Chapter 12: Stairwell

The state semifinal was in the university arena two hours south, and the bus left at six in the morning.

I drove down behind it with the booster club treasurer in the passenger seat.

She talked about her grandchildren the whole way.

I let her.

My hands were tight on the wheel the whole way.

Blaine walked into the arena at tip-off with a banner under his arm.

He had made it himself, on a white bedsheet, in blue paint.

MY GIRLS: KENZIE & MAXINE.

He unrolled it along the railing of the home section, three rows up from the floor.

Then he stood behind it with his chest out.

Maxine saw it from the court during warm-ups.

She stopped with the ball in her hands and looked at it for a long moment.

Then she turned her back on it and shot a free throw.

Kenzie, at the scorer's table, put her head down on the stat sheets.

The game was close all the way.

The other team's point guard was a tall girl with a quick first step.

She and Maxine went at each other for forty minutes.

At the end of the third quarter, Maxine had four fouls.

Stefan pulled her to the bench and crouched beside her with a hand on her shoulder.

"You're fine," he said. "Two minutes of rest. You've got it."

Behind us, loud enough to carry, Blaine was shouting.

"That's a bad call, ref! That's a terrible call! She didn't touch her!"

"Dad," Maxine said, not loudly, without turning around.

She said it once and I don't think he heard.

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