How to Build a Heart by Maria Padian

Author:Maria Padian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 2020-03-15T16:00:00+00:00

15

The bleachers shake as people stomp, each crash of feet threatening to collapse the whole thing and dump fans in a tangled heap. Coaches shouting instructions to their players on the court can’t be heard above the din of chants. Students have coated their faces in school colors. The dueling pep bands seem to be staging a competition of their own.

And that’s twenty minutes before tipoff. This semifinal matchup between the Clayton County and Covington High boys’ basketball teams is insane.

Aubrey asked me to meet her here, and eventually I spot her waving at me from some prime center seats. If she was woo-hooing I wouldn’t know: it’s way too loud.

“This is wild!” I say as she scooches over for me. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Mr. and Mrs. Shackelton, two rows up. They are seated in a Parent Pack of middle-aged men and women dressed in County’s blue and gold. When they notice me take a seat with Aubrey, they wave so hard I half expect them to dislocate their wrists.

“My parents are just a little excited,” she says in my ear. “Sam left the house early. They were driving him crazy.”

“Is he nervous?” I ask.

She looks at me like I just asked if the pope was Catholic. “Sam doesn’t get nervous. He gets focused.”

“Oh. Right,” I reply. How could I forget? He’s perfect.

Speaking of: he’s warming up with the team only a few feet away from us. As Aubrey continues to talk into my ear (I can only catch half of what she’s saying), I watch the County boys execute this intricate weave of dribbling, passing, shooting, and rebounding. They seem robotic and hardly miss. Least of all Sam. I can’t help noticing how smooth, almost catlike, his move to the basket and easy layup appears.

I also can’t help noticing the muscles in his legs. His arms. Sam Shackelton has definitely logged serious gym hours.

As Aubrey says something to me about an after-party, win or lose, at their house tonight, a roundish mom-type with a worried expression approaches us. She’s trying to catch Aubrey’s attention.

“Uh, Aubrey? Do you know her?”

Aubrey looks where I point. “That’s Mrs. Keating, the choir director,” she says. “Weird.”

Mrs. Keating motions for Aubrey to join her on the floor, which is no small thing. Aubrey has to pick her way between packed bodies, apologizing to people as she steps on their coats and knees them in the back. When she finally reaches the floor, I can’t hear what’s said, but I see Aubrey’s lips compress in a tight line as she listens.

She shakes her head once, then retraces her steps back to me. Mrs. Keating looks frustrated. With a side order of panic. She walks over to the referee’s table and begins an earnest conversation with the guy in charge of the buzzer and scoreboard controls.

“What was that about?” I ask after Aubrey picks her way back through the (now annoyed) fans.

“She wanted me to sing the national anthem,” she says.

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