Teenage baller Kaden Hastings has a fit when his family moves to California. He can handle the new medical diagnosis that slowly eats away at his life, but when his parents separate him from his teammates and girlfriend to move him to California to...
Logan holds the ball against his hip and sets his jaw. Now that we're outside, he's really starting to second-guess this. "Give me the ball." I hold up my hands.
"Not until you explain thisto me."
"I'm gonna figure out why . . . this happened." I gesture at the driveway.
Logan gapes at me. "We already know. Basketball."
I shake my head. "It's not basketball. I was fine when we were playing with Mirna."
"We were just fooling around then. The second we got serious, you went down."
"Fine, then no fooling around this time. Whatever caused it, I'm going to find out, now give me the ball." I hold up my hands and try to ignore how much I'm already shaking.
Logan eyes the ball and looks back at me. "If you go down again, I'm getting Mom."
That doesn't make a difference. If I'm wrong, then it won't matter if Mom finds out about this. I nod and hold my hands up.
Logan sighs and bounces a pass to me. I turn my back on the net and hold the ball in my hands until I stop shaking. I do a couple lazy dribbles, then bend low with the ball. Cross over, between the legs, behind the back, spin, then hold the ball. I feel better already.
"What are you doing?" Logan asks.
"Hang on." I dribble to the top of the driveway. "Dribble drills. You call it." I sprint with the ball in a speed dribble down our long flat driveway.
"Control," Logan calls.
I switch to the slower control dribble, hit the end of the driveway, and spin around.
"Speed," Logan says.
I sprint down the driveway.
"Cross over," he shouts. I switch hands, hit the end of the driveway, and turn around. "Spin." I do the move, hit the end of the driveway, turn around, and repeat. "Thru legs . . . Behind the back . . . Rocker step . . . Fake spin . . . In and Out . . . Legs and back . . . Backup crossover . . . Okay, stop."
Logan comes over to me. I bend forward to catch my breath. Somehow after all that, I'm not completely winded, and I didn't even mess up a single move. I knew it, I can touch a basketball without losing it. I straighten up and toss the ball to Logan.
He catches it and grins at me. "You're okay. You can play."
"I can dribble." I turn around and set my eyes on the basketball hoop.
"It happens when you try to shoot," Logan says.
He's right. My insides go hollow as I realize that I can't shoot anymore.
Logangazes at the net, and his lips slowly form a smile. "I guess that makes you thepoint guard."
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