LITMIR.BIZ

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winked at her before running back on court, leaving her staring openmouthed after him. Against all odds, Coach Quinlan was letting him play.

      The cheerleaders continued with their go-fight-win cheer, nearly deafening Keri. She looked toward the bleachers again and spotted an upraised hand waving wildly. It belonged to Lori Patterson, the mother of the senior point guard.

      She headed up the aisle that cut through the bleachers, with fans craning their necks to see around her. Lori sat on the end beside the center aisle. She scooted over, creating nearly enough space for one person. Keri sat down, a portion of her right hip hanging over only slightly into the aisle.

      “Hey, there.” Lori squeezed Keri’s knee. Short and compact with a fabulous complexion, she was about fifteen years older than Keri. But then, so were all the other parents, a fact that had once made Keri uncomfortable. Now she was used to it. “Where’s Rosie?”

      “I couldn’t get her to come,” Keri said.

      Lori nodded, her heart-shaped face full of understanding. Lori was divorced so usually came to the games alone, a reason Keri had gravitated toward her. They only socialized at basketball games but had become friends, sharing stories about their problems and triumphs with their children.

      “She’s missing a show. Bryan already has six points,” Lori said, her face bright with excitement. Keri did a quick check of the scoreboard, noting that Springhill was up 10-8.

      “Great steal, Garrett,” Lori yelled at the top of her lungs, calling out her son’s name. On court the wiry point guard had a two-on-one break, with Bryan running the lane adjacent to him. The defender committed to Garrett, who bounced a pass to Bryan. Bryan caught the ball in stride, took a long step and elevated over the rim. Holding the ball in one large hand, he thrust it through the rim.

      The crowd went wild.

      From the home team’s bench, Grady Quinlan, in a black dress shirt and gold tie, yelled something at Bryan. By the coach’s expansive gestures, it wasn’t something positive. The guy probably thought dunking was equivalent to showboating.

      Unbelievable.

      Maybe more mind-boggling was Keri’s expectation that reversing his decision to play Bryan would turn Grady into a kinder and gentler coach.

      Yeah, right.

      “It’s gonna be a close game,” Lori said breathlessly. “Westlake’s supposed to win their district, too.”

      Lori’s comment proved prophetic—Springhill was leading by only two points at the half.

      “Good thing for Springhill Bryan’s playing tonight,” Lori said, a huge smile wreathing her face.

      “He should have played Friday night, too.” The speaker was Hubie Brown’s mother, Carolyn, who sat on the other side of Lori. A large woman who always dressed in bright colors, she never kept her opinions to herself. “I bet Coach Quinlan feels stupid for losing that game after what happened in school today.”

      Lori’s head bobbed in agreement, as though whatever happened was common knowledge.

      “What happened?” Keri asked.

      Carolyn smoothed the sleeve of her orange sweater and widened her eyes. “Didn’t Bryan tell you?”

      “I haven’t talked to Bryan since this morning,” Keri admitted. Her son left for the gym before she arrived home on game days because he liked to watch the junior varsity, which played before the varsity.

      “Wait till you hear this.” Carolyn leaned closer, nearly knocking Lori over. “Becky Harding admitted she lied. Just came straight out and told Quinlan she made it all up.”

      That explained Grady Quinlan’s uncharacteristic change of heart. He’d been forced to soften his stance.

      “That’s great,” Keri said, but something didn’t add up.

      “But why would Becky admit to that?”

      “Guess guilt was eating her up,” Carolyn suggested.

      “Maybe embarrassment, too. Everybody found out she had a thing for Bryan.”

      “That’s something else that doesn’t make sense,” Keri said. “I heard she’s dating one of the football players.”

      Carolyn slanted Keri a significant look and patted her on the hand. “You’re so young sometimes, Keri. If you can’t have the one you love, you love the one you’re with.”

      Maybe, Keri thought. But if Becky was so resentful of Bryan, why had she been hanging out with him a few days after the Snowball Dance? Keri had asked Bryan that very question last night, and he’d shrugged it off. A chance meeting, he’d called it.

      “Oh, look!” Lori pointed to a group of lithe young girls in black unitards who were running lightly onto the court, their toes pointed like ballerinas. “The dance team. I just love watching them.”

      Loud music with a rap beat sounded over the public address system. Before Lori could get too entranced with the dancers, Keri leaned over and asked close to her friend’s ear, “Do you know which of the cheerleaders is Becky?”

      Her attention focused on the smiling, dancing girls, Lori answered, “Sure do. The shortest one. Long, dark hair. Bangs. Sets up on the end.”

      The very cheerleader who’d given Keri a heads-up when Bryan had come flying out of bounds. Keri scanned the gym for black-and-gold uniforms, locating the majority of the cheerleaders near the doors leading to the snack bar.

      “Save my seat,” Keri told Lori, then descended the bleachers and walked directly to where Becky chatted with one of her squad members.

      “Becky.”

      The girl turned around, a puzzled expression on her pretty face as she tilted her chin to gaze up at Keri. Keri was of average height, but Becky wasn’t much more than five feet tall. Keri smelled the peppermint scent of the gum Becky was chewing.

      “Yes?” Becky asked expectantly, a half smile on her face.

      “I’m Keri Cassidy.” Most people in Springhill knew Keri had adopted Bryan and Rose after Maddy’s fatal accident, but Becky didn’t seem to be one of them. “Bryan Charleton’s mom.”

      Becky’s smile vanished, her jaws stopped working on the gum and her posture turned rigid.

      “If you’re here to ask me about that nutrition paper, I already took care of it,” she said in clipped tones.

      “I heard you told Coach Quinlan you lied about writing it.”

      Becky’s wary expression didn’t change but she said nothing.

      “Why did you say you wrote the paper in the first place?” Keri persisted.

      “It doesn’t matter,” Becky said, chomping down on her gum. “Bryan’s playing tonight. Isn’t that what everybody wanted?”

      “Of course it mat—” Keri said, but Becky had already turned away, obviously having said all she was going to say.

      Taken aback by the girl’s rudeness, Keri clenched her jaw. She thought about tapping the girl on the shoulder again, but creating a scene wouldn’t get her answers. She started back to her seat, nearly bumping into a woman with long, curly blond hair who was holding a foil-wrapped hot dog and a bottle of water. Mary Lynn Marco, Tony’s wife.

      Their eyes met. Before Keri could say hello or even smile, Mary Lynn walked quickly past her, as though being chased by a hellhound. So much for letting the other woman in on the long-overdue fact that Keri wished her only the best of luck with Tony.

      The half started almost as soon as Keri reached her bleacher seat, giving her little time to dwell on either Becky’s comments or Mary Lynn’s coolness. The two teams played at a breathtaking pace, exchanging baskets and the lead.

      Keri had seen Bryan play basketball

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