Disclaimers in Chapter One

Chapter Ten

"Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen," I say under my breath. "Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen." The basketball I'm throwing in the air veers off its path causing me to reach out and catch it. I'm lying on this bench in the middle of this park throwing a basketball in the air seeing how many times I can keep it spinning in the air with just a small slap of my hand. It's not the most exciting thing I've ever done, but it's a mindless enough task.

If I tried doing something that required actual thought, I'd probably knock myself out. Tomorrow night two college recruits are supposed to come to my final home game. One's from the University of Tennessee and the other is from Stanford University. They said they were hearing a lot of good things about me and were willing to make a verbal commitment. Neither of them has said anything about scholarships yet, but they're going to have to.

Sara did offer to help me with college, but I don't know how I feel about taking that much money from her. I still don't know how much I can rely on her. Sure, we've kind of been getting along and all, but we're not exactly best friends or anything. The only time we talk is in therapy, and I'm not too sure how much that's really helping us. I don't expect any miracles, but I do expect something from it. I don't know what 'it' is exactly, but I'm expecting it.

I take a deep breath and throw the ball back up in the air. A pair of hands reaches out and catches the ball before gravity has a chance to work and it starts dropping back to me. "You look like you're thinking way too hard."

It's Catherine. I'm surprised she even knows I'm over here. Sara and she were supposed to be cooking up the two tofu burgers and two beef burgers for our lunch. The only reason I even agreed to come to this 'family picnic' was because I was promised food.

"So what are you thinking about?" Catherine leans over the bench and hands me back the basketball. I take it from her and sit up on the bench cuddling the ball to my chest. I have a couple of options here, I can blow Catherine off and not tell her anything or I can try this communication thing that the psychologist of mine says I need to work on.

"It's hard not to be thinking. I've got my biggest goal within reach and I don't want to screw it up."

"You're talking about the recruits coming," Catherine makes her way around the bench and sits down next to me.

"Yeah," I sigh. "This is my chance."

"Mel, you've got nothing to worry about. Those recruits are practically drooling all over themselves when they look at you. Sara's having to beat them off with a bat, and you're only a sophomore. You've got another two years left after this one."

Well, I guess that's one way to look at if it were true. "I just have two years left. I'll graduate next year."

I'm not sure how Catherine didn't figure it out before. I've actually got enough credits to graduate this year, but I don't want to enter college at the age of sixteen. That sounds like a bad idea to me and I don't even know if I'd be allowed to play on the college team then.

"You're graduating early?" Catherine seems sort of surprised by this news. "Does Sara know?"

I stand up from the bench and look away from Catherine. "I don't think so."

"Melinda you have to start talking to her," Catherine chastises me, something she tends to do more than I like. I wonder if she does it to Sara too. "She wants to share in your successes."

"Yeah," I bounce the ball a few times. "Sara still looks at me weird sometimes. We're still not comfortable with each other." I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm. "She still sees him in me."

"Did she tell you this?" Catherine asks gently. If she's good with one thing she's good at asking questions.

"Yeah, she told me so in therapy," I drop the ball to the ground and make no attempt to pick it up. "It's hard for her. I get that." I actually do get that. I've tried to imagine a thousand and plus times what I would have done if I had been in Sara's position, and I think I've come up with a thousand plus different answers.

I heard this guy talking once, he was a baby that was put up for adoption, kind of like me I guess, and he said that he imagined what it must have been like for mothers back in the day when abortion wasn't legal and he's glad it's an option now. He says abortion is a good thing as long as the fetus wasn't him. That's something I really understand now.

"Food's up!" Sara calls from the picnic table they had managed to get for the day.

I pick up the ball and run to the table. My conversation with Catherine is pretty much over in my mind.

When I reach the table, Lindsey and Sara are waiting. I take a seat next to Lindsey and immediately reach out for the food but my hand is captured before I make contact. "Wash your hands," Sara tells me.

I pull my hand back and take a good look at it. It's covered in dirt from bouncing the ball around on the pavement. "My hands are fine."

Sara shakes her head and mentions a type of bacteria that can most likely be found on my hand at the moment. I think the mere suggestion of it is absurd. She should know that the temperature isn't right for those particular bacteria to thrive at the moment, and I make sure to tell her this. Sara mentions another bacteria which I also immediately find fault with.

I'm mostly concentrating on the debate I'm having with Sara, but I hear Lindsey ask Catherine what Sara and I are talking about. Catherine just tells the kid to eat her lunch, which is something I'd really like to be doing at the moment instead of debating the finer points of bacteria strands.

Since I am so hungry, I get up and wash my hands with this anti-bacteria stuff Catherine brought with us. I concede the argument only because I feel like my body is going to start eating itself any moment now. If food wasn't involved in this, I would have kept the conversation up with Sara until she said she was wrong.

When we finish eating, I take Lindsey out to the park's basketball court insisting that it's time the girl learns how to play. She can't possibly expect to hang around me and not know how to play the sport. Lindsey talks Sara into joining us so now the three of us are standing on the court and I'm doing my best to coach them. Unfortunately, these two don't have much potential.

"Throwing the ball from between your legs isn't the best way to shoot," I calmly explain to Lindsey who is looking up at me with a fixed expression of boredom on her face. "It lowers your accuracy and it makes it a lot easier on your defender."

Lindsey is shifting from one foot to the other, being kind enough to at least half listen to me. "But the ball goes in more when I do that."

I drop my chin to my chest and release a long sigh. This is beginning to seem a little pointless. "Are there any sports you like playing?"

"I like soccer," Lindsey says happily. I think she sees an opportunity for getting out of playing basketball.

"Soccer huh?" I lift my head. It's not one of my favorites but, "I can do soccer." I drop the basketball to the ground and start kicking it around like it's a soccer ball. I'd say my handling technique is excellent.

I kick the ball so that I'm no longer on the pavement. Soccer is meant to be played on grass. Lindsey follows and starts kicking at the ball trying to steal it from me. She misses a few times and kicks me real hard in the shin reminding me why I decided to not play on a soccer team in the first place.

I let it take a few tries, but eventually let Lindsey steal the ball from me. She's running around happy she's got one up on me and I'm letting her have her moment. My attention turns to Catherine and Sara who are talking quite intimately.

Sometimes I wish I could be a little bug flying in the air hovering around them when they have these conversations, because they always seem to be talking about me. I'm probably the only thing they talk about these days. I don't know what either of them says and maybe I don't want to know. It can't be all good if their conversations always happen without me next to them.

Oh well. I guess I could always ask them what they were talking about later, or I could decide that they deserve their privacy and keep my mind focused on something else. I can stop letting it matter to me what Sara is thinking about me or saying about me. I can decide that it doesn't really matter and that I don't really care.