Free Front and Center by Catherine Gilbert Murdock

me get around her. Which was pretty great.
    Plus we worked on her foul shooting, where to aim, and how to hold the ball. I'd learned from working with Brian that it's important not to dump a whole bunch of information on someone all at once, not to be like,
You're bad at this and this and this and this,
because who wants to hear that? Instead we just focused for a while on her feet, and then her stance, and then her aim, me trying each time to be just as nice as I'd been with Brian, trying to be all trainer-ish like I'd been this summer.
    "What are you thinking?" I asked once as she was standing there dribbling at the line—and looking a heck of a lot better than she had forty-five minutes earlier if I do say so myself.
    "About my feet?" she answered, like it was a test.
    "Well, yeah. Because that's important. But a lot of players also think a little thing each time they're at the line, sort of a little chant or something so they can focus."
    "Like a mantra," Ashley said.
    "Uh ... sure." I grabbed a ball and demonstrated, dribbling hard six times as I whispered to myself, getting my head into the game.
    "What are you saying?"
    I grinned. "I can't tell you that. That's like asking what you wish for when you blow out your birthday cake."
    "But it helps?"
    "It's
essential,
" I said, feeling totally trainer-ish.
    Well, maybe she made up something and maybe she didn't, but her free throwing did get better. Meaning it was looking better even if the ball didn't go in. And she was a
lot
better at defending—again, any direction is up when you're on the bottom—and even a bit more aggressive. Which was something else she needed to work on.
    I felt bad that I'd kept her from homework, but she didn't look like she minded too much. It was only one day, after all. You can really improve in one day if you set yourself to it, and she was. Finally we stopped, totally pooped, Ashley for obvious reasons, and me from having to be so supportive and also from trying my darnedest not to knock her down when she was guarding me. Sometimes playing
non
aggressively is just as hard as the other way around.
    "I feel like I know you a lot better now," Ashley said kind of shyly as we were gathering up our sweatshirts and balls.
    "Isn't that funny? I was thinking the same thing." I laughed. "I feel like my brain is twice as big, just from hanging out around you."
    "Me too," Ashley said, laughing herself. Which was nice even if it wasn't true.
    Only how smart were we? Because the custodians had locked all the doors and we couldn't get back to the gym. Which meant we had to go outside in just our shorts and bang on the gym door so the guys would let us in. Beaner was the one who did, and he grinned like it was the funniest thing ever to see us standing out there shivering.
    "Well, hello there, ladies. What's the magic word?"
    "
Please,
" said Ashley, rolling her eyes.
    Beaner grinned even wider as he opened the door, but he was grinning at me. His boyfriend grin. My stomach did a flip, seeing it. It's awfully nice having a guy smile at you like that.
    "Wanna play a little one-on-one?" he asked, bouncing me his ball.
    "Beaner!" his coach called. "Practice?"
    "In a sec," Beaner said, but he didn't stop grinning. "Shoot from here. I dare you."
    A couple guys heard him and stopped what they were doing to watch. Ashley did too.
    I was past the midcourt line. It would be one heck of a basket if I made it.
    I bounced a couple times, whispering my free-throw chant, and powered a shot. I really thought I had it—the ball even circled the rim—but at the last second it dropped away.
    Everyone groaned, which was nice, and Beaner did this little victory dance about how I almost made it, until their coach blew his whistle and Ashley and I went into the locker room.
    "So, do you want to do it again?" she asked as we started changing.
    I laughed. I really don't think it's worth practicing shots like that..."
    "No, not that ... I was just thinking—you're probably way