Page 58 of Butterfly Effect

“Sorry.” I offer a swig from my water bottle and rub her back as she accepts and takes a few pulls. “What’s going on with you? Your stomach has been extra messed up lately.”

Indi shakes her head. “It’s all the rich European food I ate on vacation. And between summer training camps and the start of the girls’ season, I haven’t been able to go home and eat mom’s home-cooked food. I’m desperate for some of those desi spices to clean the system out.”

“Oof. That’s rough.”

She groans. “I think I hear a bench by the lockers calling my name.”

“Are you gonna be okay on your own? I was gonna hit up the basketball courts before my training session.” I mime a fadeaway. “But I can come with you and then go back?—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be fine, go.”

“Text me if you’re dying?”

“My hero,” she croons, clasping her hands to her shoulder and lifting her pitch, swooning like Olive Oyl, then beelines to the changing room, still rubbing her belly.

Every court except one is occupied by groups playing three-on-three. I grab a ball and dribble it back, the squeaking of sneakers and noisy trash talk fading away to nothing except my breath. Basketball never fails to empty my mind.

A couple of bank shots follow easy layups before I get into a rhythm and make a clean shot through the net. “Swish, swish, baby,” I whisper into my victory fist before taking the ball beyond the point. The success is short-lived because when I put up a three-pointer, a voice breaks my focus.

“Bro, look, it’s Stephanie Curry.”

Four men approach as the ball bounces off the rim and into one moron’s hands. Discomfort knots my stomach.

“Funny.” I roll my eyes and ready my hands, waiting to receive the stolen basketball. “Pass it back.”

“Sorry.” He tosses it to a taller friend, who passes it over my head to another. “We’ve got this court booked.” Face leaning into mine, he gives me a grimy smile. “But you can cheer us on if you’d like.”

I could hustle these fools if I wanted, but I have better things to do.

“No, thanks.” I give them a facetious thumbs up. “Enjoy.”

It’s not worth it to argue with douches like them. At least with Wade, it’s a fair fight.

Turning to hide my clenched-shut eyes, I grimace.

Why am I thinking about him again?

“Hey, wait. Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Their fourth man calls after me.

“Doubt it!” I throw over my shoulder.

“Yoooo, that’s Gabe Finch!” The tallest one punches Moron Number Two in the arm as the door clunks open underneath my push. “She’s that CSN chick who covers hockey games. You know, the one dating the Regents’ tendy.”

“Aw, man!” Their groans echo behind me. “We could’ve gotten a signed jersey or tickets or something.”

“Too bad, so sad. Shoulda thought of that before you were dicks to me,” I say to my watch, where a message from my boss pops up.

Mel

Boehner’s Instagram posts are so cute!!

Great. Another Pretty Boy fan. Just what the world needs.

Mel

He’s such a charmer

I huff.

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