SCORE SOME MORE

Chapter 1 SHELBY

Shelby's house, the oldest one in the neighborhood with the wrap around porch, boasts five worn-out-to-perfection basketball hoops—one for each of her brothers. The old hoop above the garage and the one cemented to the right of the driveway were installed first, before her time.

The shed out back and to the left has a basketball hoop that's been super neglected for years, occasionally peeks out from behind the trees if there's a strong wind.

When Shelby had turned two, Dad bought the lot behind their house, and built an NBA-sized court, complete with cement handprints of each kid. And until yesterday, Shelby hadn't given the life-long staple in her backyard much thought. Now, those two hoops were like heavy cement blocks on her shoulders, calling her a wimp, a chicken, a princess. Then again, those voices sounded just like her older brothers.

With five boys, the former forward for NNU and the love of his life had somehow achieved their dream team. Then the Dollsey family welcomed baby number six—a girl. With wide eyes, they all turned to the seasoned doctor, who shrugged and said, "Ultrasound fail," like it was a question. Mom ordered the guys out, sending them off to buy something pink while she thought of girl names, cursed the ultrasound tech, and cried for joy all at once. When the masculine army returned, they handed her one pink BoiseState sleeper.

At least they'd tried.

Shelby, the Baby Doll. That was definitely Sean's voice. And the nickname stuck.

Tossing her backpack to the floor, she hopped up to the counter, ready to inhale several of Mom's cookies. She'd graduated with a culinary degree, and good thing, too, because every one of her six-foot-plus sons had hallow legs. Mom still baked like they were here, and Shelby both missed and loved that they weren't constantly around to wear her spanks on their heads. Right now, she missed them more than not, because their unsolicited advice about Shelby quitting cheerleading wouldn't fall on deaf ears for a change.

The sound of screeching shoes and a steady dribble rang in her mind as she waited for Mom to notice she was home. She closed her eyes, uneasy about how the sound of the court pulled her like the moon did the tides. She couldn't explain it—the feeling that she was supposed to quit, and play ball. A clear sign would be better. Something concrete she could easier to explain, rather than going off her 'feelings.' As it stood, everyone was going to assume her decision was because, one, Coach Riddick wasn't going to be changing schools or two, because of the school boundary changes, or possibly three, she was pregnant. Which was not true. (But because that had happened last year, it would surface in people's thoughts.)

But those reasons weren't any of hers. It was something she couldn't name, but was like smoke, filling in every corner of her being. Mom would say it was God, Dad would say it was just her gut, and her brother's would cheer, "It's about damn time, Baby Doll!"

"Feeling any better?" Mom asked without looking up from the oven as she pulled another batch out.

"Not really."

Yesterday, two weeks after the school let out, the district had finally—to the parents delight and the students chagrin—announced the boundary lines for the new high school. Students from Bonneville and Hillcrest—rivals for years and years and years—were now being corralled under one roof. Thunder Ridge High, Home of the Suns. As if taking Hillcrest's red and Bonneville's gold and blending them into a blazing sun would unite the students.

Mom was referring the fact that Shelby had to go to Thunder Ridge though, safely assuming Shelby's insides were crumbling over this disappointing news. Boy, was she in for a shock.