Page 58 of Hard to Fake

Gah. I’m so screwed.

The first quarter starts, and the competition comes out strong, taking it down the court to the basket, playing hard. The Kodiaks are a step slow by comparison.

Mari's not as into it as Nova, who mutters on every play.

"Come on, Clay." Her hand grips mine.

“How's his knee?" I ask Nova.

"Good so far this season. But it's early."

Clay's an all-star, but he's had some serious injuries in the past—ones that cost him professionally and personally.

I squeeze her hand.

It's back and forth, the Kodiaks falling behind by a basket. Then two. Then another.

Nova and I exchange worried looks.

"Come on, Kodiaks!" Nova cheers, jumping up and down.

My eyes sweep over the crowd. Almost all of them are on their feet, screaming. I glance back at the court. The team is getting frustrated.

I stand and holler, "Come on, Kodiaks!"

Miles’s attention cuts toward me, brows lifting in surprise.

"Good job, Kodashian," Nova whispers.

Jay brings the ball up the court, passes it to Clay. He cuts into the paint, then turns and fires it out to Miles, who's along the baseline, but the defense is there, guarding him.

My breath catches.

"Shoot over him," I mutter.

"Miles won't make it," Nova worries. "You know how many blocks the other guy has?"

The shot clock ticks down. It would be so easy to release the ball, to get desperate and fire. Miles rises up to shoot.

I'm already dreading it. Except…

It's not a shot. It's a pump fake designed to make the defender lunge for him.

Only when the defender crashes into Miles does he put the shot up. The whistle shrills. Foul.

Hell yes.

Miles sinks all three from the free-throw line. I feel each of them as if I’m putting up the shots myself.

On the third shot, he looks up at me with a wink.

I bite my lip.

When the whistle blows to signal halftime, the Kodiaks lead by one.

“I’m going up to see Harlan," Mari says, rising.

“Do they bang on his desk at the break?” I ask Nova.

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