good."
Aaron bounced the ball and tossed it to Rene, who started toward the basketball. He shot but missed the backboard.
"Hold on, dude," Aaron said. "You got to check the ball. You can't just start shooting. And anyhow, it's my outs. I made the basket."
Marisa's heart was pumping with something that felt like hatred.
Cálmate,
she warned herself.
Chill.
Rene instinctively handed Aaron the ball, and kept doing it while Aaron scored easily against the three of them. They lost 21–0.
"You're so much better than us," Priscilla said. "Like, we never got to shoot even once."
"Yeah, you did. But you missed." Aaron suggested that he play with only his left hand.
"That sounds fair," Priscilla said giddily. A storm passed over Marisa's eyes—she just didn't like this guy, no matter how handsome he was.
They again lost 21–0, so Aaron suggested that they just watch him do reverse layups.
Marisa fumed. Still, she watched him do one reverse layup after another. He then had Rene feed him balls as he tried to dunk the ball.
"Throw it higher, man," he scolded.
Rene tossed the ball, but each time Aaron complained about the toss until he finally snarled, "Never mind." He glowered at Rene.
"Hey, buster!" Marisa called out. "You think you're so good, why are you on a losing team?"
"'Cause we don't have a center," Aaron snapped back. "I'm gonna go."
Priscilla bowed her head, bit a knuckle, and finally cried, "Can't we just have fun?"
Aaron ignored the painful moment and spun the basketball on the tip of his finger. He did a layup and then said, "I gotta meet some guys." His eyes locked onto Priscilla for a long second as if he wanted to say something meaningful. Instead, he spread his attention to all four of them—the beagle had come to sit at Priscilla's feet—and announced that there was a preseason game coming up. He had free tickets if they wanted.
"
Ay,
how generous," Marisa said sarcastically. "Those tickets—what are they, two whole dollars?—would break us. I don't think I can afford to
buy one." She was hot. How she wished Aaron would do a layup into a brick wall. She had forgotten that phrase Rene had taught her earlier—something about antifreeze? No,
animosity.
That was it. She still wasn't sure she knew what the word meant, but she knew she possessed it within her soul. She was mean as a snake and would have spat her venom if Aaron suddenly hadn't wheeled and started jogging away.
The three of them watched his departure until he disappeared from sight.
Monday. Because Marisa was late to biology class, ancient Mr. Carver had her stay after to help him retrieve a cart of books from storage. The students were done with the frogs, done squinting at leaves under a microscope, and done kissing petri dishes and appraising the horrid bacteria spawned a day later. Now he wanted to lecture on fossils.
"And not fossils like me." Mr. Carver chuckled. He was an old man with rivulets of lines around his eyes and mouth. He walked with a stooped shuffle as if he were ready to spin a bowling ball down a polished alley.
Marisa and Mr. Carver ventured into storage. While he stepped among the shelves of books,
Marisa noticed a chalkboard on wheels. There was a poorly drawn heart at its center and within the heart a name:
Samantha.
Taped to the edges of the chalkboard were wilted flowers and balloons deflated with age. Someone had written,
We'll miss you.
"Who's Samantha?" Marisa asked. She had a deep feeling that this girl Samantha was dead and her memory no more than a crooked heart. A shiver rose from her lower back and blossomed in her shoulders.
"Who?" Mr. Carver asked from behind a wall of books.
"Never mind."
Marisa shivered when she touched the chalkboard. She examined the chalk on her finger, chalk as white as bone. She remembered playing dead with her cousin Pilar when they were little, and thinking that it wasn't really all that bad. She couldn't move, but she still had her thoughts.
"What?" Mr. Carver
Aaron bounced the ball and tossed it to Rene, who started toward the basketball. He shot but missed the backboard.
"Hold on, dude," Aaron said. "You got to check the ball. You can't just start shooting. And anyhow, it's my outs. I made the basket."
Marisa's heart was pumping with something that felt like hatred.
Cálmate,
she warned herself.
Chill.
Rene instinctively handed Aaron the ball, and kept doing it while Aaron scored easily against the three of them. They lost 21–0.
"You're so much better than us," Priscilla said. "Like, we never got to shoot even once."
"Yeah, you did. But you missed." Aaron suggested that he play with only his left hand.
"That sounds fair," Priscilla said giddily. A storm passed over Marisa's eyes—she just didn't like this guy, no matter how handsome he was.
They again lost 21–0, so Aaron suggested that they just watch him do reverse layups.
Marisa fumed. Still, she watched him do one reverse layup after another. He then had Rene feed him balls as he tried to dunk the ball.
"Throw it higher, man," he scolded.
Rene tossed the ball, but each time Aaron complained about the toss until he finally snarled, "Never mind." He glowered at Rene.
"Hey, buster!" Marisa called out. "You think you're so good, why are you on a losing team?"
"'Cause we don't have a center," Aaron snapped back. "I'm gonna go."
Priscilla bowed her head, bit a knuckle, and finally cried, "Can't we just have fun?"
Aaron ignored the painful moment and spun the basketball on the tip of his finger. He did a layup and then said, "I gotta meet some guys." His eyes locked onto Priscilla for a long second as if he wanted to say something meaningful. Instead, he spread his attention to all four of them—the beagle had come to sit at Priscilla's feet—and announced that there was a preseason game coming up. He had free tickets if they wanted.
"
Ay,
how generous," Marisa said sarcastically. "Those tickets—what are they, two whole dollars?—would break us. I don't think I can afford to
buy one." She was hot. How she wished Aaron would do a layup into a brick wall. She had forgotten that phrase Rene had taught her earlier—something about antifreeze? No,
animosity.
That was it. She still wasn't sure she knew what the word meant, but she knew she possessed it within her soul. She was mean as a snake and would have spat her venom if Aaron suddenly hadn't wheeled and started jogging away.
The three of them watched his departure until he disappeared from sight.
Monday. Because Marisa was late to biology class, ancient Mr. Carver had her stay after to help him retrieve a cart of books from storage. The students were done with the frogs, done squinting at leaves under a microscope, and done kissing petri dishes and appraising the horrid bacteria spawned a day later. Now he wanted to lecture on fossils.
"And not fossils like me." Mr. Carver chuckled. He was an old man with rivulets of lines around his eyes and mouth. He walked with a stooped shuffle as if he were ready to spin a bowling ball down a polished alley.
Marisa and Mr. Carver ventured into storage. While he stepped among the shelves of books,
Marisa noticed a chalkboard on wheels. There was a poorly drawn heart at its center and within the heart a name:
Samantha.
Taped to the edges of the chalkboard were wilted flowers and balloons deflated with age. Someone had written,
We'll miss you.
"Who's Samantha?" Marisa asked. She had a deep feeling that this girl Samantha was dead and her memory no more than a crooked heart. A shiver rose from her lower back and blossomed in her shoulders.
"Who?" Mr. Carver asked from behind a wall of books.
"Never mind."
Marisa shivered when she touched the chalkboard. She examined the chalk on her finger, chalk as white as bone. She remembered playing dead with her cousin Pilar when they were little, and thinking that it wasn't really all that bad. She couldn't move, but she still had her thoughts.
"What?" Mr. Carver
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