Straighter than Parallel Parking

≈ t w e n t y - s e v e n ≈

{ Chapter Twenty-Seven: She is a Dream Maker }

JANICE BREATHES HEAVILY AS HER jump-shot sails through the air, feeling weightless as her body is suspended from gravity, the ball slicing cleanly through the net.

Her exhilaration does not drown out the buzzer above her head, nor the screams of happiness from her teammates—and the groans from the opposing team—feeling lightheaded (is the floor supposed to be that close to your face?), but still runs across the court once more.

"Janice, pass here!" shouts Theresa, a member of her practice group, waving her hands wildly to receive Janice's attention.

The long hand had swept the clock twice around since the beginning of practice at four. The ticks seem to pressurize Janice, who after throwing the ball, starts running up the court, avoiding the bodies chasing after her.

"Theresa!" Janice hollers, watching the other tall girl dribble close to her, "Open!"

A lunge and a chest-pass later, Janice does an easy layup, and, despite her height, watches easily as the orange ball hits the backboard and slips through the rim.

Just before the bell, Janice thinks smugly as the buzzer stops, along with the winning shot to win the game.

"You were amazing!" Lilly, another teammate, compliments Janice, sweat dripping down their backs and making dark spots on their clothes. "That jump shot before was—wow! I tried and I think I almost hit the fire alarm..."

Four inches away, actually.

Janice grins bashfully, dropping her head.

"Thanks, Lilly. And I don't mind teaching you how to do one! They're really all about form..." she rambles on a little with Lilly listening attentively, mimicking words her own basketball coaches and brothers used to explain to her. "... and that's pretty much it! Hopefully, the only reason fire trucks come next time is because you're playing fire instead of thinking there's an actual one."

Janice is saved from Lilly shoving her humorously when a loud, "Janice!" is heard bellowed behind her.

Janice would've preferred the fire drill instead.

"Yes, ma'am?" Janice says, jealous of Lilly being able to skirt off as the bulky woman she's come to know of as her coach strides (yes, strides) to where Janice stands.

Feeling her hands become clammy, Janice stares into the eyes of Mrs. Green, who determines the fate of whether Janice walks out of this court and destined to come back.

"So, Janice." The irrevocable husky tone of the coach's voice makes Janice wince. "I like the way you get the ball through the hoop" —Janice puffs out her chest— "but I feel like you forget this is a team effort sometimes when you're hogging the shots."

Janice shrinks, feeling like the air pops out of her like a balloon inflated too far.

"Furthermore, this is a team sport, Miss. Diablo," the coach barks.

Janice feels her insides liquify, preparing herself for the worst.

"So, what size are you?"

"Pardon?" Janice asks, though the way she bites her lip is an indication that she is not stupefied at the implication.

"For your team jersey, of course," Mrs. Green exclaims, "we can't have my team not fitting into their own jersey, can we? That would be absurd."

"Medium," slips out of Janice who's buzzing, because she is small but her feelings are too big to contain in herself, butterflies tickling at the inside of her hands.