Free Pull by Kevin Waltman Page A

application materials. But it’s not for college exactly. Instead, it’s for dual enrollment classes. I’ve heard about that stuff, but it’s not the kind of thing kids from Marion East do, so I don’t know exactly what it means.
    Before I can pry further though, Jasmine sets her tray down on the table. “Snoop much?” she says. Busted as can be, I start to stammer out an apology. For once, Jasmine lets me off the hook. “It’s okay, Derrick,” she says. “You’re digging, but I’ve been holding back. So it’s okay.”
    â€œSo what’s that about?” I ask, pointing to the pamphlet.
    â€œIt’s so I can take college courses next semester,” she says. “Get some basic credits out of the way before I get to college next year.” She sees some confusion on my face. She explains more. She’s not going to IUPUI for college, she tells me. She’s still holding out for a better ACT score. But the stuff she takes at IUPUI in the spring will transfer to college.
    I nod and start chowing down on my last few bites of burger. Then it hits me. If she’s at the IUPUI campus next semester, then that means she’s not at Marion East. “So you’re gone?” I ask. I try not to sound hurt, but I think I do anyway.
    She nods. “I’ve got everything I need to take at Marion East out of the way,” she says. “There’s not much more there for me.” She winces on that last sentence. It stung me and she knows it. “I didn’t mean it that way, Derrick,” she says. “I’ve been waiting to tell you because—I don’t know. Because you and I have always had this thing . But I guess I just realized it’s a high school thing. One way or another, we’re going separate ways soon enough.”
    I feel blindsided. Coach Bolden could walk in the door and tellme that I just dreamt the Warren Central win, that Upchurch lit me up for 30 and we got run out, and it wouldn’t be a smack upside the head like what Jasmine just put on me. I can’t let it show though. I take a second to gather myself, and then point at her tray. She’s made a tragic mistake—she’s tried to go sensible at Sure Burger. Plain fries. A burger with no cheese or mayo, but extra lettuce and tomato. “Damn, girl,” I say. “Even when you’re trying to indulge, you don’t know how.”
    She smiles. She offers a polite little laugh. Both of us know it doesn’t erase what she just told me, but it lets her breathe easy about it.
    Besides, she’ll still be in the city even if she’s on a different campus. As long as we’re in the same state, it’s never really over. Both of us know that much.

8.
    Indiana. Michigan State. Florida. These schools aren’t going anywhere. Neither is anyone else texting and calling and peeping my lines. They might be in a rush to sign me, but it’s not like they’re gonna stop playing college basketball if I don’t give them an answer.
    But junior year at Marion East? That’s disappearing with each second. So I best make it count. And if Jasmine’s bailing on me, and Wes has his head all fogged up with smoke, fine. That just means it’s me and my boys.
    So come the next Friday, I’m not checking the stands to catch a smile from Jasmine or a fist pump from Wes or to take inventory on the recruiters. Sure, I give a nod to my people, but all my attention’s on the other end of the floor. Louisville Ballard. Stacked. All five starters are going Division I, and they have a freshman coming off the bench—LeGarrett May—who’s going to be better than any of them. It’s the first game of a four-team tourney in Louisville, the kind of thing Marion East never got invites to before I hit the scene.
    I make the rounds during warm-ups, pumping my boys up.They’re all juiced for the chance to take on a