That’s fine. Tammy wants to earn hers.

Her parents have schooled her hard on this. Just like they school her hard on everything, from God to grades. She understands that, by the end of her freshman season, she’s going to be starting alongside Kit Lamb and Dana Berger and she’s probably going to be the leading assister, even if she is only half their size.

Nobody has a handle like my girl, Dad says.

But Mom tries to keep everyone cuffed to the Earth. It’s the pious thing to do, she says. Michael Jones, Mom says, what do you know about dribbling a basketball? You played power forward, for crying out loud.

That’s right, I did, but I could bounce it. I had more moves than my number.

What was your number? Tammy once asked him.

Mom and Dad laughed then. They laughed so hard it was difficult for Dad to spit out the answer. But he got to it:

One.

“Wanna hang downtown?” Felicia says. Felicia is one of Tammy’s closest friends. Marnie, making up the trio today, is the other. Neither of them are ballers. But Tammy Jones is only at the beginning of a relationship with the game that should (if all goes right) begin to suffocate the rest of her life, whereas close friends and grades will suffer, until all is eclipsed by the Great Game itself.

“Sure,” Tammy says. And why not? They’re suddenly old enough, it seems, to wander Samhattan without their parents glued to their wrists. “Where to?”

“Coffee,” Marnie says. Marnie is small, even half the size of Tammy, who is half the size of Kit Lamb, who hit that game-winning free throw like she was made of glacier ice.

Tammy smiles. Good for Kit. That ball almost didn’t even touch the net, it went through so smooth.

The trio take Steinman Street toward the semi-tall buildings beyond. Not much reaches higher than six or seven stories in this city (this isn’t Chaps, after all, and absolutely nothing like Goblin), but to a trio of fourteen-year-olds, downtown is downtown.

That’s another reason Tammy Jones is rare. At fourteen, she’s way beyond her years. So are Felicia and Marnie. It’s why they’re friends and why they’ve always been friends. Hell, they can’t believe it’s taken their parents this long to set them loose in a city with only so many streets.

Yet there are mean streets in Samhattan. Fifth Street is particularly notorious for ne’er-do-wells looking to scam. Tammy has yet to walk that street alone, but she’s not afraid of it either. She’s seen her share of shady, and while she understands that a grown man with a knife renders her ability to no-look pass meaningless, she’s also an athlete with a mind as sharp as that knife.

She can take care of herself.

Up ahead, it’s the Samhattan Steak House. The girls eye it like they would a man or woman in a suit. These kinds of places are cheesy to them. Overblown. Obvious. Why spend so much money when you can get rice and beans for three dollars at Hi-Fi Grocery, and get fitter at that? These people. These high-priced Samhattan people. Tammy doesn’t think she’ll ever get it.