But Daddy looks like . . . like he’s proud of her. I know that face—soft and bright, mouth stretched wide over a concealed smile. Wait, she’s not wearing my number. She’s wearing his old number. I look down at the twenty-two on my own jersey and remember him telling me as a kid that he’d be honored if I continued the Alexander legacy.

“Carli!” Coach Hill shouts. “Have you heard anything I said. What the hell is wrong with you? The championship game is on the line and you’re over here daydreaming? Vanessa, go check in. Carli, take a seat.”

I don’t even protest.

I sit here and watch as Shannon takes it to Vanessa. Back dooring her, posting her up, and taking every rebound. I sit here and watch as we go from being up seven to five to two to none.

With less than a minute left on the clock, Coach Hill looks down the bench at me, ready to put me back in the game, ready for me to save the day. But I slump down in my chair and look away.

REX

Right, left, and jump. A simple-ass layup. But here I am spelling it out to myself, trying to keep my mind on the court and off Carli.

Head fake, crossover, pull up, and shoot. I miss. Halfway into my pregame warm-up, and I haven’t seen her yet. After her team won (thanks to a last-minute three by Jordan) and everybody’s family and friends rushed the court to celebrate the new champions, she wasn’t there.

I was there. Even though I was still mad about her lying, I was in the middle of the court, wading the crowd, looking for her face. Waiting to pick her up and twirl her around—ready to celebrate. Cole, her mom, and her dad were looking for her, too.

You know what, forget seeing Carli. Good that she’s off pouting somewhere just because she didn’t get to play the last few minutes of the game.

Girls in royal blue warm-ups walk down the sidelines toward the stands. My eyes can’t help but scan the line for big red hair. No Carli, so I sit down toward center court to stretch and look again. I hate myself for needing to see her. Why can’t I get her out of my head!

“You ready to take this ass-whooping?” a voice beside me asks. I already know who it is before I look: Russell Price. I didn’t even see him stretching before I sat down.

I don’t have time for this dude right now. Carli’s team is taking their seats low in the stands. I scan them again for her face, but don’t see her.