“You’re leaving?” Zara stared at me, palms flat on the large conference room table covered in sketches, abandoned scraps of paper, and empty coffee cups.
“We can pick this up tomorrow.”
“Thirty-six hours. That's all we have left. We don’t even have a draft proposal completed.” She stood in front of the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. Her favorite pose.
“Finger food. Booze. Axe throwing. Presentation. Throw some bows on it and call it a day. It’s not complicated. Excuse me.”
She squared off in front of me. “We still have vendors to choose, menus to sort through, and we need to figure out what we'll be doing to entertain everyone.”
“Tomorrow is a new day. Why don’t you sleep on it? That way you'll have more energy to jam your color palettes down my throat. You’re in my way.” I nudged her out of the way and jogged toward the elevator.
“Tomorrow at eight am,” she shouted after me.
I stepped into the elevator. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Sneakers scuffed and squeaked off the lacquered wooden floor. Four nets had been lowered from the ceiling for two parallel games on the courts. The entire place smelled like sweat, lacquer, and a dirty gym bag.
I kept my right foot planted, spinning from side to side with Everest guarding me. Even his gym clothes were starched to within an inch of their life.
“Are you washing clothes with all this spinning? Or are you going to shoot sometime today?” Everest kept up his coverage of me.
“Like you’ve ever seen a washing machine, let alone used one. You’d better protect that watch face when I knock your ass over.”
He froze for a second and looked at his wrist.
It was the opening I needed. Throwing a wide elbow, I pulled the hit a bit, but that didn’t mean I didn’t smile at his oof. Lifting my arm, I pushed through the groan of my muscle and let the ball go. It sailed through the air and past Hunter’s attempt at a block, hit the backboard and fell into the net.
“And the crowd goes wild.” I cupped my hand around my mouth and imitated the roar of a stadium full of fans. August and I high fived. He spun the ball on his finger in our victory dance. We grabbed our water bottles. It had been a while since I’d worked up a sweat like this. It felt good to be out of breath after an hour of game play, even if it wasn’t my game of choice.
Hunter jogged across the gym to grab the game ball.
“The reigning Thursday night basketball champions,” I put on my best echoing announcer voice and added in more fan cheering before taking a gulp of water.
Everest slipped his watch off and shoved it into the zipper pocket of his bag. “That’s the closest you’ll get to a crowd saying your name anytime soon.”
I tossed my water bottle down and it bounced in the gap in the bleachers. “What’s your problem?”
August and Hunter got between us.
“My problem is you show up throwing elbows and throwing off the team dynamics and can’t even be humble about a win. This isn’t a stadium. This is for fun. We’re blowing off some steam, that’s all.”
Throwing off the team dynamics. They’d found their groove without me, all hanging out at college together. But fuck him, I was part of this group too. Our weekly game was a way to keep us all from drifting into the solitude of adulthood. A friendly—okay, sometimes not so friendly—game of basketball, followed by wings and beers at The Griffin.
“Sorry we can’t all be as refined as you, Everest. My etiquette lessons were cancelled because they clashed with my riding lessons.”
He cut a gulp from his water bottle short. “You’re such an asshole.”
“I’m the asshole? We can never go back to a city—hell an entire state—because of you.”
Everest wheeled around, eyes blazing, and shoved his finger in my face. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Jameson nearly tripped himself climbing over our gym bags on the bleachers. “Is this about Milwaukee?”
The name sent a bolt of fear through me. I looked over my shoulder like even mentioning it would summon the consequences of our last night there. Everest, Hunter, and August had the same stricken look I was sure I was wearing. “It’s about nothing.”
I flexed my hands at my sides.
Jameson looked from me to Everest. “It’s been almost four years. It can’t be that bad. What happened?”
We all turned to him at the same time. “Nothing.”
Some of the anger in the room deflated. If there was one thing we all unequivocally agreed on, it was that we never talked about Milwaukee.
Everest picked up his water bottle again, but his eyelid twitched.
I probably got too much satisfaction out of pissing him off.
“Since everyone’s sufficiently wound up now, let’s get to Barry’s before he gives up our booth.” Hunter dribbled the ball and slung his bag over his shoulder. He lifted his arm and took a shot in the basket closest to the locker room door. It sailed through the air, completely missing the hoop and bouncing against the wall. He shook his head and jogged for the ball. “Plus, our court time is almost up.”
As if summoned by his words the double doors on the side of the court banged open.
The doors to the hallway opened and a voice called out, cutting through the squeak of our sneakers on the court. “Nice air ball. You guys are still here? Stick around next time and we’ll show you how to play.” The tallest one stood with his little bird arms—seconds away from snapping—crossed over his chest, surrounded by his friends. He only came up to Hunter’s chest.
“Don’t start things you can’t finish.” Hunter bent down, glaring at the seventh grader.
“I can finish anything you can dish out, old man.” The kid scoffed and looked to his teammates over his shoulder.
“Old man?!”
“Are you seriously about to scrap with a thirteen-year-old?” Jameson grabbed Hunter’s bag, pulling him away.
“He started it.”
“If I hadn’t seen you walk across the stage at our graduation, I’d swear you were thirteen.” Jameson dragged Hunter toward the locker room exit.
The kid cupped his hands around his mouth. “Next time. Me versus you. Mano a mano.”
“Let me know when the other mano arrives,” Hunter shouted over his shoulder as the locker room door closed.
I nudged Hunter. “You’re the worst person I’ve ever seen with kids.”
“They weird me out. They’re like adults, but small.” He said it with a completely straight expression and slightly disgusted face.
I grabbed my clothes out of my gym bag. “It was your idea to play at the Y.”
Hunter shrugged. “I got a good deal on our family membership.”
“What the hell kind of screwed up family would we be?” August tugged his shirt over his head.
“The best kind—one that can go to different houses at the end of the night.” Everest slipped on his shoes. They were probably Italian leather flown over from Milan on a private jet encrusted in jewels. The rest of the guys I played basketball with got big pro contracts rotating out every month or so. But I wasn’t one of them. I’d gone to school with them and worked just as hard—if not harder—to get where I was at today, and it would never make me one of them.