The Immigrant Who Played Basketball

Chapter Twenty Five-"Get over it!"

With the try outs for the American High School Basketball Teams Tournament looming closer, there are extra basketball trainings and if we have time, Logan fits in extra ones for the team.

"Tomorrow is the try outs for the tournament. Therefore, I want you all to not overwork yourself and get a good night sleep," Coach Taylor dismisses us.

None of us follow his instructions because we all have our private basketball practice until dinnertime.

"See you, Luna," Logan says at the court when we're all leaving.

"Bye!" I reply.
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"I'm home!" I call out as I enter the house.

There's no response. Today, she didn't have a shift, did she? Or has she gone to Target? Or maybe she is here and is having an afternoon nap?

There's nobody in the living room, kitchen or backyard. Tiptoeing up the stairs, I hear a voice.

Mamma's voice. Coming from the her bedroom. She's on the phone, I tell myself, I'll greet her when she's finished. However, something catches my attention.

"Luna's doing better," Mom says.

There's a short silence.

"Yeah. It is good. She's playing basketball again, actually," she continues.

I guess that whoever she's talking to says,"No way," because my Mum answers,"Yes way!"

"It was because a girl called Maria told her brother, Logan, who's captain of the team, how good Luna is and managed to persuade her. Though if that didn't work, I would have sent her to see a counselor," Mamma states.

Counselor? The last statement Mom said made me burst into her room.

"What? A counselor?" I question angrily.

My Mum jumps in shock.

"Not now, Luna," she whispers.

"Oh, don't worry! I see: gossiping to your friend about your daughter's personal life is more important than talking to her about secrets you've kept from her!" I exclaim, feeling like I'm going to burst.

Mamma's face goes pale with guilt.

"Uh, Leanne. I have to go," Mom says hurriedly.

There's another short silence.

"Yeah. You too. Bye," my Mum greets before ending the call.

"Care to explain?" I ask.

"Haven't you been taught not to eavesdrop?"

Eavesdropping? So, it's my fault that Mamma decides to tell her friend about my grief.

"Haven't you been taught not to talk about people behind their backs?" I answer back.

Clearly, Mom didn't expect me to say that because she suddenly looks ashamed.

"That's the problem of eavesdropping! You end up picking the wrong end of the stick," my Mum mutters darkly.

"How am I supposed to know what's true or not when you're keeping secrets from me!" I shout at her, exasperated," So tell me the truth! Were you actually going to send me to a counselor?"

Mamma exhales deeply.

"Yes, Luna. I was but it was only for your own good," Mom admits sheepishly.

My own good? How does she know what's for my own good?

"Do you think I'm crazy? Oh, wait! Sorry, silly question. You do and that's what you meant when you said you thought of sending me to a counselor. It's a nicer way of saying to that friend of yours that your daughter has lost my head, right?"

"Of course not, Luna! Counselling is not for crazy people. It's for people with personal or psychological problems."

Psychological problems?

"Oh, so you're basically calling me a psychopath, now?"

"What!? No! You're the one who's putting words into my mouth!" my Mum accuses.

"You're the one who's talking about people behind their back!"

"You're the one who's moping. Get over it!"

I froze. I pinched myself to check that it was a really bad nightmare.

"You have no idea how it feels," I whimper.

"I don't know how it feels! Have you forgotten about your dad?"

"That's different, Mamma! It has been years since he passed."

"It's been almost a year that Ella has passed. Yet look at you!"

"How dare you! Ella's case is different."

"Oh, really. How?"

"Wow. You really don't understand how it feels to lose the only friend you had to someone's reckless driving. You don't understand how it feels to hear you only friend scream as she was hit by a car. You don't understand how it feels to watch your only friend die before your eyes," I say, bursting into tears.

"What about me with what happened to your dad?"

"I wish dad was here."

"Don't start moping about him too."

"I wish that car that hit Ella hit me instead," I whisper.

Mom gasps.

"Get out!" my Mum shouts.