A Game Worth Watching (27 page)

“Anything,”
his dad said, knowing enough not to ask details.

Mrs.
Ledger put her arm around Emma and turned her toward the kitchen. Riley held
onto her hand until the distance pulled them apart. Emma wished he’d stay with
her, but his mom had taken initiative and guided her toward the back of the
house, waving Riley toward his dad.

Mrs.
Ledger patted Emma’s shoulder. “I don’t know about you, but warm cookies and
milk sound good right now.”

Warm
cookies and milk—the gift of a mother. Emma sat at the kitchen table,
staring at the grains of wood. She wanted to ask Mrs. Ledger, Riley’s mom, the
only mom she knew, what would cause a woman to walk away from her family, from
her children, without looking back. But Emma couldn’t formulate the words on
her tongue. Besides, Mrs. Ledger wasn’t the kind of mom who could answer that
type of question.

Mrs.
Ledger opened and closed cupboards, trying to make small talk, but Emma didn’t
raise her head from the table. She kept her head bowed and her mouth closed
trying not to cry, trying not to draw attention to herself, but she’d never
been invisible in the Ledgers’ house. Not even now.

Sensing
her small talk strategy wasn’t working, Mrs. Ledger sat beside Emma and reached
over to cover Emma’s hand with her own. “Sweetheart,” she said, “you’re like a
daughter to us. You can stay here as long as you need. If you need anything
it’s yours. Okay?”

Emma
nodded, still not trusting herself to meet Mrs. Ledger’s eyes in fear she
wouldn’t be able to keep her emotions in check.

Mrs.
Ledger pulled Emma into a hug. “Everything will be all right,” she whispered.
She said it with such tenderness and conviction that Emma almost believed her.

As
much as she loved Mrs. Ledger, Emma wasn’t in the mood for mothers at the
moment. Riley’s mom finally released her and returned to her cookies, letting
Emma slip away.

What
she needed was time alone. What she stumbled upon were voices.

She
froze outside the door to Mr. Ledger’s study. The door stood ajar, allowing
Emma to hear the low, deep voices of a father and son deep in conversation.

“He
didn’t…” Mr. Ledger paused, as if not wanting to complete his question, “hit
her, did he?”

Emma
pressed her body against the wall by the doorframe, afraid to breathe, afraid
to listen, but unable to leave. She should’ve known Riley would talk to his dad
about what had happened. Riley and his dad were close, as in no secrets, no
lies, and no selective disclosure.

“No,”
Riley responded. “But it was bad. Her brother said so many horrible things, and
her dad just stood there. It’s so much worse than I thought.”

She
heard someone exhale like words couldn’t explain anything.

“What
should I do, Dad?” Riley asked, his voice not as strong as before. “Emma looked
so…broken.” His voice cracked on the last word, and she felt tears form in her
eyes. He shouldn’t be in pain because of her.

“Listen
to me,” his dad said gently but firmly. Emma could imagine Mr. Ledger leaning
in to place a hand on his son’s shoulder and holding his son’s gaze with his
own. “You are the best thing in Emma’s life. You need to be strong for her. Be
her friend. Be there for her. But if something happens with her brothers or her
dad or anyone else, you come straight to your mom and me. I don’t want you
involved, you got it?”

“Yes,”
Riley said. Silence commenced, and for a moment Emma thought their conversation
was over, but then Riley’s voice, hardly louder than a whisper, broke through
one last time. “Dad, how can he not love his own daughter when she has so much
good in her and is so easy to love?”

Emma
leaned her head against the wall and looked at the ceiling, no longer able to
prevent her tears from spilling silently down her cheeks. She may have been the
one broken, but Riley was the one hurting.

***

In
the Ledgers’ downstairs rec room, Emma stared at the darkened ceiling and replayed
her brother’s words in her head with years of flashbacks flickering through her
thoughts to justify them. She thought about Lance. He’d had dreams once. Dreams
he’d watched slip away to leave him resentful and bitter.

Hate
was a strong word. Every kid knew it. But hate was what she’d seen in Lance’s
eyes. Hate was what her dad didn’t contradict when she’d passed him on the way
out of the house. How could she ever go back home and face them?

Emma
heard the stairs creak under the weight of someone descending. She watched a
silhouette move across the room, but didn’t know if she should pretend to be
asleep or not. The figure approached her, getting closer and closer before
tripping over her feet and falling in a heap on top of her. Riley’s grunt accompanied
her own.

“Riley?”
she wheezed.

“Geez,
Em,” he said. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Me?
What are you doing?”

He
rolled over to situate himself beside her. “I figured you could use a friend.”

“Oh,”
she said simply.

“Why
aren’t you sleeping in the bed like a normal person?”

How
could she explain she preferred the floor, needing something strong and solid
beneath her? She didn’t answer, and he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he
unrolled his sleeping bag and climbed inside, fluffed his pillow, tossed and
turned, grunted and groaned, until finally becoming still.

“Are
you comfortable yet?” she asked.

“No,”
he replied. “You?”

“Actually,
yes.” She was warm for the first time all winter in a house that wasn’t hers,
in a room with carpet.

They
remained silent long enough for the clouds to crawl across the sky and split to
reveal the moon. Moonlight peeked through the window, illuminating the room
enough for Emma to see the ceiling she’d been staring at since she’d turned off
the lights hours ago.

“Em?”
Riley whispered. “You awake?”

She
thought about not answering, but what would be the point? He’d probably seen
her open eyes anyway. “Yeah,” she whispered back.

“What
are you thinking?”

What
was she thinking? She was thinking about how her mom wanted something better
than her and how her dad and brothers despised her for reasons beyond her
control. How in the world she thought basketball could rescue her and take her
away from this place, and how her best friend probably saw her as nothing more
than a charity case. Was it wrong to love a woman she didn’t even know? To hate
the woman who had left her, yet desire her comfort more than anything? Was it
wrong to want to forgive her dad for everything if he’d at least try loving her
as his daughter rather than hating her for his wife’s mistakes? Was it wrong to
pretend her friendship with Riley was genuine?

“Nothing.”
She hoped he didn’t hear her voice crack.

Riley
rolled his head to the side to look at her. A tear slipped from the corner of her
eye and down her temple. She felt his arm inch closer to hers, his fingers
brushing the back of her wrist before sliding down to grasp her hand, holding
on so she wouldn’t get lost in the dark.

After
a week, Emma had yet to bounce back to her usual self. Not even basketball
could dull the pain in her chest and quiet her brother’s voice in her head.
Something about the way Lance had described their mom seemed off—like he
was talking about a stranger. Obviously, his anger had warped his memories of
her. No way was their mom the selfish and cruel woman he remembered. Emma had
spent the last five years preserving memories of her mom to make sure she
didn’t get lost and forgotten with time. But sometime in the past week, with
her brother’s words echoing in her head, Emma had difficulty recalling images
of her mom that used to come so easily—images of a beautiful woman, a
loving mother, a gentle and kind person. The images were now blurred, sometimes
blank, like a reflection on water that rippled and vanished with the toss of a
stone. The harder she tried to conjure up the memories, the more they slipped
out of reach.

Nothing
mattered anymore. Bradshaw had played two games last week—losing
both—but she didn’t care. Even if they finished the rest of the season
with a string of losses, Emma didn’t think she’d be able to muster a shred of
disappointment. Basketball had lost its flare. She wanted nothing more than to
run from the gym and leave it all behind, but she didn’t have anywhere else to
go. She still hadn’t moved back home, and she didn’t want to outdo her welcome
at Riley’s house. It was either endure basketball with girls or wander the
streets until she returned to the Ledgers’ home. At least the gym was warm.

The
girls on the team noticed the change in her behavior and her lack of motivation
to lead them on the court. Whatever scrap of respect they’d gained for her in
the past two months had vanished. She saw them look at her, she heard them
whisper about her when they thought she couldn’t hear, but she didn’t care. Her
confrontation with Lance had changed everything. Not a minute passed when she
didn’t feel the heaviness of his words mount in her chest and threaten her eyes
with tears. She felt like a girl. The emotional, whining, complaining kind of
girl, and she hated it.

Gone
were her private lessons with Ashley, Shiloh, and Peyton. She’d cancelled those
on Monday, not in the mood to teach girls how to play some stupid game for
entertainment purposes, and she hadn’t resumed them. What was the point? It
wasn’t like basketball made any difference in the world. No matter how talented
Emma proved to be with a basketball, she was still motherless, practically
fatherless, and void of worth.

Coach
blew the whistle, ending yet another practice, and Emma dragged her feet to the
sidelines. Maybe she would sling her bag over her shoulder, exit the gym, and
walk the darkened streets, curling up to sleep on some street corner when she
got tired, then continuing on until she’d put a safe distance between her and
her family. Or maybe she would go to the park and watch the infinite sky turn
from dark to light and wish her life would do the same.

“Emma.”
Coach caught her eye and waved her over.

Or
maybe Emma would sacrifice precious time doing nothing by enduring a lecture
from Coach. It was only a matter of time. She was surprised Coach had lasted
this long without confronting her. Emma seriously considered walking out the
door without acknowledging Coach’s invite for a one-on-one chat. The look on
Coach’s face, part anger-part concern, was enough for Emma to run, but she
didn’t. She obliged and veered her footsteps toward Coach, out of hearing range
from the rest of the team.

Coach
crossed her arms over her chest. With her head bowed and eyebrows raised, Coach
looked at Emma with upturned eyes, as if trying to read under the radar to
detect the unabridged version of her problems.

“Everything
okay?” she asked.

Emma
sighed. “Yep.” Not that she would reveal anything anyway.

Coach
filled the void between them with nodding. “You’ve been off all week.”

Not
something to tell a girl right smack dab in the middle of a crisis. “What do
you mean I’ve been off?” Emma snapped. Even on her worst day she was still
better than the rest of the team combined. So she toned down her enthusiasm and
didn’t take control of every second on the court. Wasn’t it time for someone
else to step up to the plate?

Coach
held up her hand. “Don’t be offended. I’m just worried about you.”

Worried
the team’s string of wins would halt to a stop was more like it. “Well don’t
be,” Emma said coldly. “I’m fine.”

“You
know, if you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me.”

“Thanks,
but no thanks.” Emma didn’t even consider the offer. Everyone wore the hat of a
counselor lately, devoted to saving Emma from her life. They would tell her how
much they understood what she was going through. How she shouldn’t feel trapped
by the limitations of her family, and how she could do anything. None of it was
true. No one she knew understood what it was like to live in a corner of the
garage.

Coach
studied her. Emma met her gaze and matched it.

“You
have more talent and more potential than anyone I’ve ever seen,” Coach said to
her. “But there is no way you’ll do anything close to great if you don’t
believe in yourself.”

Emma
snorted. Great motivational speech. Believe you’re a star and you will be! Too
bad she lived in the world of reality. “Just because I can dribble a ball and
make a few shots doesn’t make me better than anyone else on this team.” Lance’s
words rolled too easily off her tongue.

Coach
gave her a sad smile. “Who said I was talking about basketball?”

Walking
away, Coach left Emma to glare after her as she collected her things and
followed the straggling girls toward the door. What was with these people? Just
because their words of inspiration sounded good didn’t mean they would change
anything. Did they not see where she was from or notice how the entire world
sided against her? She couldn’t even afford shoes to play basketball. She had
nothing to give. On the court or off.

She
saw Coach bend over and pick up a ball from the floor. Turning around, she
threw an overhead pass to Emma. Emma caught the ball after the second bounce
just as the door clinked closed, shutting her alone in the gym. She hadn’t been
alone in the gym since before she started coaching Ashley. So much had changed
since then. Her breath caught in her throat as loneliness closed in on her. It
was too big a space for just her.

The
silence was too loud. Emma dribbled the ball once and listened as the sound
echoed through the gym and faded into the deafening silence. It was a silence
that brought images of her mom to the surface. Old pictures of her mom had been
buried beneath years of hurt, burned, or shredded during years of mourning
until nothing remained. The only picture she had of her mom was the one in her
head from her twelve-year-old self. For the first time in a week, the blurred
images of her mom became clear, but they were different than before.