Until I Break by Bietz Kara M

Author:Bietz, Kara M.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Albert Whitman & Company
Published: 2016-09-08T04:00:00+00:00

12

JANUARY

Four Months Before

I hardly see Marnie anymore. Things are just slightly south of okay. She never sneaks out at night to visit me anymore. At first I thought it was because it was too cold, or because we were both too busy. But she doesn’t call or text anymore either. Sometimes she doesn’t answer if I call or text her. She doesn’t really look for me at school like she used to; we don’t ever sit together at lunch anymore; and she rides to school with Ace instead of me almost every day. Maybe those seem like small, dumb things, but I want to fix it. I know she’ll come back if I can just figure out how to fix it. She loves me.

I have plenty of time to think about it during conditioning drills at practice. Coach O’Hara keeps us running for at least half of every practice. That’s a lot of freaking running.

“Running is 99 percent of this game, boys. Hustle. We can’t always win games based on talent, but we can always outhustle. Let’s move. Put some fire in your shoes, boys!” Coach O shouts from the bleachers while the team runs up and down, up and down, up and down the court a million times.

“I’m dying,” JC says to me during a water break.

“Just keep up. You don’t have to be the fastest guy out there,” I say, letting him in on my strategy for making it through the endless drills.

“Easy for you to say, coach’s pet,” JC says, sweat dripping down the front of his practice jersey. He punches me in the arm and smiles.

“North! Come here, son. There’s someone I need you to meet,” Coach O’Hara calls to me.

I look up to see a tall man in a blue polo shirt talking to Coach O. I swipe at my dripping forehead with my wristband and jog over. As I get closer, I see “Oceanside College” stitched into the left shoulder of the tall man’s polo shirt. My heart beats faster.

“Sam North, I’d like you to meet Coach Paul Dinsmoore,” Coach O says.

I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Coach Dinsmoore.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Sam,” he says, motioning to the bleachers. “Can we talk?”

My heart is beating out of my chest while Coach Dinsmoore talks about the kind of basketball program he’s trying to build at Oceanside. He goes on and on about the new gymnasium that alumni funds have paid for and the kind of perks being an Oceanside player would come with, and touches on the kind of academic footing a degree from Oceanside would give me.

“Have you thought about Oceanside, Sam? You would be close to home,” he says.

“I have thought about it,” I tell him. “Both of my parents are…were…are alums.”

“Is that right? Why don’t you come spend a weekend with us? I’ll hook you up with one of our best players. Come see what our program is all about,” he says, standing up from the bleachers and holding out his hand again.

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