Long Shot by Eric Walters

You know that.”
    â€œOf course. What I meant is are you more worried about it this time than you were the last time?” she asked.
    â€œYeah, I am, but that has to do with the new coach,” I said.
    â€œIs there something he’s doing that makes you more worried?” my mother asked.
    â€œHe’s pretty tough, but maybe it’s just that any new coach would have made me more nervous.”
    â€œBut it is kind of cool to have a former basketball star as your coach, isn’t it?” my father asked.
    â€œIt’s okay.”
    â€œAnd I bet he really, really knows the game,” my father continued.
    I nodded my head in agreement. There was no way anybody could argue with that. I’d learned things from him already in the try-outs and I was sure he’d have lots and lots of things to teach those people who made the team.
    â€œHe certainly got a lot out of you and all your teammates during that game,” my father added.
    It was clear what was going on here. Maybe my mother and father hadn’t agreed what would happen, but that hadn’t changed how they both felt. And now they were trying to get me to support their side.
    â€œThat game last night was part of what we wanted to discuss,” my mother said. “What did you think of the game?”
    â€œI would have liked to have won.”
    â€œBesides that. Were you okay with the way your coach acted?”
    â€œActed?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know what she meant. I was spending most of this conversation pretending one thing or another.
    â€œThe way he screams all the time,” she explained.
    â€œHe doesn’t scream all the time.”
    â€œBut he does scream a lot more than your last coach.”
    â€œOr any other coach I’ve ever had,” I admitted. The corner of my mother’s mouth curved slightly into the beginning of a smile.
    â€œAnd how about when he yells at you?” she continued.
    â€œSometimes he has to yell to get people’s attention in the gym. There’s a lot of noise with the balls and people talking and the crowd making noise,” I said.
    â€œSo it doesn’t bother you?” she asked, sounding confused.
    â€œI don’t like it. I don’t like it when you or Dad yell at me either.”
    â€œCome on, Nick, we hardly ever raise our voices.”
    â€œHardly ever,” I muttered under my breath, thinking back to last night when I’d heard a lot of raised voices.
    â€œYour mother and I spent some time discussing things about you and this basketball team last night.”
    â€œYou did?”
    â€œYou knew that,” my mother said.
    I swallowed hard. Had they seen me listening or somehow—
    â€œWe told you last night in the car that we’d continue to talk after you went to bed,” she said.
    â€œOh, yeah, that’s right,” I said, feeling relieved.
    â€œI just didn’t know if you did, that’s all.”
    â€œIn fact we talked quite a while,” my father said.
    â€œAnd we were wondering if it was something that you really wanted,” my mother added.
    â€œYou mean being on the team?” I asked.
    â€œI … we … have some concerns about your being part of the team.”
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘concerns’?” I asked.
    â€œAbout your coach and his attitude,” my mother answered.
    â€œNot all of his attitude. We know that basketball is an emotional game, and sometimes you have to get into the game even when you’re on the bench,” my father added.
    â€œWe just wanted to get your opinion about everything,” my mother said.
    â€œAbout being on the team?” I asked again.
    My mother nodded.
    I shrugged. “What’s there to think about? I don’t even know if I’m going to make the cut.”
    â€œAnd if you do?” my mother asked.
    I shrugged again. “Then I’m on the team.”
    â€œAnd that’s