He jogged a few steps and caught him by the arm.
Simon swung around. His eyes were red.
Gabriel fished his cell out of his pocket and held it out.
“Here. Text it.”
Simon’s eyes widened. He took the phone and worked the buttons like his thumbs were on fire.
Then he held it out. Gabriel read.
I can practice, but can’t play. Coach says liability.
Gabriel frowned, but he understood. If Simon couldn’t hear, how could the coach call plays? How could the other kids get his attention on the court? He wouldn’t hear a whistle or the buzzer.
Simon took the phone from him again.
I’m good. Not a liability.
Gabriel smiled.
Simon took the phone a third time.
I just want to play.
Gabriel lost the smile. He understood that.
“You’re good?” he said.
Simon clenched his teeth and nodded.
Gabriel slid the phone into his pocket and tossed the ball back at Simon. “Prove it.”
The kid was faster than Gabriel expected, light on his feet and agile. Fit, too he was all over the court despite just finishing practice. His ball control sucked; Gabriel could tell he was used to getting by with speed. He missed half the shots he took.
At first Gabriel tried calling out pointers but then he remembered again that Simon couldn’t hear him.
Yeah, he saw where the coach was coming from.
Finally, he caught the ball and held his hands in a T. He’d been playing in jeans and a hoodie, and his own hair felt damp.
“You need to slow it down, buddy.”
Simon was breathing hard. He nodded.
“He needs to remember the bus schedule,” said a voice from the bleachers. “We’ve already missed the late one.”
Gabriel turned. Simon didn’t. Layne sat there, a textbook open on the bench beside her, a notebook in her lap.
“How long have you been sitting there?” he said.
She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Like twenty minutes.”
God, he was baking in this sweatshirt. He swiped a hand across his forehead. “Why didn’t you say something?”
She glanced away, tucking a loose piece of hair back into her braid. “Because Simon never gets to play.”
“So you missed the hey!”