Fake Me To Church

Chapter 2.1 - She Who Walks Behind the Rows

- AHMED -

"S-sorry, man," I sputtered as Steven threw the basketball back to me. He nodded, then returned his gaze to Coach Wells.

I bowed my head and rushed back to the circle of guys I was practicing with. After we took a few more shots, missing a few but sinking most, Coach blew his whistle.

I hustled with the rest of the prospectives to center court, where we started running basic drills, dribbling up and down the polished wood floor for twenty minutes before shooting lay-ups and free-throws for the next forty.

Hot, sticky sweat poured down my face and back, gluing my jersey to my body. But I refused to stop, refused to give up.

After another few rounds of drills, Coach Wells split up all the prospectives, dividing us into groups interspersed with some of the guys already on the team.

"Anybody can hustle up and down a court or sink a jump shot," he said, "but if you boys want a spot, you're gonna need more than skill—you're gonna need synergy. And how well you play as part of this team is a heck of a lot more important than any shot you make or ball you steal."

He strode to the middle of the court and held up the basketball before staring both team captains in the eye, assuring they were ready to spring for the ball the second he hurled it into the air.

After a moment's hesitation, he blew his whistle and tossed the ball upward. My team's captain, Isaac, managed to get to it first, knocking it forward and heading toward the three-point line. Steven, who captained the other team, was on Isaac in a second. Isaac passed to a guy named Ray, who squeezed past two other defenders and land a lay-up. We headed down the court to the opposing goal after Steven picked up the rebound.

"Steven—dude, I'm open!" yelled his teammate Paul.

Steven kept running like Paul didn't exist. I thought for sure someone would steal the ball, but he weaved through the throng of desperate hands and blocking arms with almost inhuman speed.

I lunged to grab the ball, but Steven twisted ahead and swung his elbow backward to jab me in the nose before sinking the shot squarely in the basket.

Coach Wells blew his whistle as I fell backward, blood bursting from my nostrils and pouring down my face like scarlet karo syrup gushing from a mannequin corpse.

"HALL!" Coach yelled, storming past the growing group of guys crowding above me to check if I was okay. "What the heck was that!?"

"Sorry, Coach," Steven defended, holding up his arms. "Guy was on me before I knew it. I didn't see him until the last second..."

"So you elbow the kid to the face!?" Coach roared, then turned to look at me. "I'll buzz the nurse," he mumbled as he walked over to help me up. "You okay, kid?"

I nodded, plugging my nose the best I could with my jersey sleeve.

Coach glared at Steven one more time before calling the nurse from his office. The moment Coach walked off the court, Steven shot me an evil grin then shoved past me to pick up the fallen basketball.

****

"Well, it's not broken. And it looks like the bleeding has stopped too."

I gave a tired sigh and stared up at the school nurse before glancing rightward to her desk, where a golden placard sheened in the afternoon sunlight that gleamed through the windows: LINA MAWRY, SCHOOL NURSE.

Shivering despite the dizzying heat still smoldering inside my head, I shut my eyes to the surrounding office, to the monochromatic walls of pastel pink hung with Bible verses bordered in silky white.