“Daddy?” I interrupt, and give her a hard shove. This girl has really lost her mind. She thinks she’s me. Like, I may need security after the game.

She shoves me back. “Yeah, at first I wondered why he was there. But it wasn’t hard putting two and two together with me and you looking so much alike. He denied it at first. But when I pressed, he admitted it . . . made me promise to never tell or he would stop coming to see me,” she says, straight faced, standing out beyond the three-point line.

I know she’s only trying to distract me, but I wish she’d shut up. I’ve never seen her make a three, so I play off her a little and try to ignore all the nonsense she’s talking. She’s probably trying to clear the way for their point guard to run a pick and roll with their post. And after my last mess up, I want to be ready to help.

Their point guard passes to Shannon, and Shannon readies herself to shoot. I throw up my hand and yell, “Copycat!” Super trite at this point, but it’s the only thing I have time to think of. Doesn’t work. Her three drops.

Coach Hill calls a time-out.

“Shame you have to make up such elaborate lies to get a shot off,” I say before walking toward the bench.

“Ask your mom,” she replies. “She knows. My mom finally called her and told her about a month ago.”

About a month ago, I think. That’s when all this drama started going down with the divorce. Well, five weeks, but still.

“Hustle up, Carli!” Coach yells. When I get close, she hands me a bottle of water. I squeeze it all over my face, hoping to wash Shannon’s words away. Coach leans in close to me, so close I can smell the spearmint gum in her mouth. “We’re almost there, Carli. But you have to give it your all these last few minutes. Do you hear me?”

I nod my head yes.

“Are you tired? Do you need to rest?”

I shake my head no.

“Well, I need you to get your head in the game. They’re closing our lead,” she says, and turns to speak to the whole team huddled around her.

I look up at Daddy, sitting in the third row, halfway between our bench and Langham’s bench, but he’s not looking at me. I follow his eyes over to Shannon. She’s standing over her team drawing on the clipboard like she’s the coach or something. I swear I hate that girl.