You’re good, but you’re not that good.
With killer moves on the court and model looks, star college athlete and New York native Tommy Hughes knows that he’s got talent, but that his heart just isn’t in basketball. There’s definitely no NBA in his future.
But what does the future have in store for him? Graduation is coming soon, and with it, job searches and apartment-hunting. The broad outline of the next few months of his life is clear, the specifics, less so. A job in what? An apartment where?
Everything is a blur, confusion, until a pick-up basketball game with Amy Van Doren—a beautiful girl he had known since they were both kids—helps him reflect, focus, and discover where his heart really does lie.
It’s winner take all on Tommy’s driveway—though in this game, there are no losers.
Be on your game, Tommy, even if she’s a girl.
Especially because she’s a girl...
The muted thump of the orange basketball as it bounced against the driveway echoed with comforting monotony across the afternoon air, reverberating quietly against the pretty, suburban houses surrounded by green hills with only a hint of Manhattan in the distance. The atmosphere grew heavy with the weight of titanic, athletic struggle, the panting of young bodies locked in fierce competition darting all over the little New Haven carport.
Feigning a movement to her left, Amy nimbly spun to her right with dizzying speed, passing her apparently dumbfounded-opponent and scoring an easy layup. The ball rattled a bit on the metal rim as if debating its destination before triumphantly choosing the net and falling onto the concrete below.
“Two for me, none for you!” Amy said playfully, smiling and only a little breathless as she flicked an errant strand of auburn hair away from her face.
She assumed a spirited defensive position not unlike a much prettier Larry Bird as she awaited her opponent’s next move, her teenage body swaying hypnotically and her hips rolling with the rhythm of her long, svelte arms.
“That means you’re behind only thirty-six points now, instead of thirty-eight,” Tommy said, admiring the girl’s enthusiasm and optimistic attitude, despite the fact that she had managed to score only twice in the last half hour against his skillful defense.
He had been going extra easy on her, yet couldn’t help scoring basket after effortless basket, simply from boredom, against her futile, incompetent guard that belied the fact that when she danced, she actually did have some semblance of rhythm.
“Don’t make fun of me, Mr. Basketball Expert,” Amy said dourly, her expressive face taking on a hue of hurt feelings even though Tommy knew she was kidding.
She then made a desperate lunge for the ball, evidently hoping to catch him off guard, flinging her entire body toward the orange globe like her life depended on it.
Tommy, however, saw the move coming a mile away and swung the ball out of the girl’s reach, spinning it around his back and above his head as Amy struggled vainly to steal it from him. She chased comically around his tall frame standing still as a tree, her slender arms outstretched, and reaching around his body with hopeless, desperate effort. As a final insult to the girl’s pride, Tommy flicked the ball nonchalantly into the basket, both of them watching it bounce subtly against the fiberglass backboard and perfectly into the hoop.
Amy leaped furiously for the ball as it fell through the net, but Tommy merely extended his long, sleek arm and caught the orb in his hand, holding it out of her reach as she grabbed his wrists in a determined effort to make him surrender it.
Tommy marveled bemusedly at Amy’s tenacity, and finally handed the basketball to her as if he were giving her a birthday gift.
