Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
I turn, smiling when I see Naz standing at the top of the stairs leading back into the house. He walks over to the wall where the team posed minutes ago.
“Forgot this,” he says, grabbing his uniform jacket.
“No ‘fabulous’ on your tie?” I ask. Immediately, I regret the comment. Cliff said it was just for starters. Naz might be sensitive about riding the bench.
“Not for backups.” He smiles, watching me stretched out on the blanket. I resist the temptation to fold my arms over my bare stomach. His eyes are on my face anyway, and he doesn’t creep me out like some of Cliff’s other friends do.
“Well.” He holds up the jacket. “Guess I better go.”
“What’s your name?” I blurt, sitting up on the blanket. It’s the first thing that came to mind that might keep him here a few minutes longer. I take a deep breath of the cooling night air, hoping to calm how crazily my heart is beating.
He freezes, turns, and walks over to where I sit on the blanket.
“You know my name,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets. “It’s Nazareth. Naz.”
“Yeah, but some of the guys called you Armstrong and some said Strongarm.” I slant a curious glance up at him. “Which is it?”
“That’s kind of a long story.” That mouth God took extra time with pushes into a one-sided grin.
“Your name is a long story?”
“Well, the story behind why it’s both kind of is.”
Knowing Cliff will kill me first and then kill Naz for what I’m about to do, I pat the blanket beside me anyway. “I got a few minutes.”
Then
Naz
I shouldn’t.
Fletcher has been very clear, on more than one occasion with more than one guy on the team, that his sister is off-limits. Now I know why.
She glows.
In a world that feels gray, she’s a burst of color, and she shines. Her smile makes a face that is already pretty gorgeous. Her skin is richly brown and luminous. Two neat braids hang on her shoulders.
I glance toward the stairs that lead back into the house, but I already know I’ll accept Takira’s invitation. I do recognize her question for what it is—an excuse for me to stay. Any other girl tried this, I’d run in the other direction. Though I’m not the biggest star on the team, there’s something about me that attracts girls now. It wasn’t always this way. I was the quiet, nerdy guy reading comic books on the bus until seventh grade. My body took over—started filling out and growing up—fast. It got me noticed in ways I’d never been noticed before. I’m still not completely used to this body or the attention it brings.
“Never mind.” Takira looks down at her hands resting on the long legs crisscrossed beneath her on the blanket. “Sorry. I know you have a game tomorrow.”
Wordlessly, I take the spot beside her, laying the jacket between us.
She gives me a tentative smile and draws her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.
“My last name is Armstrong,” I tell her. “But in middle school, I started playing football. I got really good. I was a quarterback. Everybody said I had such a good toss, people started calling me Strongarm instead of Armstrong. Even though I play basketball now, it kinda stuck.”
“So if you were good at football, why come play a sport you’re not as good at?”
I huff out a surprised laugh.
“Sorry,” she rushes to say, lowering her knees and turning to face me. “I just meant…well—”
“No, you’re right. I was better at football, but…” I gesture toward the long stretch of my legs on the blanket. “Growth spurt, sophomore year. There are exceptions, but most quarterbacks aren’t six foot seven.”
“You couldn’t play football anymore?” she asks, frowning.
“Probably. Let’s just say recruiters weren’t banging down the door for a guy built like me as their quarterback. I mean, I could probably try some other position, but I always played basketball, too. Both coaches, basketball and football, sat me down and said if I really wanted a shot at the pros for either sport, I might want to choose.”
“And you chose basketball.”
“Basketball kind of chose me.” I shake my head, still unsure how I got here sometimes. “Coach Lipton saw me play and recruited me to St. Catherine’s.”
“He recruited Cliff, too. Mama said there was no way Cliff wasn’t going. Free prep school education, not to mention their reputation for players going division one.”
“Yeah. It’s hard to turn down.” I hesitate but go on, for some reason willing to share with this girl what I haven’t shared with many people. “My, um, mom’s got some health issues. Really bad arthritis and it’s getting worse. I want to see her retire early if she can. Get her medical bills paid. Maybe buy her a house someday. Make sure my three sisters are set up.”