Page 46 of It’s All in How You Fall
Why is this…whatis this?
It’s so disorienting. And it’s spreading. My entire body flames as my knees sag. It’s only pure core strength that keeps me from completely pitching over.
“Eye on the ball,” Alex instructs.
I stare at it so hard I’m about to excavate the crest of every little dimple on its surface. I’m not blinking, I’m not breathing, I’m still as stone.
Slight pressure on my wrists, Alex slowly draws back my swing. Guiding but not forcefully directing. He’s letting me lead—the angle, the speed.
“There you go,” he says when the driver crests, my shoulder flexibility paying off as much as my core strength. I’m staring at the ball so hard it’s become nothing but a pinpoint. Alex lets go as gently as if he’s turned my face for the perfect portrait. “Now follow through.”
I do.
With a whoosh, the object of my focus is hurtling through the sky. With it, everything I was holding back comes rushing forward.
The warmth of his body.
The gentle weight of his hand on mine.
The repeated squeeze and release of my heart as it threatens to burst out of my chest.
“That’s gorgeous!”
God, his excitement. With a zing, I realize I could live on it for days and not miss my morning hit of caffeine.
This is Alex. This is Alex. This is Alex.
“Thanks,” I say. I think. It’s impossible to tell because to punctuate his exclamation, his full hand has landed on my shoulder. The driver above our heads quivers in my grip, and I swing it down, mindful of his proximity.
When my ball drops somewhere between the 125- and 150-yard markers, Alex’s palm disappears from the curve of my shoulder. He steps away to grab another ball, and my nerve endings sizzle and smoke with the sudden heat displacement.
“Nice job on that follow-through. You want to keep it just as still as that. You’re a natural.”
I find my voice just in time to accuse him of not telling the truth. “You’ve said that with every sport.”
“Didn’t with basketball.” He tosses the ball my way. It’s a looping, gentle arc, and I catch it easily.
“I’ll remind you we playedhorse, which is not technically basketball as defined by KSHSAA rules, but simply a playground game to improve shooting skills.”
Alex points his driver at me accusingly. “You just want to steal the title of world’s shortest point guard from Nat.”
“Hey, if he’s good at basketball, it tracks that I might be good at it too.”
“I’ve seen his attempts at cartwheels and I can firmly say that he doesn’t have your talent in gymnastics…”
He doesn’t say I’d be terrible at basketball, but he doesn’t have to. I make a face. “That’s because Nat doesn’t want to be good at gymnastics. You know how many times people have asked him if he’s a gymnast too and then proceed to point out that he hasthe perfect bodyfor it?”
“I may have been present for a few of those awkward conversations, yes.”
“I guarantee that if he ever develops a crush on one of the cheerleaders he spends all his non-basketball time with, his latent tumbling talent will magically appear.” Or maybe even with a former cheerleader like Artemis. But Alex doesn’t know about the flirty lake trip as far as I know, so I don’t mention it.
“You might be right.” Alex tips his chin at the ball I’ve dropped into place in front of me. “Okay, show me that form again.”
He’s a good three feet from me, his driver resting lightly in one hand. “You sure you don’t want to go again?”
“I don’t think you need me to demonstrate anymore.”
I squint at him. “Okay, but Idowant to play with you.”
