Page 66 of Making It Count
“I’m not starting. That’s all. I thought I might be, but Coach just told me the news.”
“You’ve practiced with first team from the beginning of the season,” Shay argued and looked around the room for their coach to complain.
“She’s starting Ledger. It’s fine. I know I’m not as fast as I was last year. And I’ve been getting back to my old self, but it’s taking a while.”
“Layne, you’ve worked your ass off these past two months. You’re better than you were at the end of last season.”
“Maybe. But I don’t have a ton of endurance. I can only play all-out for a few minutes. She wants Lisa out there to start because she can give her more minutes in the beginning. I’m sure I’ll go in at some point.”
“This sucks. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think to ask about you starting. I just figured you were.”
“So did I,” Hilton added and stood. “I’m going to grab some water to hydrate and because it gives me an excuse to spare my ears from this mask for a second if I do it behind that shower wall.” Hilton walked over to the table and grabbed a bottle of water before she disappeared behind the wall that separated the showers from the rest of the room.
“Babe, I’m sorry,” she whispered to Layne.
“It’s okay. I’m good at riding the bench. I’ll sit in my old chair. It’s probably still got my ass print on it, so it’ll be comfortable.”
“Don’t talk about your ass in here,” Shay whispered.
“Why not?” Layne laughed and bent down to slip on a shoe.
“Because I still haven’t seen it,” she whispered again.
Layne winked at her, and Shay grunted because Layne knew that Shay liked it when she winked at her like that.
“We’re not supposed to talk about that stuff when we’re in team mode, Shay,” Layne chastised.
“You brought up your ass,” Shay argued.
“In relationship to basketball. You took it somewhere else.”
“Why are either of you talking about Stoll’s ass?” Hilton asked as she sat back down.
No one on the team knew that they were together. They’d decided the night of their first official date that they wouldn’t say anything unless they had to, for some reason, because basketball season, especially this one, was too important for Shay. If she got this right, she might be able to go pro. If she didn’t, that would be the end of her playing basketball, and this time, it really would be the end. While the NCAA had granted everyone who wanted it an extra year of eligibility, that was all she’d get. Lincoln, who had been a freshman last year, had been able to red-shirt, meaning she hadn’t played enough for the NCAA to say she’d used up a year of eligibility, so with that, she still had four years of eligibility left, but with the COVID-year, as they’d all come to call it, she would have at least five full years of eligibility, and she might be able to petition for a sixth since she wasn’t likely to get on the court this year, either. Shay had started practically every game, so she had no chance of getting another year.
“Later,” Shay whispered to Layne. “And I’m sorry about the not starting thing.”
“That’s okay. I’m good with it. I want us to win.”
Shay smiled at her girlfriend of a little over two months. They’d decided not to count those first few months where they’d obviously been more than friends but hadn’t acknowledged it as being part of their new relationship, so their anniversary would be on the night of their first date where they’d had ramen and pretzels, and Shay had eaten a chocolate chip granola bar for dessert while Layne had a caramel chocolate one. By then, Layne had known that peanut butter were Shay’s favorites and that Shay didn’t really like caramel. Shay knew that caramel was something Layne could tolerate but didn’t love. She also knew that the caramel ones came in the variety pack Layne had bought because it had been cheaper and that she’d already given Shay all of the peanut butter ones before their date, which was why she hadn’t had them the night of.
It had been two months of video dates where they sometimes ate snacks, watched a show or a movie together, or sent links back and forth of songs or whole playlists for the other person to listen to and discuss. Sometimes, they just lay in their beds staring at each other and talking about what they’d do when they could finally be in the same room alone, without masks, COVID, or anything else in their way.
“Don’t make it dirty. Be romantic,” Shay had warned one night in October.
“You’re the one always making things dirty.” Layne had laughed.
“Layne…”
“Fine. Not dirty. Um… I guess if we’re not doing that first – which would kind of suck, Shay, because it will have been months and months by then, probably – I’ll say that I want to lie down next to you and just stare at you.”
“We’re literally doing that right now.” Shay had laughed.
“No, you’re on a screen. I want to lie next to you like this and just look at you like you’re really there. I want to be able to reach out and touch you, push your hair back behind your ear, and touch your face. Then, I’d lean in and kiss you.”
“I said not dirty.”
“I just said ‘kiss,’” Layne had argued. “Slow.”