have just stuffed him back in again. He knew better than to get into fights he couldn’t win. He wasn’t prepared. You always have to be prepared. “Whatever you say, Chief,” Farrell told Andre.
Andre poured the contents of a
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