Chapter 1
Derrick POV
I ain’t ever been one for words. Friendships. Definitely not sports. Not until she danced into my life. Literally.
She came twirling into my room in an orange dress, curly unmanaged brown hair, and these blue eyes that looked like there’d been a touch of green dropped in. Sea green was what I called them. Her skin was so light. Way lighter than mine. Way lighter than her mom’s. My aunt. Her dad was white. She got her eyes from him. The blue anyway. But that green? He didn’t have that.
All she did was smile and talk. Man, could she talk. About everything and nothing. I liked hearing her talk though. It was nice. Her voice bounced off the walls in my small room and filled up space I didn’t know was empty.
Then she asked if I wanted to watch some basketball highlights.
I didn’t.
She showed me anyway.
Derrick Rose first. I couldn’t even hear the commentary after the first few clips. The way he moved was scrambling my brain. He looked like one of the smallest guys on the court, but he was dominating. It all looked so cool. I felt a wave of disappointment when the screen went black.
She pulled up another video. Kyrie Irving.
This guy was a wizard. The things he did with a dribble. The finishing ability. He was a perfect offensive player. I was running through his moves in my head and I didn’t even know what they were.
The screen went black again and she was smiling, the glow from the laptop still on her face for a second before it faded.
“Can I show you my favorite?”
I knew she was going to show me anyway. But I nodded.
She pulled up Kobe Bryant.
And I decided.
I wanted to be like this man. The way he attacked the game. I wanted to attack life that way. I wanted to play the game.
The screen went dark and I jumped off the bed. The springs creaked under me.
“Wanna play with me?”
“Yeah. But I’ve never played before.”
“I’ll teach you.”
She took me outside. The evening air hit my arms and I could smell cut grass from somewhere down the block mixed with the charcoal from a neighbor’s grill.
There was a hoop set up back there. No court. No concrete. Just compact dirt and the rim.
It was perfect.
She picked up the ball — it was sitting in a patch of dead grass by the fence, dusty and a little flat — bent her knees slightly and took a shot, snapping her wrist on release.
Swish.
She giggled and clapped when it went in and it sent a warm feeling through me I’d never felt before.
She chased the ball down and passed it to me.
“You try.”
I did.
The ball felt too big in my hands. The rubber was rough against my palms, the seams catching on my fingers.
I missed.
I sucked.
Didn’t hit the rim. Didn’t even hit the backboard. The ball thudded into the dirt and rolled sideways.
She didn’t laugh.
She chased the ball down again.
“One more time.”
I lost count of how many “one more times” she said, but I know the sun was high in the sky when we started and it was real low before I made the first one.
My shoulders were burning. My fingertips felt raw.
But when I did make it — when I heard that swish — I laughed the same way she did.
And I knew something in me had shifted forever.
The ball rolled back to me and I shot again.
Another swish.
She clapped. Cheered.
“Go Derrick, go!”
Her pretty orange dress was covered in dirt. Her white sandals blackening at the edges. Along with her toes. She didn’t care. Her mom would. But not her.
She wiped sweat from her brow, dirt smudging her face. A brown streak across her forehead that made her look like a little warrior.
It tickled me to see it.
The sun was almost completely set now. A single street lamp barely shining into the yard gave us a little light. Bugs starting to circle it. It’d be too dark to see the rim soon.
“Wanna go one on one?” she asked with the same smile she’d been wearing all day.
And just like everything else, she didn’t wait for an answer.
“Check.”
She passed me the ball.
I didn’t know what to do.
“Now you pass it back. It’s kinda like a get ready thing.”
“Cool.”
I passed it back.
She took one dribble and shot.
Swish.
She smirked.
“D up, Derrick.”
I don’t know why, but it made my blood boil.
“Check.”
She passed me the ball again. I passed it back harder than I needed to. She caught it without flinching.
Two dribbles this time. I cut her off.
She smiled. I think. It was dark.
Next thing I know I’m hearing the swish of the net.
“Not bad, cus.”
I wanted to scream no fair. Or cheating.
But my dad had been on me that boys don’t act like that.
She checked the ball to me again. I wasn’t giving her any breathing room this time. I couldn’t. She’d score. That was obvious.
She was laughing the entire time. Not at me. Just having fun.
But I couldn’t tell the difference.
She went for a between-the-legs dribble. The ball hit her dress and rolled out of bounds.
She pouted.
I was all smiles.
Finally my turn.
I heard her mom call her name. So did she.
We pretended we didn’t.
“Next point wins.”
“But you’re up 2–0.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t score.”
“We’ll see.”
I don’t know why I was so confident. I’d never even shot a ball before today. And I couldn’t see the rim anymore.
The street light was flickering on and off about every six seconds. Crickets starting up in the grass. The air cooling on my skin.
Then it hit me.
“Check.”
I passed her the ball just as the street light clicked on. It went out as she passed it back.
Six seconds.
I took a hard dribble right. She cut me off.
I crossed left. She was there.
Three seconds to go.
Be like Kobe.
I pulled up for a fadeaway I hadn’t practiced.
The light flicked on as I went up. I got a good look at the hoop for just a second. The orange rim against the dark sky.
I shot.
Felt it leave my fingers clean.
“Myla! Girl, I know you heard me calling you.”
“No ma’am, I was playing.”
“Mhm. It’s time to go. And look what you did to your new dress. I told your dad to stop raising you like you’re his son and not his daughter.”
She giggled.
“I like basketball. And tea parties, Mama.”
“I know, baby. Let’s get you home and into the bath.”
Myla ran off, waving goodbye with all her energy. The orange dress swishing around her knees. She stopped at the gate, one hand on the latch.
“Good game, Derrick. I’ll win next time.”
The shot had gone in.
But I’d never count it as a victory.
It’s one to two in her favor.
And I was okay with that.
I wasn’t.
But I tried to be.
• • •
After that night it was all day hoops for me. From sun up to sun down. I was obsessed. My dad couldn’t have been happier. His indoor son couldn’t be bribed to come inside now.
I hardly even stopped for meals.
Until they got me to understand nutrition was important. Then I was obsessed with that too.
My hands got rough from the ball. Calluses on my palms that I’d press my thumb into during class because it reminded me of the court.
Myla came over twice a week. Our moms were close. They were sisters so it should’ve been a given, but that’s not always the case with family.
We were both only children, so having her around was nice.
She helped me improve faster.
Countless games of horse and one on one. Two vs one with my dad. Two on two if her dad could join.
That was the norm until summer break finally came.
Three months later.
No more school getting in the way of what really mattered. Just me and the hoop.
And Myla, when she could.
She had all kinds of extra activities. Piano. Ballet. Tutoring. Basketball practice with her dad.
But she was going to be staying with us for a while this summer.
I’d overheard my parents talking about it. Something about her parents needing room to sort some things out. Things Myla didn’t need to be around for.
Their voices were low in the kitchen. The kind of low that means kids aren’t supposed to hear.
But we weren’t small children anymore.
Even if I couldn’t figure out what, I knew something was wrong.
And if I knew, she definitely knew.
It showed on her face when her mom dropped her off. Her eyes red at the edges. A duffel bag over her shoulder that looked too heavy for her.
Until her mom pointed to me.
“There’s Derrick.”
Her face lit up instantly.
She hugged her mom and rushed toward me all smiles, like she hadn’t just looked like the world was ending.
But her mom’s expression had shifted now. Concern maybe. Something I couldn’t read. Something she didn’t voice.
She was watching the way Myla ran to me. The way I caught her.
It was a great three weeks.
We did everything together.
Well. Almost everything.
My mom was adamant she couldn’t sleep in my room. Absolutely no baths together.
I shrugged it off.
Myla looked like she was being scolded somehow.
But basketball always cheered her up.
It’s the only thing I really knew about.
She knew more.
She was my only real friend.
My first treasure.
And three weeks later, I lost her.
Her parents decided to move. Three states away.
They were taking her away from me.
I wanted to cry.
But Dad had beaten it into me that boys don’t do that. Not in front of girls.
And my body was agreeing.
Not in front of this girl.
We hugged goodbye.
She hugged me all the time, but this was different. Longer. Closer.
It made my chest tight.
I could feel her heartbeat against my ribs.
Or maybe that was mine.
Our parents weren’t watching.
Or pretending not to.
But I swore I heard someone say:
See? We can’t keep them together.
When her mom called for her to go, I held on just a second longer.
Those sea green eyes full of tears as she turned stuck with me for three years.
That’s how long it would be before I saw her again.
Until I forced my way to her again.
