Page 87 of Lovely War
I let go. “Me? For what?”
“The night I hurt my ankle. You were there for me, and it could’ve gone bad if you weren’t. And now look where we are.”
I wave my fork at him. “Don’t get all sentimental on me.”
He makes a dismissive noise. “Don’t tell me what to do. That night was a turning point for me, and you helped make it happen.”
“You did all that yourself,” I say. “I didn’t do anything. I just hid your skateboard.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it didn’t seem like anything, but it mattered to me.”
Ben’s words pop into my head:Make it better, even in small ways.
I turn away but whirl back. “I have to thank you for something too. You taught everyone on this freaking team to call me A-Rad.”
He grins. “Damn straight.”
“Excuse me, guys. Just grabbing a napkin.” I turn around, and there’s Ben, leaning over the table.
“Benjamin,” Quincy says.
He cocks his head, looking Quincy over. “When did you find time to get a haircut?”
He’s right. I hadn’t noticed before, but Quincy’s fade appears refreshed. He pats his head. “Looks good, right? We had a guy come to the hotel earlier.”
“TV-ready,” Ben says.
Quincy returns to his seat, and Ben gives me a soft, appraising look. “Are you good?” he asks. “I know that was a lot, this morning.”
“I’m good,” I say. “I want to talk to you about everything. I do. I’m scared, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
He nods. “I know that. How about tomorrow after dinner? I’ll bribe Kyle to stay out of our room for a while.”
“That sounds great,” I say, and the knot in my stomach eases instead of cinches. A year ago, if someone told me I’d be spending Final Four weekend working for Ardwyn and looking forward to a serious relationship talk with Ben Fucking Callahan, I’d have asked where they got their hallucinogens.
For years I’ve told everyone I know, including myself, thatcertain things weren’t for me. But inside me all along has been a stubborn voice, hoping and craving and never dying, even when I tried to suppress it. It whispered,What if? What if things could be different?
What if I try to be brave? What if it’s worth it?
That voice dragged my heart kicking and screaming all the way here. Tomorrow, I’ll be brave and finish the job. In a quiet hotel room, I’ll tell him everything exactly the way I want, and we’ll deal with it together.
But first we have the game against UNC, our biggest challenge yet. The Tar Heels are well-coached, disciplined, and poised under pressure. They made the semifinals last year too, so most of their team has done this before. It’s no surprise, then, when they come out strong, completely unbothered by the magnitude of the moment. They take an early lead by sticking to a sensible if uncreative game plan, focused on getting the ball inside to capitalize on their height advantage. We play jittery at the start, throwing up hasty shots instead of waiting for the right ones. Rosario gets in early foul trouble, and Quincy misses a pair of easy free throws.
We settle down eventually and chip away at their fifteen-point lead. JGE grabs a few clutch rebounds, and Gallimore draws an offensive foul, sending UNC’s leading scorer to the bench for most of the second half. Their lead drops to twelve, and then seven, and then two.
With a few seconds left, Quincy threads a pass through two defenders that makes me want to break out a ruler to measure the gap between their bodies. It shouldn’t be physically possible, but he gets the ball to Andreatti, who makes an effortless-looking layup to tie the score.
Overtime starts, and it’s like a new game. Quincy and Gallimore get hot from three, and nobody in the country can keep up with that. UNC has no idea what hit them. We win by ten. When the buzzer sounds, Andreatti is holding the ball, and he brings it to his mouth and gives it a big, smacking kiss. Our band springs into action, blowing their horns and beating their drums like they’re trying to bust a hole in the roof. Taylor’s hand digs into my shoulder as she jumps up and down next to me.
We’re going to the finals.
Now I can stop pretending I haven’t been working on the hype video for the championship game for the last three weeks. I’ve written the copy, and it’s on its way to Michael B. Jordan. An A-list actor with a gorgeous speaking voice and a starring role in the most iconic Philly-set film franchise ever? He’s perfect for the job, and I can’t believe he agreed to do it.
I don’t watch the Arizona Tech game. I don’t even follow the score online. It doesn’t matter, for my purposes. Despite Taylor’s fantasies of a video highlighting long-fermented resentments and intertwined paths leading to a dramatic showdown with Maynard, I chose not to focus on our opponent at all. The video is all about Ardwyn.
It opens on a shot of the players sitting around stretching before practice, filmed last week. No music, just casual conversation, everyone reminiscing about championships they played in as kids or watched on TV. A couple of the guys ragging on Andreatti because he’s never made the finals of anything. “It’s not only about talent,” he says defensively. “It’s also about timing and luck. Like that old saying, ‘I’d rather be lucky than good.’ ”
Quincy chimes in, and I swear I didn’t script this: “I had a coach who used to say, ‘I’d rather be luckyandgood.’ That’s how you win a championship. Everything needs to come together at the right moment. It’s the only way.”
