“Hi.”
I turned briefly toward the voice, then rotated back toward the hoop. The girl was standing to my left, a little behind me. I’d hardly had a chance to say “get lost” when her mother came over, too. And mine.
“I hope you’re good at basketball, because Gina’s tough competition. Hi, I’m Marcia,” said a lady with hair that looked like an abandoned bird’s nest. “Hi,” I said, looking down at my hands, holding the ball. How do I get rid of these people? That little kid with the lollipop isn’t getting her sticky hands on my basketball.
“Oh, I’m not so good,” I heard the girl say with a heartier voice than most girls, deep but still like a girl. I turned my head, curious to see the person connected to that voice, and I found myself looking up a few inches into her round freckled face just a few steps away. My hand slipped, dropping the ball, and before I could grab it, she did.
I’d never really studied a girl before. Most of them just giggled a lot and passed notes to each other. But this one was different. For one, she was big. Not fat, but sturdy, like you couldn’t knock her over if you went up for a layup and she was on defense. And white teeth showing now behind a wide grin, as she clutched the ball squarely between her palms and in one motion tipped one hand over the other and pushed up toward the basket...from way too far away to get it in.
My luck. She got it in. And she let out a whoop. I just stood there a second kicking at the driveway with the toe of my Air Walks, and then I remembered my manners, as the others headed toward the backyard.
“Nice shot, can you do that again?” I asked, catching the ball she tossed me and passing it back to her. She caught it and hesitated a second, freeing one hand to push her strawberry blond hair back behind one ear.
“I’ll try,” she said, as she did that palm-it-and-twist it maneuver again. Whoosh. Through the hoop. I caught it and passed it back, wanting to watch that again and yet a little spooked at the thought of shooting and missing myself. “Three for three?” I asked, my darn voice cracking a bit as I added, “Where’d you learn that?”
“Last year in fifth grade,” she said, catching the ball. So, she was my age. Or maybe she stayed back a year. She was looking at me, that wide smile back on her face. “I’ll try,” she said, standing still a moment, still just looking at me.
Did I have sweat on my face? Dirt? A pimple? What was she looking at, I wondered, pushing my hair back from my forehead with the palm of my sweaty hand. God, I was gross; I should’ve taken a shower this morning. I wondered if I smelled.
She stepped forward a bit too fast and let it go. It hit the rim and flipped to me. I caught it and let out a deep sigh.
“Oh well,” I said. She shrugged and smiled, and at the same time I noticed John’s lights come on. He’d probably look out to see if I was playing.
“Do you want to see my hermit crabs?” I suddenly heard myself asking her. “They’re really cool.” Dumb move, I thought. A girl will get the creeps from hermit crabs.
“Sure, I’d love to,” she said. She tucked her Boston Bruins tee-shirt into her jeans shorts. “I’ve only got fish,” she said, turning slowly and following behind me toward the house. I pulled up my shorts, which felt like they were sliding off. Then I wasn’t quite sure what to do with my hands.
****
Gina
“There he is,” I said to no one in particular as Mom slowed the car to turn into her friend’s driveway, and I watched him grab a basketball that had rolled in front of Mom’s car. “I’m so glad there’s a boy here. I’m at that age when I’d rather play with boys, you know,” I said to Melissa, who sat sucking her lollypop, caring about nothing else.
As Mom and Melissa got out of the car, I took an extra second to smooth my hair. I couldn’t tell yet if he was cute.
I stepped out of the car and said hi to Mom’s friend. I noticed that he’d looked at me a second and turned away. My stomach knotted up like before a big game or a swim meet. He didn’t like me! He must have a girlfriend, I thought. About to mope, instead I covered my hand over my mouth and giggled to myself as I watched him dart toward the street with the basketball, dribble like a maniac, then stop short, race under the basket, clutch the ball like he’d received a pass, jump up, and flip it in. He punched the air and cheered! He made me laugh and he looked nice enough, so I went over to say hello.
“Hi,” I said, standing behind him a bit, but close enough to see that he had blue eyes. I wondered if he’d kissed a girl yet. But he didn’t even turn to say hello, and I thought I should just give up, when I heard Mom saying, “I hope you’re good at basketball, because Gina’s tough competition.” Oh, Mom, how could you, I thought, thinking that no boy would talk to me if my mother pushed me on him, particularly today, with Mom’s perm gone haywire and her hair a frizzy mess.
But then something happened and I didn’t really think about it, I just did what came naturally. I said, “Oh, I’m not so good,” and as I said it, he looked at me and happened to drop his ball. I grabbed it and instinctively made the lay-up. No problem. It landed right where I knew it would, and I caught it when it dropped through the hoop. I cheered and so did Mom and her friend, but he seemed to be annoyed. So I passed the ball back to him.
“Nice shot, can you do that again?” he asked, surprising me, and tossing it right back to me. I caught it, then hesitated a second, pushing my hair behind my ear the way Jenny always does when she’s sitting with Bobby. I always thought it looked sexy. Something boys probably liked. I didn’t know much about what boys liked because I was so busy playing basketball most of the time or swimming or going rollerblading that I really never knew how to get a boyfriend. I mean, I had dozens of boy friends, but a boyfriend? How could I get one of those?
“I’ll try,” I said, thinking that maybe the way to get a boyfriend was to stop beating boys at sports. But I sent the ball to the hoop, and it found its way in, naturally.
“Three for three?” he was asking, but I just looked at him, thinking his black curly hair falling kind of sweaty on his face was sweet. I heard his voice make that kind-of-boy, kind-of-man squeaky sound like my cousin Joe made all last year. “Where’d you learn that?” he was asking, as he passed me the ball again.
After I caught it, I must have continued to stand there smiling a bit, because I suddenly realized I was watching him push his hair back and all I could think of was what it would be like to kiss him. He started to look away from me, and I wondered again if he had a girlfriend or maybe he didn’t like me.
“Last year in fifth grade,” I said, saying I’d drop it in again, but I thought about my boyfriend dilemma some more. I guess I could just force an error here. Only this one time. You know, mind my manners on his turf. See if he likes me if I don’t beat him. Worth a try. I released the ball, but I leaned too far forward. It hit the rim.
“Oh well,” he said, and I shrugged like I’d seen Jenny do a million times. Another sexy thing, I figured. He seemed distracted, turning to look down the street.
“Do you want to see my hermit crabs?” he asked, startling me. “They’re really cool.”
Hey, it worked, this not beating them at sports stuff, I thought, then I realized my stomach felt like I’d just had way too much Sprite. If not acting like my real self was a way to interest a boy, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But acting just a little different probably was okay. I might not have made that shot anyway. And I could always try to beat him another day.
“Sure, I’d love to,” I said. Darn it, why did I wear this baggy tee shirt, I thought, tucking it in smoothly into my shorts. I followed behind him so that maybe he wouldn’t notice I was so tall. “I only have fish,” I added, just to make conversation.
He headed toward his house, pulling up his shorts as he walked. He probably knew he was cute. Maybe he didn’t have a girlfriend after all, I wondered, as I tried to decide whether to fold my hands or stick them in my pockets.
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