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  The powerful disinfectant smell of the nursing home hits his nose as he opens the door. An old woman playing solitaire in the recreation room goes back to her cards when she doesn’t recognize him. The TV blasts at full volume, but nobody is paying attention to it.

  He comes to room 103. Elizabeth Bergstrom. That still looks strange. Most people call her Lizzie. She sits in the chair with her head down. “Hey, Grandma.”

  “Arlen?” She looks up.

  “No, it’s me. Liam.”

  “Arlen?”

  “No, Liam.” He moves closer. Maybe she was sleeping.

  She peers through her glasses. “Liam? You look like Arlen.”

  He’s tall and thin like Dad and he has his big nose, but that’s about it. “I brought you a cookie.” He holds up the bag. “Chocolate chip. Not homemade, but I thought you’d like it.”

  “I would.” She looks at her tray. “They gave us JELL-O. JELL-O’s not a real dessert.”

  “Definitely not.” Liam unwraps the cookie and offers it to her.

  “Thank you.” She clicks off Wheel of Fortune. “How can they give away so much money on that show?”

  Liam sits down and explains about advertising, sponsorship, and television ratings.

  “I still don’t understand where the money comes from.” Grandma nibbles her cookie.

  Liam laughs. “That’s okay. I don’t really understand it either.” He wipes chocolate from his lips. “So, Grandma, did Dad tell you I’m on varsity basketball?”

  “Yes. He did.” She speaks slowly, like she’s struggling to remember. She picks up her napkin and pats her mouth. “How are you doing?”

  “The basketball part is going fine.” Liam crumples the paper from the cookie and throws it in the trash. “There’s something else I’ve got to talk to Coach about and I’m not sure how he’ll react.”

  Grandma looks at him with her tired blue eyes. “I’m sure you’ll do what’s right.”

  After the nursing home, Liam stops by the new gym at the Y. Dad says it was built when he was in high school, but everybody still calls it the new gym. Dad’s warming up with his teammates. Some of them are teachers. Some are high school buddies who’ve stayed in Horizon. A couple of them are both.

  “I thought we had a shot against West Branch.” Mr. Mattson, Liam’s eighth-grade math teacher, rolls in a layup. “But we didn’t have anyone to stop Collinswood.”

  “Yes, we did.” A left-hander wearing a sleeveless shirt shoots a jumper. “Darius Buckner. He would have slowed Collinswood down.”

  “I heard he’s not coachable.” Mattson bounces the ball.

  “Maybe not by Kloss.” Left-hander grabs a rebound. “Maybe it’s time for a new coach.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Kloss can’t lose talent like that in the middle of the season. What he’s doing isn’t working.”

  “Give me a break,” Mattson says. “He’s a good coach.”

  “We’ll see.” Left-hander nails another jumper. “If he doesn’t get this group into the playoffs, he’s not a good coach.”

  “Okay, fellas. Let’s run.” Dad steps between them.

  Liam watches from the balcony. These guys take Horizon hoops seriously, but he’s still surprised at such direct criticism of Coach Kloss. The guys on varsity might complain about their minutes, but they never question Coach’s position. After all, he’s the coach and he controls who plays and who doesn’t.

  “Liam played well.” Mattson stands next to Dad at the free throw line. “He held his own in the second half.”

  “He’s coming along.” Dad drains a free throw.

  Liam scrunches down in his seat so they don’t see him listening.

  “It’s a big step up to varsity in the middle of the season, especially for a sophomore.” Mattson banks a shot off the board as the ref blows his whistle.

  Dad jumps for the opening tip and Mattson controls the ball. He passes it into the post. Dad dribbles once and shoots a right-handed sky hook that rolls in.

  “Old school,” Mattson calls. “They can’t stop that.”

  Dad laughs as he runs back on defense. He catches sight of Liam and waves.

  Liam gives him a thumbs up. That was a nice move, but nobody else is here to see it. The over-forty league doesn’t get a lot of spectators. He rubs his eyes and tries to forget about the conversation he didn’t have with Coach.

  Or the one still to come.

  11

  Uncomfortable

  Behnnnnnnnnnn. Liam wakes to the annoying sound of his phone alarm buzzing on the dresser. He stumbles out of bed and shuts it off. It’s way too early, but since he’s out of bed, he’s up. That’s why he keeps it so far away.

  He shuffles to his computer to see if Mackenzie has e-mailed. More penis-enlargement pills and Mr. Emerson Okambe offering five million dollars to open a bank account for him in the United States. Who’s stupid enough to fall for that? Obviously someone is because they keep sending them. Nothing from Mackenzie. One more day and he’ll e-mail her again.

  He drags himself to the shower and lets the water heat up. He didn’t sleep well. Turning and waking and checking the clock. Not being able to fall back to sleep. He’s more tired now than when he went to bed.

  After a breakfast of Cocoa Puffs, orange juice, and two strawberry Pop-Tarts, he heads outside to clean off the windshield while the car warms up. The ice feels glued on. He pushes down to a clear spot so he can work the edges.

  Winter is the worst. Uncle Carl, Dad’s brother, always says, “Come down to Tampa. Sun shining. Seventy degrees.” Florida sounds very nice right now.

  Snap. The blade on his scraper breaks. Liam takes his student ID out of his wallet and picks with that. The defroster has softened some of the ice, so he chips away with his tiny face watching him. It’s too strange, so he flips it over.

  In the car, the orange low-gas sign is still on. Why didn’t he fill up last night? That would have been better than having to do it now. He pulls into Shirley’s Gulp and Go and walks inside. Everything is credit card or cash up front now because people have been driving off without paying. He gets stuck at the register behind a couple in matching Arctic Cat jackets buying lottery tickets based on their grandchildren’s birthdays.

  “Callie’s the sixth of July, not the ninth.” The woman holds up six fingers.

  “It’s the ninth. Eight, nine.” The guy’s got a gravelly voice. “I always remember eight, nine for July ninth.”

  “Eight isn’t the number for July. That’s August and her birthday’s in July, not August. It’s July sixth.”

  Liam catches the eye of the pretty cashier with purple nail polish and slides his money forward.

  Outside, he unscrews the cap and turns on the pump. He needs to hurry to have time to talk to Coach before first period.

  At school, Liam waits in the hall outside Coach’s math room. Iris Cleary is talking to Coach about a make-up test. Liam rocks back and forth on his heels. She’s taking forever.

  What’s he going to say anyway? What if he told Coach that he’s uncomfortable with the prayers and HAF because he’s not a Christian? Maybe he could say he was a Sikh. He went to school with Sikhs in Seattle. What would Coach say if he showed up for practice in shorts, shoes, and a turban?

  He pulls at the red tie that’s snug around his neck. Coach insists that they dress up for road games to give a good image of Horizon. Liam feels like he’s choking and his feet pinch in his dress shoes. He can’t wait any longer. There’s not enough time now before the bell. He scrambles away down the hall.

  English is as boring as ever. Mrs. Stabenow reads from her notes and drones on about symbolism in poetry like only she’s smart enough to figure it out. He used to like reading when he was little, but there’s nothing like being forced to read a bunch of boring books to take the fun out of it.

  After school, Liam walks into the locker room. The bus leaves for Tintah in half an hour, so Coach will probably be in his office getti
ng ready for the game. Liam jams his fingers between his neck and tie to create some space. He’s always hated ties. Calm down. Relax. He knocks on the door.

  “Come in, Bergie.” Coach pauses game film of Tintah and pulls newspapers off the metal folding chair. “What’s on your mind?”

  Liam takes a deep breath. “I’m really glad to be on varsity. I appreciate the opportunity.”

  “You earned it, Bergie.” Coach looks at him like he knows this can’t be the reason Liam’s here. “When Jensrud got hurt, we needed another tall guy. Height is the one thing I can’t coach.”

  Liam smiles. “I feel like I’m learning a lot.”

  “You are. You pay attention. You play hard. You’re improving. That’s all we ask. As a sophomore, of course, you have a lot to learn. And we need you to put some muscle on that frame for next year.”

  Liam nods. He’s shaking all over, like he’s fallen into an icy lake. “Coach, you said if we ever had anything we needed to talk about to come on down.”

  “That’s right. My door is open.” Coach leans back and spreads his arms. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Coach, I’ve never been on a team where we pray together before games…and I’ve been thinking about it.”

  Coach picks up a pen and clicks it. “You’re a Christian, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’m Catholic.” Liam puts his hands on his knees to keep his feet from tapping.

  Coach frowns. “Bergie, I’m surprised you’re bringing this up.”

  “I’m not sure everybody is comfortable with it.”

  “No one has said anything to me.” Coach clicks the pen again. “Has someone said something to you?”

  “No.” Liam looks down at the floor.

  “Then it’s only you. Are you comfortable with it?”

  “I don’t know.” Liam remembers his conversation with Mom. “I’m not sure it’s right in school.”

  “It’s fine.” Coach sets the pen down. “If you want, I’ll check it out.”

  “Okay.” Liam doesn’t know what else to say. He concentrates on holding still.

  “I respect you for coming to talk to me, Bergie. I’ll look into it.”

  The locker room at Tintah smells musty. Liam sits on a small plastic chair and pulls up his socks. He loosens his left foot by making the letters of the alphabet. When he went to physical therapy last year after spraining his ankle, they made him move it side to side thirty times and up and down thirty times. It was so boring, a lot of times he didn’t finish.

  Then one day he got a physical therapist with long blond hair who played basketball herself. She had him write the alphabet with his big toe. Once he got to C he felt like he couldn’t stop until Z, and his foot got a good stretch. If he gets hurt again, he wouldn’t mind seeing her.

  “Tintah’s tough at home.” Coach Kloss stands in front of the chalkboard. Nobody else in the conference has a locker room so old they still have a chalkboard. He writes nine and seven, the team record, on the board. “This isn’t acceptable.” He taps a piece of chalk on the board. “It’s not acceptable to me and it shouldn’t be to you.”

  Liam knows the numbers too well. If he’d made those two free throws against Crosston, they’d be ten and six.

  “Our goal since the start of the year has been to be the best-conditioned team in the conference.” Coach throws the chalk on the floor. “We’re going to go out and run Tintah into the ground. Are you ready to do what it takes to win?”

  “Yesssss!” everyone shouts.

  “Pelke, will you lead us in prayer?”

  “Sure, Coach.” Pelke folds his hands and looks serious. “Lord, we ask for Your guidance. Show us the path You’ve chosen for us and help us compete in the image of Christ.”

  Liam stares at him. Pelke doesn’t believe any of this. He’s just saying what Coach wants.

  “Lord, help us to be victorious in Your name.” Pelke catches Liam staring and winks.

  “Thanks,” Coach says. “Let’s all say the Lord’s Prayer.”

  “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name…” Liam says the prayer with the others. Doesn’t Coach see what a fake Pelke is?

  Tintah’s terrible, and Horizon stretches the lead to nineteen in the second half. Both Drake and Nielsen have stayed out of foul trouble and played the whole game. On the bench, Liam fingers the HWJC band he remembered to wear tonight and presses his elbows into his knees. When he lifts them, they’ve made rising suns on his skin.

  “Keep running the offense,” Coach shouts. “Work the ball around.”

  Tintah’s slow to rotate on defense, and Staley gets free. He’s too good a shooter to leave open, and he buries the three-pointer.

  Liam gets in for the final four minutes. That’s a lot less time than last game. Is it because Drake and Nielsen played so well? Did Coach want them to run a whole game to improve their conditioning?

  Or is Coach sending him a message?

  12

  Mackenzie’s Spot

  By the time the bus gets back from Tintah, it’s 11:30. Mom might still be up, and Liam doesn’t want to talk to her about what happened with Coach, so he drives past Seth’s house. The lights are off and Seth doesn’t answer his phone. Because of his morning weight lifting, he’s an early-to-bed guy lately. Liam winds down the back road to the gravel pit.

  He gets out and looks at the stars. No moon tonight and no lights nearby, so the waves of the Milky Way are visible. Mr. Quist, Liam’s seventh-grade science teacher, once said that there were more stars than individual grains of sand on all the beaches in the world. That seemed like such a far-out idea, but looking up now, it might be possible.

  Liam spots the Big Dipper and follows it to the North Star. Always there, always in the north, always true north. He searches for the Little Dipper coming off the North Star. Those stars are tougher to identify with everything else so bright, but he looks closely and finds them.

  Coach Kloss is hard to figure out. He told Liam to come down and talk anytime, but then he didn’t seem very willing to listen or explain things. At least he said he’d check it out.

  Liam walks past empty vodka bottles in a fire pit where kids have been partying. He ducks in among the tamarack trees, but the cold penetrates everything. He’s not dressed warmly enough to be out here and his feet are tingling. He scrambles back down to the car, where the clock says 12:07. He drives out the shortcut, but the road is washed away. He has to back up and go out the other way.

  “Where have you been?” Mom’s stretched out on the couch in her flannel robe with Dizzy curled up on top of her.

  “Why are you still up?” Liam takes off his coat.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Mom marks her spot and closes her book. She sniffs, rubs her nose, and sneezes. Dizzy flies off her like she’s been blasted out of a missile launcher.

  “Bless you.”

  “Thanks.” Mom takes a tissue from her pocket. “Why are you so late?”

  “After we got back from Tintah, I wasn’t ready to come home. I needed some time to think.” Liam kicks off his dress shoes.

  “You can’t think here?”

  “I needed some space, some time to myself.”

  “Did you talk to Coach Kloss today?” Mom pats the couch and Dizzy warily climbs back up.

  “Yeah.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That praying in the locker room is fine.” Liam grabs grape juice from the fridge and pours himself a glass.

  “It’s not.” Mom shakes her head.

  “Coach said he’d check it out.”

  “With whom?”

  “I don’t know.” Liam wipes grape juice from his lips.

  “You didn’t ask?”

  “Coach said he’d take care of it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, Mom.” Liam looks at the clock on the microwave: 12:41. “Maybe it was a mistake to talk to him.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake, Liam.”

 
“We’ll see.” He climbs the stairs and unbuttons his shirt. She doesn’t realize how hard it was for him to talk to Coach. She doesn’t realize what he’s risking. He only played four minutes tonight. She didn’t even ask him about the game.

  The next morning, Liam turns on the computer to see if he has mail from Mackenzie. Finally. He clicks her name.

  From: Mackenzie Kost

  To: Liam Bergstrom

  Date: February 2

  Subject: intense

  sweet liam,

  so intense around here. sunday some friends took me over to montpellier. walked around awhile before we found a cozy little café. ate cerveau. afterward they told me what it was. calf brains! yuck. :-p the french eat all kinds of gross stuff! stayed late talking and drinking wine. btw my french is better when i drink! everyone says so. got up early to get back to school in time. jeanbaptiste drove like a crazy man. jk he’s really a good driver. everyone here drives like a maniac. took a nap as soon as I got back from school. went shopping today by myself and bought a sexy black dress. ;-> tres paris. can’t wait for you to see it.

  whats up with u? how’s the team?

  pix of my house and school and friends.

  <3

  lyl

  x o x o kenz

  He clicks open the pictures. An ancient-looking two-story house with no yard. The school’s old, too—a brown building with huge trees in front. Her friends are three guys and two girls crowded onto a couch with five wine bottles on a table in front of them. The girls are thin and gorgeous and are smoking cigarettes. They’re sitting in the guys’ laps. The guys are good-looking, too. They look older, like they’re in their twenties.

  One of the guys has curly hair and a goatee. That must be Jean-Baptiste. It’s pretty easy to figure out. He doesn’t have a girl sitting in his lap.

  That must be Mackenzie’s spot.

  When Liam gets home from practice, Mom’s jamming papers into her bag. “I’ve got some lobbying to do at the meeting tonight, and I’m late. Dad and I already ate. There’s food in the fridge. Just heat it up.” She grabs her coat. “And give Dizzy some clean water.”