I CAME OUTSIDE after basketball practice with Wyatt Anderson. The sun was setting, and the cool autumn evening felt good compared to the sweltering gym. It must have been 150 degrees in there! At least it felt like it. And with twenty guys running around the whole time, and twenty girls sweating volleyball practice and screaming high-fives, well, that didn’t make things any better.
I walked to where my mom’s wagon always parked, but it wasn’t there. That was a little weird. She never parked anywhere else, and she was never late. I went back and sat down next to Wyatt on the curb. His mom wasn’t there yet either.
“What got into you tonight?” Wyatt said. “You must have scored like a hundred baskets.”
I smiled and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I was on fire. Beckman has been playing too good. I can’t let him take my spot.”
Wyatt shoved me hard on the shoulder. “Get outta here, Lester. You were trying to impress Rachel McPhearson.”
