Page 9 of Courtside

She should stretch. If she were more responsible, she would stretch.

But at that point she was so hungry that all she could think about was getting home to her stocked fridge. She packed her bag, already feeling stiffness settle into her hamstrings, and shuffled out of the gym, flipping the lights off behind her.

When she got back to her apartment she showered, but didn’t bother with washing her hair. Once she had a big bowl of rice, beans, and sautéed veggies and chicken topped with hot sauce, she curled up on the couch with a novel; she probably had an hour and a half to read before she needed to go to bed.

Just as she was settling in, her phone pinged with an email notification.

Swiping it open, she read the message.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Meeting

Miss Fogerty,

Please let me know if you’d be available to come by my office tomorrow afternoon. As I’m sure you are busy with classes, I can be flexible on the timing. Let me know when would work best for you.

Looking forward to meeting you,

Coach Hughes

Southeastern University Men’s Basketball

Sage exhaled loudly, sinking her head back into the couch behind her. She gave herself a few seconds to think about just howshittythis was before she sat up and tapped out a response.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Meeting

Coach Hughes,

I am available tomorrow at 1pm.

Looking forward to it.

Sage Fogerty

CHAPTER3

TWENTY-THREE POINTS PER GAME

SAGE

As she killed the engine of her ancient, beat-to-shit Corolla, Sage flipped down the visor and checked herself in the warped mirror. She only had about thirty seconds before the August heat reduced her to a gooey puddle on the seat.

Her eyes darted over her face, checking the minimal makeup she’d applied that morning. Concealer covered the zit on her left temple. Mascara somehow survived the malfunctioning AC and hadn’t melted down her face. Her cheeks were doing that thing where they turned a vibrant fuchsia the second the temperature got over 85 degrees. The high ponytail she’d pulled her hair into was still resolutely in place, with only a few flyaway hairs fanning out around her head.

She glanced down, picking a piece of lint from the soft gray t-shirt she wore with a pair of tailored blue slacks.Dusky blue, Brinley had called the color when Sage had video-called her that morning for fashion advice.

Sage had no issue with her personal style — athletic gear and jeans with the exception of a few dresses she pulled out occasionally — but figured that Brinley, who dressed professionally on a daily basis, was a better judge of appropriate interview attire. Well, it wasn’t exactly aninterview, since she already had the internship, but she still thought she should put effort into the initial meeting with the coaches.

It was Brinley’s idea to pair the blue slacks and blazer their mom had bought Sage for graduation with a nicer t-shirt, saying it was “more your vibe, Sage.” She appreciated the consideration.

She reached over into the passenger seat, grabbing the matching blazer and a worn canvas bag that had served as her purse for the past eight years of her life. Stepping out, she squinted against the bright sun as she walked across the parking lot and into the Humphrey Center.

She gave Eckbert the customary pat, and then wriggled her long arms into her blazer as soon as she met the freezing air inside.

Her shoes made an obnoxious clicking sound against the brick floor as she walked down the long hallway that stretched the length of the building, and she scowled down at her feet. She honestly felt silly in the nude ballet flats, but her sister hadinsistedthat Nikes were not appropriate for a job interview.

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