A flatbed truck pulled up slowly to the curb at 7204 East Lansing Drive in front of a well-manicured lawn, the passenger-side door directly in front of the home's walkway. By nine-thirty it was already pitch-black night, a darkness illuminated only by strands of Christmas lights forming the shapes of houses along the street. Jacob put the truck in park, and turned to his right. "Well, good night," he smiled.
Holly smiled back, eyes dancing, braces shining in the dark. "G'night, Jake," she said, but she didn't move. He started to smile more.
"This has been, like, a really great year, like, getting to know you more," he got out. He looked her up and down; she wore an orange wool sweater that almost managed to hide her large breasts and tight-fitting jeans that showed off her muscular thighs.
She nodded. "You were so great tonight. I swear you're the best player on the team this year." He gently laughed. "I mean it! You're amazing. And I love . . . leaving the games with you."
"I . . . do, too," he replied. They were smiling idiotically at each other. Her eyes darted from his left eye to his right eye and back again. Jake went to speak, inhaled instead, and then leaned forward. He kissed Holly on the mouth; she kissed him back. He opened his lips, and kissed again, and again; she reached up and placed her hand on his neck. He unbuckled his seatbelt, making her giggle, and they began to kiss some more, embracing as best they could over the truck's center console. He softly kissed her lips, and then pulled back slightly to look at her face. She seemed brighter, shinier, and her eyes were drunk with feeling. He felt a holy glow in his chest. It was the warmest, happiest feeling he ever remembered having.
She laughed happily. "That was my first real kiss," she admittedly shyly.
The glow dimmed; he smiled to mask his wince. "Mine, too," he lied.
***
After the Bridgeport Tech routing, Jake had garnered significant attention, not only on campus but in a lot of the Harrison County newspapers. By the time he returned to class on Monday morning, everyone was congratulating him, shaking his hand, or batting their eyelashes at him. There was a circle of students around him on the gym floor as Ms. Bandy entered the hall.
"Who are y'all talking to over there, John Stockton? Let me through, I want his autograph!" she joked as she began pushing kids out of her way. She gave Jake a big hug, swaying him back and forth. "Oh my gosh, dude, that was killer!" He closed his eyes.
She held him at arm's distance and smiled, giving him a quick wink. "And I bet there's more where that came from." Ms. Bandy then shook his hand; he felt a piece of paper in it, which he palmed and immediately put in his pocket. He assumed this wasn't something for public display.
She spun around. "Oh, and Wilson! Where's Wilson at?" As she ran over to give Will a hug, Jake walked away from the crowd, hiding himself behind the side of the bleachers, and he took the paper out. It read: "Hang back."
Class ended. The other students filed out of the gymnasium, and Jake ran to the bathroom. After hiding in a stall for a brief interval, he returned to the hardwood floor, where Ms. Bandy was waiting.
"Worked like a charm, didn't it?" she said, hands on her hips, smiling.
He smiled too. "Yeah, it did."
"Jake — and I mean this," she began as she moved toward him, "I want nothing more than to see you play like that every single game. I wanna see all the other students cheer your name, to see the girls crowd around you to get a piece of whatever it is you've got. I want you to perform like a machine, and to reap the rewards that come from athletic excellence. The right school, the best girl, the money, the friends, the life. It's all there, waiting for you to take it. Is that what you want?"
He nodded earnestly.
"From here on, I'm gonna be your private coach. Before each of your next thirty games until the playoffs, I want you to eat, sleep, and dream about nothing else but basketball, and I'll take care of the rest. No outside distractions. Quit your volunteer work; take a break from church stuff. No attachments of any kind." He nodded.
"And when I call for you, you come running. When I ask you for a favor, you do it when you can. When I give you an order, you do it when I say. And — most importantly — you tell no one of this. This is between you, me, and God. This is serious stuff, Jacob, are you following me?"
Again, he nodded. "Yeah, yes, I am."
She smiled. "I knew you were gonna be my star this year. We're gonna go all the way to the top."
She grabbed his upper arms, glaring at him. He flinched.
"First, we're going to make sure you're free of all negativity, every game. That means that you need to visit my break room, every gameday. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Ms. Bandy," he agreed.
She placed her finger on his chest. "Thursday at four. Got it?"
"Thursday at four," he repeated.
Three days passed. Each day before the next game was filled with a wider range of emotions than he had ever remember having. Holly Morgan was asking him for more and more rides to places, as were other girls in his school, less to his liking; his grades continued to maintain, despite his lack of focus on the material. Jake's coach was pleased, but he ran them all harder now than he ever had before; Jake's parents lauded him at every meal, discussing the colleges that were contacting them, but warned him against pride and falling and all that rot.
At night, in bed, waiting for sleep to come, his mind vacillated between hopelessness and lust, guilt and rapture. During class, Ms. Bandy would scarcely acknowledge his presence; then, at unexpected moments, he would catch her admiring him with an alarming sensuality. In his bed, in the moments before sleep, he imagined he would take her as she stared at him and manhandle her, smother her, penetrate her. But during Thursday's class, all he could do was look away, and wait until two hours before the game.
***
Holly lifted the center console up and slid closer to Jake. He put his arms around her, her firm breasts flattening against him. He shut his eyes, and they kissed again, but he felt distracted. Her kisses were nervous and inexperienced, but loving and sweet. They tasted . . . different. In the darkness of his mind appeared the face of Ms. Bandy. He shut his eyes harder to rid himself of the image and bit lightly at Holly's lower lip.
