Free Off Season by Eric Walters

court. One of them was holding a basketball.
    â€œHow about if we put on a little show?” Kia asked.
    â€œHow about if we finish the game?”
    â€œMe putting on a show should finish the game,” she said. “You’re only an ‘e’ short of losing.”
    â€œLast time I checked you were only missing one letter too,” I argued.
    â€œThat’s just going to make it more heartbreaking for you. Getting
so
close and then losing.”
    I shook my head. “You taunting me only makes the win sweeter. Your shot,” I said and stuffed the ball into her hands.
    Kia walked well past the three-point line. I knew exactly what she was going to do. Kia loved the long shot, the last-minute buzzer-beater. When we were playing for real in a game, I knew she was the one who always tried to get the ball into her hands to take that last, long shot. If she made it, she was a hero. If she missed, who could blame her?
    Kia set up. The odds were against her making this, but she was a pretty good outside shooter — certainly better than I was. She lined up the shot and put it up. High, clean shot aiming right for the hoop and — it clanked off the rim and bounced harmlessly away. I scrambled after the ball.
    â€œNow it’s my turn,” I said.
    â€œNo problem. I can make any shot that you can — you’re not going to do that bounce shot are you?” she demanded.
    â€œI wasn’t going to — that is until you mentioned it.”
    â€œDon’t. It’s a stupid shot!”
    â€œYou only think it’s stupid because you can’t do it.”
    â€œI’d think it was stupid if I was the only onein the world who could do it. Stupid is stupid! Just don’t do it!”
    I smiled. “If you want me to stop using the shot, then you’re going to have to learn to do it yourself.”
    I walked to the foul line and held the ball like I was going to take a regular shot. I then bounced the ball on the ground so that it gracefully angled up and dropped right into the net!
    â€œNow it’s your turn,” I said.
    She took the ball. “You win.”
    â€œAren’t you even going to try?” I asked.
    â€œI’d rather lose than look stupid.”
    â€œThen how about if we play some real basketball?”
    â€œWhat did you have in mind?” Kia asked.
    â€œLet’s see if those kids want to play,” I suggested, gesturing to the three kids who were now shooting at the hoop at the other end.
    â€œYou want to play with them?” she asked.
    â€œWhy not? They look about our age. We could have a game of three-on-three. Us against them.”
    â€œThat wouldn’t be basketball, that would be a massacre,” Kia said.
    â€œWho knows … maybe they’re good.”
    â€œYeah, right, when I think of good basketball players I always think of Salmon Arm,” she said and laughed.
    â€œBut that’s why I want to play them.”
    â€œBecause we can kill them?” Kia asked.
    â€œNo, because they
are
from around here. Maybe they even go to this school … the school that Ned is maybe going to be going to in the fall.”
    â€œSo he can meet some of the kids,” she said.
    â€œExactly. And so they can see that he can play ball and has cool friends who can play ball. Does that make sense?”
    â€œPerfect,” she agreed. “Tell you what, you get Ned and I’ll go and talk to them.”
    Kia strolled toward the kids and I went over to talk to Ned. He was sitting in the shade, his back against a tree, staring off into space. I didn’t know if he was thinking about the school or what was happening with his father, but it was clear he wasn’t here.
    â€œNed, come on, we’re going to play a game.”
    â€œA game?”
    â€œYeah, me, you and Kia against those guys,” I said, pointing to where Kia was talking to them. “It will be like the Salmon Arm version of