Sex, Not Love

I laughed it off, and we sat just as the girls jogged out from the locker room. Izzy was the third one in line.

“She’s the only sophomore on the varsity team, and she’s one of the tallest already.”

“Are both her parents tall?”

“Her father’s six foot two, and her mother was probably about five foot ten.”

“Was?”

“She died a few years ago.”

“Wow. Tough. Dad’s in prison and Mom died young. She’s lucky she has you.”

“Most days she doesn’t see it that way.”

“She’s fifteen. She sees what she wants to see in order to justify brooding. I’m not saying what happened to her is easy, but teenage girls will find a reason to brood even when there isn’t one.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

“After my mom died, I moved in with my Uncle Joe and his wife, Elizabeth. He was much younger than my mother, so he fel

t more like an older cousin than an uncle growing up. We got along great, but him and his daughter—that was a whole different story. When Cara was about Izzy’s age, she was one big pain in the ass. Her life was perfect. Parents were happily married. Father’s a doctor. Mother stayed home to raise her. She was smart and beautiful—got the best genes from both parents. Yet she found a reason to growl at them daily. Never understood what the hell she was so angry about. I would have given anything to be in her predicament. She’s twenty-four now. Grew out of it, and now we laugh about it all the time.”

“I’m not sure we’ll ever get to the place where we look back and laugh at these years. But I get what you’re saying.”

“How long is her dad away for?”

“A few more months. He made some ridiculous deal by testifying against a federal regulator he’d bribed and got thirty months instead of the thirty years he deserved.”

“What happens when he gets out? Izzy goes to live with him?”

“I don’t know. I’m guessing so, but we haven’t started talking about it. Taking it one day at a time right now.”

The announcer came on to call the starting lineup. Hunter and I stood and cheered when they called Izzy’s name. She looked up at the stands and half smiled at us before her eyes shifted a couple of rows up, and suddenly the lame smile she graced us with turned beaming while she waved to someone else. Both Hunter and I followed her line of sight to a tall boy of Indian descent sitting alone on the top row.

“Who’s that?” Hunter thumbed toward the top bleacher when we turned back around. He’d only met her once, but there was a protective tone in his voice nonetheless.

I sighed. “It must be Yakshit.”

His brows jumped. “Pardon?”

“The boy she has a crush on. His name is Yakshit.”

Hunter shook his head and grumbled, “Another poor bastard.”

***

“You hit sixty percent of your free throws.” Hunter said to Izzy. “You have a great shot. But you can definitely do better. You’re flicking the ball with your thumb on your guide hand as you take your shot, which is making it spray left.”

“Coach said the same thing.”

“Have you tried squeezing your thumb and index finger on your guide hand together?”

“I’ve tried, but I forget when I’m in a game.”

“You need a shooting strap. Back to basics. A J-strap and at least fifty extra free throws a day after practice until you do it automatically without the strap on in a few weeks. I can grab you one.”

“Okay! What else?”