And for the longest, I’ve been praying she’d send someone my way who could really see me. Not like these girls out here flashing cute smiles, trying to get at me because of how I ball. Or even the genuine ones I can’t make myself feel anything for.
The way Carli looked at me was like she could feel the deepest parts of me. The soft parts. The parts that nobody sees. Man, her look pushed up against me so hard that something inside me shook loose and started falling. I was scared. But the way Carli’s dark brown eyes stared into mine told me something inside her was falling, too. I’m telling you nothing has ever felt so good.
Focus, Rex. With everyone lined up around the key, the ref passes me the ball. I blow a kiss, dribble three times, and shoot, like always. But I can’t help looking beyond the rim, remembering Carli’s eyes dimming, her long body going limp.
The ball misses everything.
Damn.
And to make matters worse, the crowd starts chanting, “Air ball . . . air ball.”
Another chance, another kiss, another three dribbles, another air ball, and another stupid chant from the crowd.
From half-court, I watch Russell Price shoot the technical fouls. And make them. Great, just great.
Fifteen seconds left. Gaines gets the ball back. Their point guard inbounds to Russell. Can’t let this dude score on top of everything else. I get in my best defensive stance—legs and arms wide and ready. He fakes left and tries to drive to the basket, but I stay in front of him and stop him. He pulls up to shoot, but I put a hand in his face, and he misses. I block him out, grab the rebound, and dribble up the court.
Five seconds. Two points down.
I fake right and go left past two defenders. I’m at the three-point line, within shooting range.
Three seconds.
A couple more steps to get a higher probability shot.
One second.
With Russell’s hands in my face, trying to block the ball, I shoot.
Looks like it’s going in, but the ball hits the inside of the rim—fall, please fall—and bounces out.
The whole Gaines team and their fans descend upon center court, jumping and cheering.
We just lost the tournament. To Matthew Gaines High. And it’s my fault. I should be pissed. I should feel like taking the basketball and drop-kicking it across the gym. But instead, I’m standing here thinking about Carli . . . remembering her face . . . hoping she’s okay.
CARLI
The hospital room door flies open and my brother Cole rushes in with way too much excitement.
“Dude! Do you know who that was?”
I stare at him wide-eyed, like he’s gone crazy—my default expression for watching his fits of excitement. Boy is prone to having at least one a day.
“Rex Carrington! You managed to pass out in the arms of the Rex Carrington!”
The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. “Okaaay.”
“Do you really not know who Rex Carrington is? He only holds the record for the most points scored in a Texas high school basketball game. Ever. Like, in the history of the world. And he’s only a junior! He’s ESPN’s high school player of the year, for Christ’s sake!”
“Wait, are you talking about that boy Daddy calls the next LeBron? I thought he went to Yates.”
“Yes, him! He moved to Woodside this year. And look! I found a video of him catching you,” he says, and pulls his iPhone from his pocket.
Of course, Cole thinks he’s king of the Internet. But do I thank the king and kindly ask him to hurry up because I’m about to lose my mind in anticipation of seeing the boy’s face again?
No.
Do I obey the urge surging through my body to squeal with glee?
Absolutely not.
The title of the YouTube video is “Rex Carrington to the Rescue!” Come on, could it get any cheesier? Cole presses Play and I stare at the screen, hoping to get a glimpse of the boy’s face as he blew me a kiss. But the camera angle is behind him, and whoever made the video started late. So there’s only me and my frizzy red hair, collapsing in his arms, looking all damsel-in-distress dramatic. “Uh, cut it off,” I moan.
“What? It’s brilliant!” Cole says.
“It doesn’t even have the part where he blew me the kiss,” I complain, and eye my dinner menu, still on the hospital tray beside the bland chicken, white rice, and pale, limp broccoli I picked at. On the back of it, I’d written:
The very first kisses were blown in Mesopotamia as a way to get in good with the gods.
Until I get home and unearth the original from my bedroom wall, it’ll have to do. That fact, together with Rex’s kiss, has to be a sign, right?
“Blew you a kiss?” Cole asks.
“Yeah, they didn’t catch it on the video, but Rex blew me a kiss while he was standing at the free-throw line.”
“No, that’s part of his free-throw routine.”
“The kiss?”
“Yeah, he blows a kiss every time he goes to the line,” Cole says, and snaps a picture of me.
“Come on, Cole. You know I’m rough,” I whine.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, and takes another pic—always his response.
“Anyway, I’m telling you, Rex blew me a kiss. I mean, he was looking dead at me.”
“Oh, I see. You wanted him to blow you a kiss.”
“No, I’m just stating the facts.”
“Look, all I know is that he always blows a kiss before his free throws. It’s, like, his thing. I think he does it for good luck or something. I don’t know, but he’s been doing it for years.”
Everything I thought me and Rex had crumples into a hard ball. I swear I’m so stupid.
But it was so real. The way he looked at me. It was like he was offering himself up. His whole, tender self. And I wrapped myself in him, my heart bleeding color.
“Oh, snap. You like him, don’t you?” Cole says, staring at me, every freckle on his face ready to bust out doing backflips. He doesn’t have nearly as many as Daddy and me, but still.
I sit up a little straighter in the hospital bed, trying to regain some of my dignity. “Boy, please. I don’t even know that boy like that.”
He eyes me down, hunting for the lie. I swear Cole is a romance junkie. Had what he calls his first serious relationship in the second grade. Had a two-year run with Alexis in the fourth and fifth grades. For the past five years, seems like he’s had a new girl on his screensaver every month. And according to him, they’ve all been the real thing.
A few knocks on the open door, and a lady pushing a big, silver cart walks in. She has on way too much foundation, and it doesn’t quite match the beige of her face. “Done with your food?” she asks.
I look down at the tray, thinking about the other side of the menu. About the first kisses fact. About the things I feel but won’t admit. It doesn’t seem right letting this lady with bad makeup roll it away.
She opens the door to the cart, exposing a stack of trays with half-eaten food.
Well, it’s definitely not going in there. “Yeah, I’m done. Thanks,” I say. And while Cole is busy getting out of the lady’s way, I quickly grab the menu and tuck it underneath my right thigh. The kiss wasn’t for me—fine!—but I still can’t let the first sign of me and Rex’s fate become hospital waste.