Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Coaching.
Basketball has always been important to me. Cal and I both played for OSU and enjoyed it. Where most of the guys wanted to go pro, I wasn’t interested. I knew I wanted to go back to Hood River and be with my boys. Before the accident, Cal and I wanted to work together or go into business together. This would be a step back in the direction of what I had planned for my future. It would feel great to feel normal again.
“Where do I need to sign?” I ask, leaning forward as excitement trickles through me. “I think I can do this.”
Karen sets a packet of employment papers in front of me. “Honey, I know you can. Welcome to the team.”
Cal playfully punches my shoulder and I grin.
Holy shit. I’m going to do this. I’m really going to do this.
For the first time since I woke up, I feel empowered. Like my life is my own and I am the one in control.
I’m getting my life back.
Fucking finally.
Penny
They’re noisy.
Always so noisy.
People, that is. All of them. My family. Tierra. The Hoodlums. Sebban. It’s like they live life to make sounds. Laughter and growls and words. So many damn words.
It’s irritating.
I’ve learned to tune it out, though.
I had to.
When I mentioned it as a kid, Dad got that weird “I’m going to diagnose you now” look on his face. I may have been young, but I was sharp enough to realize it wasn’t normal and that telling people only brings attention to it.
So, like any person who doesn’t want to stand out, I learned to cope with the maddening onslaught that whips at me every damn day.
I learned to shut it all out.
All that chaos that seems to echo inside my head, louder and louder with each passing second had to be muted. Ignored. Forgotten. If not, it was going to drive me insane.
The first time I learned to shut it all out was through an app on my tablet. A silly game that required constant movement of colored items, arranging them in an order to make them disappear, earning points for larger, more complicated strings of them. It’s like the task was so intense, it numbed the other parts of me, not allowing sounds to overwhelm me.
Mom tried to limit my screen time, stating I was turning into a zombie. Little did she know, the games were helping me cope. Her solution to my obsession was basketball. Hollis played basketball and loved it. Charlotte had cheerleading. Mom thought I needed comradery and fresh air.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The first time I’d sat in the gym at the YMCA, waiting to start my first basketball practice, I’d wanted to scream in frustration at all the noise and chaos. But, my coach spoke to us while dribbling his ball. There was something calming in the repetitious sound, soothing my trembling soul. I fixated on it. Became obsessed with it. The moment he handed me the ball, it’s like I was once again on my tablet game, performing tasks and running through exercises that drowned out the disorder suffocating me. It gave my mind purpose and another mechanism to cope.
Giggles drag me from my inner thoughts, piercing the safe haven I’ve erected around my mind when I’m on the basketball court.
Liv Johnson.
The girl who wishes she were a cheerleader, but has a talent for playing ball. Prissy as fuck. Wears fucking mascara to every practice and game. Loud and annoying.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I dribble past where she stands and is pointing toward the bleachers while whispering to her friends. Tierra shows up out of nowhere, challenge gleaming in her brown eyes. I fake right and then dribble around her left. She gets her windmill arms going in front of me, but I’ve practiced with this girl enough to know her style. I fake right, knowing she’ll expect me to go left, and then I just shoot the ball from the three-point line.
Swoosh.
Another sound I like.
Someone whistles. It’s jarring and each one of my nerve endings quivers in disgust. Shrieking, shrill sounds are the worst.
I swivel around, scowling at the offender.
Fucking Cal.
“Bring it in, wannabe ballers,” Cal calls out. “We're going to see who can actually play. Then you can get back home to your mommies.”
Tierra nudges my shoulder with hers as we walk over to where Cal is waiting with Terrence. I don’t know what the hell those knuckleheads are doing here, but I’m intrigued.
“You know about this?” I ask, arching a brow at her.
“Nope, but I can tell by the shit-eating grin on Cal’s face, we aren’t gonna like it.” She smirks at me. “That smile promises trouble.”
All the players crowd around them. Several girls are red-faced and it has nothing to do with practicing before tryouts. They’re giddy over these guys.
That, I’ll never understand.