Lucy Jane Bledsoe

1 Wanted: Basketball Talent


River ran from the car to the high school gym. In spite of the pelting rain, she dribbled her basketball the whole way, dodging around the puddles in the parking lot as if they were opponents. She charged full speed until she reached the door to the gym. There she stopped and hugged her wet basketball.

Out here, there was the dark, wet night. Pouring rain. Strong winds coming in off the nearby Pacific Ocean. But inside….

River pushed open the door. The band, dressed in their gold and red uniforms, was already blaring out the school song. The trumpets and trombones reflected gold light. The sound of hightop sneakers pounding the court echoed off the walls as the two teams warmed up. Balls boinged off the floor, slapped into hands, swished through the nets. A wild kind of sweat and muscle dance.

River climbed the bleachers and found an empty row, and then leaned forward to watch the older girls warm up. Her brother, Zack, and neighbor, Kammie Wilder, scooted in next to her.

This was the very gym where Emily Hargraves, who last year was named Most Valuable Player of the Women’s National Basketball Association, got her start. The mayor had stretched a banner across the main street in town. It said, Azalea, Oregon, Hometown of Emily Hargraves, MVP of the WNBA. Every day on her way to school, River stopped directly under the banner, no matter how hard it was raining. Every day she closed her eyes and said an affirmation. “I, River Borowitz-Jacobs, am going to play for the WNBA.” If Emily Hargraves had made it, so could she.

There were obstacles, though. For one, she was only an average height for an eleven-year-old girl. Zack, who was fourteen, had the same problem, but he said they were still both young enough for growth spurts.

It wasn’t just her height, though. River didn’t look anything like a basketball player. Emily Hargraves was tall, had honey-colored hair, and high, peachy cheekbones. Her eyes were a determined gray, and even her square jaw said win. River, on the other hand, looked like something that could blow away in the wind. Her parents should have called her Leaf. Her black hair was thin and wispy. Her eyes were green with flecks of brown, and she had freckles everywhere.

Zack, who looked exactly like his sister, said that their greatest obstacle was their parents. Lawrence Borowitz was a photographer, Carolyn Jacobs was a ceramic artist. They didn’t believe in sports. “They don’t believe in anything,” Zack complained, “except art and organic vegetables.”

The Azalea high school team finished running lay-ups, and now they were shooting from around the key. A couple hot shots made passes behind their backs. One girl changed directions by dribbling the ball between her legs.

Kammie Wilder tapped River’s arm.

“I’m concentrating,” River said.

The team ran off the court and into a huddle. The cheerleading squad cart-wheeled onto the floor and began leading the crowd in a cheer.

"Sam is gonna buy me sneakers just Emily Hargraves’,” Kammie said.

River looked at her brother.

He shook his head without taking his eyes off the court. Like a lot of men in Azalea, Kammie’s stepdad was an out-of-work logger. He couldn’t afford expensive sneakers.

“Yesterday when I was shooting baskets in the gym,” Kammie went on, nudging River again to get her attention, “a scout from the WNBA was watching me.”

River looked to Zack again.

“No way,” he said.

“He said he could probably offer me a contract this year.”

“He did not!” River chimed in.

“Bets?”

“How much?”

“You don’t believe me.”

River shrugged. She couldn’t wait until next year when she would start junior high. Then she’d get a uniform and get to play in a league. But WNBA scouts looking at eleven-year-olds? No way.

“He did,” Kammie insisted.

Near the end of the game, which Azalea was winning by a landslide, as usual, the other team called a timeout. Both teams went into huddles. Kammie jumped to her feet and pointed at a very tall man walking in front of the bleachers. “There he is!” she shouted. “The man who was scouting me.”

“That’s just that new girl, Rochelle Glover’s father,” River informed. But then she remembered. People did say that Wally Glover once had played in the NBA for the New York Knicks. Years ago. No one had heard of him, but that didn’t mean anything. Lots of people play professional basketball who never become famous.

“That’s the guy,” Kammie said quietly. “He said I had tremendous potential.”

After the game, Zack told the girls to hurry. Their parents were picking them up in the parking lot. River took her time, anyway. She loved the stuffy smell of the gym after a game of basketball. She liked watching the fans hugging the athletes, shaking hands with the coach, celebrating yet another win.

Azalea was the best town on the Oregon coast. Both the boys’ and girls’ high school teams won all their games. Old people sometimes came to River’s class at school to talk about the days when Azalea was a booming logging town. Now the place was full of out-of-work loggers, like Kammie’s stepdad, and a few artists, like River and Zack’s parents. Most of the buildings in the tiny downtown were empty. Some people called Azalea a ghost town. There were even stories that the abandoned mansion, where the timber baron once lived, was haunted.

The best basketball program on the coast and its own haunted house – what other town had that?

“River, come on,” Zack said.

She filed out of the gym with the rest of the crowd. The new girl’s dad, Wally Glover, the man who Kammie said was a scout, stood in the doorway, creating a bottleneck. River took one of the flyers he handed out.

“Nice to see you again,” he said. River looked up quickly, but he wasn’t speaking to her. He was speaking to Kammie. “I want to see you at tryouts, young lady.”

“I’ll be there,” Kammie nearly shouted.

River watched her neighbor shake hands with Wally Glover, the one-time professional basketball player.

Then turning to River with her snaggle-toothed smile, Kammie practically pasted the flyer on River’s face, saying, “See, I told you so!”

River took the flyer.

"Scouting Players for the WNBA

Wanted: Basketball talent for a sixth grade girls team. Only girls who are willing to work very hard and play to win need try out. Goal: First place in a countywide basketball tournament in March. Try-outs: Friday afternoon, 3:30 pm sharp. Bonus: Emily Hargraves will attend the tournament and select the MVP, who will win a free place at her basketball camp this summer."

Kammie poked a finger at the letters MVP and said, “That’s me. I’m going to be the Most Valuable Player and I’m going to Emily Hargraves’ basketball camp this summer. Hah!”

Oh no it’s not you, River vowed silently to herself. It’s me.