Amy looked up as the doorbell rang. Tess waited patiently while she looked out, then opened it cautiously. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, hello. My name is Tess. I'm here for the babysitting job."

"Oh yeah, my mom told me about you. Come on in. Christopher's over here." She led Tess to a baby swing in the corner.

"Oh, he's beautiful."

"You have until the end of the night to take back that sentiment." Amy said dryly. "Now, I've got a game at the high school, my parents are out of town, I don't know how long…"

"Oh yes, where did they go?"

"Number's on the fridge. They're in Florida for my grandfather's funeral. They figured they'd stay with my grandma until she got back on her feet. It, uh—it shook her up pretty bad."

"I imagine the death of a loved one would shake anyone up."

"Yeah. Well, that's why you're here. I have to play basketball pretty much every night for school the rest of Christmas break, although that's really only a few more days, and don't be alarmed if you come and there's someone in the kitchen. We hired a cook just before my grandpa passed away, and she's supposed to start tomorrow. And…" She clapped her hands together. "I think that's about it. Emergency numbers all in the kitchen, Prince Charming here has already been fed, and… I'm late." She grabbed her bag and keys, shouting behind her as she walked out the door. "I'll be back around eleven, so don't wait up, bed's made up in the guest room, first door on the right, Christopher is across the hall and I'm next door to him…" And the door slammed.



Amy strode in confidently, looking for her best friend Sara. She found her on the bleachers lacing up her shoes.

"Hey girl, what's up?" She flopped down next to her.

"Amy, what are you doing here? Why aren't you in Florida for your grandpa's funeral?"

"Ah…" she didn't look up from her shoes. "I was never really that close to him. My parents didn't even offer to let me come. Said I should stay home and watch Christopher, get their money's worth out of this camp, and make sure the cook doesn't steal anything."

"Poor little rich girl." Sara teased, like she always did. "Like your parents couldn't just hire someone else to do all that."

"Hey, girls." A shadow fell over them and they looked up. "I'm Andrew. I'm gonna be taking over for your coach these next few weeks."

"Huh?" Amy looked up. "What happened to Coach Wilson?"

"She had to go out of town for an emergency."

"Oh. Well, I'm Amy."

"Sara."

"So…" Andrew sat on the bleacher next to them. "Anything I should know before I get myself in trouble?"

"Not really." Amy said, eyeing him carefully. "Just don't let us lose."

Andrew laughed. "Ok, great. No pressure, then. Um… are the other girls in the locker room?"

"Probably." Amy said, with a sly grin. "Knock first."

He laughed slightly. "Ok, great. I'll see you in there." He got up and left. Sara stared after him.

"Wow."

"What?"

"He… is… cute."

"Have we met him before?" Amy looked intently at their new coach as he stood near the door. "I could've sworn I've seen him somewhere before."

"I think I'd remember."

"Yeah, of course you would." Amy shook off the nagging feeling and got up. "Come on. Let's get ready to run."



"Andrew?" A soft Irish voice startled him from behind the bench, and he spun around.

"Monica?"

"How's it going?"

"Not bad. We're winning, although I didn't have much to do with that. Amy's really good."

"Yes, she is." Monica watched as the young girl caught the ball behind the 3-point arc and lofted it toward the basket to score again.

"So why are you here?" Andrew asked, puzzled.

"I'm supposed to be the trainer. I take care of the athletes who get hurt during the games."

Andrew nodded and turned his attention to the game again. "Katie, why don't you go in for Amy, give her a break." He said to one of the girls on the bench. She nodded and knelt by the scorekeeper's table, waiting for her chance. It would never come.

Amy got the ball on a fast break, and tore off toward the basket. Suddenly a slew of memories caught her mind, and her eyes teared up. Practicing in the back yard, reading letters, always waiting, meeting the mail carrier… She slowed down involuntarily, then remembered where she was. She had to finish this play. Then she could sit down. But a member of the other team had caught up to her by now, and as she jumped up for the lay-up, Amy got body slammed. As she fell to the ground, she felt her ankle bend painfully in the wrong direction just before her head crashed down on the court. I can't breathe… She thought, panicking. The wind had been knocked out of her; there were stars in front of her eyes, her leg felt on fire… God, help…



Andrew clenched his teeth, running out on the court. The officials stopped play, gathering all the players on the other side of the court to prevent interference. The girl who had fouled her was in tears. Monica smiled gently at her. She didn't mean to do what she'd done.

"Is she all right?" She asked, kneeling beside Andrew. She was almost afraid to look at him for fear that she'd see the telltale glow that preceded the girl's death. But he was still very human, and he looked worried.

"You're the trainer, you tell me. I mean, it looks like she sprained her ankle pretty badly, but I don't know about her head. She hit it pretty hard."

"I think she has a contusion." Monica said. "Why don't we move her to my office over there? That way she'll have a better place to lie down."

"Ok. C'mon, Amy, stay with us, ok?" Andrew whispered, gently picking her up in his arms and carrying her into the small room. Outside, play resumed.

"Lay her down here, baby." Tess said, standing by an examining table. Andrew carefully maneuvered his way through the room and set her down. Then he looked closer.

"Tess, she's not breathing." He said, startled. "It's not her time yet."

"Then save her." Tess said calmly. "That's the plan for now. She has to learn a few lessons yet before it comes to that."

Andrew sighed, putting his mouth on hers, breathing life into her lungs. After a few compressions, she started to cough violently. Tess slowly left the room.

"Amy?" Monica asked, leaning toward her. "Can you hear me?"

"I feel sick." Was all she could get out, and Monica helped her up, leading her to the bathroom in the connecting room. Andrew waited nervously for a few moments until they came back out.

"Lay back down." Monica said, helping her up to the table. "Do you remember anything?"

"I, uh… I got a fast break, I think. And then I got fouled… I don't know."

"You slowed down." Amy looked up to see Andrew's eyes boring into her. "Were you tired?"

"I—slowed down?" She ducked her head. "Yeah, it's been a long day. I must've been tired."

The angels eyed each other. She was lying. But the time hadn't come yet for them to push the issue. Monica leaned a pair of crutches against the wall and approached the young athlete. "Amy, I'm going to wrap some ice onto your foot and then I'll have Andrew take you home. I want you to keep your ankle elevated. And you won't be playing basketball for a while."

Amy groaned, holding her head in her hands. "Did I at least make the basket?"

Andrew laughed; he couldn't help it. "Yeah. Yeah, you made it."

Amy lay back down, letting Monica do her thing. "Thank God for small blessings."