When Mom leads us down toward the court, instead of up toward the cheap seats, Will almost has a coronary. “Wait, what?” he asks, grabbing Mom’s arm.
“Surprise!” she shouts. “Adele got three extra court-side seats because she’s a player’s mom, and I bought two more so we can all sit close.”
Will may have shed actual tears, but I can’t be sure because he was screaming so loudly that we all had to turn away.
Adele waves us toward our seats in the second row, just behind our home bench. She’s dressed head to toe in Buccaneer blue and gold. Her brassy auburn curls are piled on top of her head in a gold lamé ribbon. She has even painted her lips blue with some sort of lipstick so opaque that it makes me immediately concerned about the amount of chemical coloring she will ingest during the game.
Before long, Phoebe is flying over our heads, her perfect smile frozen in place. The Buccs are announced one by one, and pandemonium breaks loose.
From the very first moment at tip-off, the game is physical. The other team has a couple of burly forwards, and their defense is deadly. Even if Dooney had been present to nail jump shots over their heads, we’d have had to fight hard. LeRon gets into foul trouble early and Coach Sanders has to rotate several other guys in and out.
Through it all, Ben is unflappable, studying the court as he brings the ball down, slowing it up at the top of the key, pointing and directing, calling plays, setting picks. He sees the whole picture every time. When nerves cause a couple of the other guys to make bad passes or Kyle to miss a shot, he shouts encouragement.
Control. Stamina. Dexterity.
Some things never change.
At the half, we are down by only two, and as the guys head into the locker room, Ben turns and points directly at me and his mom. We all cheer our heads off, Adele leading the charge, then digging into her giant purse and passing fruit snacks and candy bars down the row.
“You think of everything,” Mom tells her.
“Had a coupon,” Adele says in a low voice. “But don’t tell Ben.”
A man with dark hair in a navy-blue suit sitting in front of us turns around, smiling at Adele. “That your son?” he asks.
“Sure is,” she says.
He extends a hand to her. “David Langman,” he says. “Duke basketball. We’ve had our eye on Ben for the past few weeks. Think he could make a great addition to our program.”
Adele is speechless for a moment, then digs into her bag for more candy, offering David Langman a Twix bar. His laugh is knowing and kind. “I’m good,” he says, declining.
“I’m sorry!” Adele drops the candy bar back into her purse. “It’s just so exciting to think that he might be able to get a . . . scholarship?”
“You should be excited,” David says with a kind smile. “We had our eye on another player, John Doone.” His face turns somber. “Guess he got mixed up in this whole scandal at a party a couple weeks back? Anyway, we aren’t looking to bring on anybody who would be a PR problem,” he explains. “Want to keep the focus solely on basketball. Ben has great court sense and a solid handle on the ball. Glad to see he kept his nose clean.”
He hands Adele his card. “I’m going to see if I can fight the lines at the bathroom. We’ll be in touch.”
Rachel and Christy go with Will to get Cokes, following the Duke scout into the stands. Adele sinks back down onto her seat, staring at the business card between her glossy blue fingernails. When she looks up, I see tears in her eyes.
“Are you okay?” I smile, and put an arm around her. She nods and smiles, glancing up toward the bright lights on the ceiling, trying to keep her eyes from spilling down her cheeks.
“It’s just—” She fans her hand in front of her face. “He’s worked so hard for this. It’s exactly what he’s always wanted.”
This last sentence climbs the musical scale until it reaches a cracked falsetto and releases tiny tears of joy. Mom hugs Adele from one side, and I lean in from the other. A dance mix booms over the loudspeakers and Adele springs up from between me and Mom, hooting, “Go, Big Blue!” as the drill team takes center court. They’ve adjusted the spacing for their routine, covering Stacey’s absence completely.
“It’s like she never even existed,” says Lindsey.
I nod, but don’t know what to say. Her comment is true, but it also reminds me that for the past hour, I haven’t thought about Stacey, or the Crisis in Coral Sands even once.
For a little while, I was just a girl watching her boyfriend play basketball—excited and cheering—and wishing things could always be just that simple.