Page 76 of Ruthless Court

“You weren’t.”

“Not completely.”

I look away.

People make the same assumption everywhere.

At my old private school, they thought the scholarship covered expectations along with tuition. As long as I scored, nobody cared whether I understood the assignment.

I cared.

My coach got me through the gate. Basketball paid the bill. Grades kept every teacher, administrator, and bitter parent from claiming I didn’t belong.

I learned more than offensive sets and press breaks.

I had to.

One injury can end a basketball career before the paperwork catches up. A bad workout can move a player down a draft board. One team decides it wants a taller guard, a younger guard, a safer guard, and suddenly the future everyone promised disappears.

The game is my best path.

It can’t be my only one.

Krista pulls her shirt over her head.

“You’re doing the intense silent thing.”

“What intense silent thing?”

“The one where you stare like I failed a test I didn’t know I was taking.”

“You didn’t fail anything.”

“Good.”

She checks her reflection in the microwave door and smooths her hair.

That is the whole problem.

Neither of us failed.

There was never enough here to test.

“You’re bored,” she says.

I look at her.

“With me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

She picks up one sneaker and searches for the other.

I find it beside the bathroom and toss it toward her.

She catches it.