Page 3 of For Emery

I bent and nabbed the ball, spinning it in my hands. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

“What makes you a professional on the subject?”

She shrugged. “Toss it to me.”

I shuffled back a few feet and threw her a perfect spiral. She bobbled it in her hands and dropped it. “Looks like someone needs more practice,” I teased.

She bent and grabbed the ball from the lawn. “Then I’m glad you live next door,” she said without missing a beat. She clearly didn’t plan to talk about the previous night, and that was fine by me. I wasn’t a therapist. I didn’t know the right things to say to someone who had a drunk for a stepdad.

I held up my hands. “Throw it here.”

She tossed a wobbly pass to me which I caught easily.

“You’re gonna want to line up your fingertips on the laces,” I said, showing her my hand on the football. “Then just let it roll off your fingers.” I tossed it to her in a perfect spiral which she bobbled with both hands but held on to it. “Nice catch.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“Now you try.”

She lined up her fingers like I’d shown her. She pulled back her hand and let it go. The ball carried straighter than her last pass, though her spiral needed some work.

“Not bad,” I assured her.

“You really think so?”

“Yup.”

“Do you play football every day?” she asked.

“Yup. I need to practice if I’m gonna play for Alabama one day.”

That was her cue to laugh. Everyone else did. I was used to it by now. No one thought I’d make it—except of course my parents. But then again, they thought I hung the moon, so it didn’t count. “Can I come to your games?” Emery asked.

I shrugged. “If you want to. They’re every Saturday at the field by the park.”

She shook her head. “No. When you play for Alabama.” She wasn’t laughing at me. She wasn’t even humoring me. She really believed me when I said I’d play for Alabama.

I smiled. “Sure.”

“Can I have a front row seat?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m gonna be your biggest fan, Jordan Grady. You just wait and see.”

I laughed, because something in the way she said it, told me it was the truth.

“Whatcha waiting for?” she asked. “If you’re gonna play for Alabama, you need some serious practice.” The little smart ass held up her hands.

I tossed her the ball, easier this time so she could catch it without bobbling it. She did. “Nice catch.”

She tilted her head. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“No?”

She shook her head.

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