The band struck up "Come on Eileen" and the teams headed to their locker rooms for halftime. James' team had a comfortable fourteen point lead. He had made his only field goal attempt and all four of his free throws, adding nine assists, four steals, and two blocks – this, according to Martha's mental scorecard.

The announcer welcomed the pom-pom's to the floor and they trotted out in a line. Once they were in place, "Tootsie Roll" blasted from the speakers with a painful amount of treble. The pom-pom's spun and bent over in unison to the delight of the boys and pedophiles in the stands.

"Hey, you wanna walk?" Camisha asked Martha.

"Yes," she quickly replied.

"Calvin, buy me a candy bar," Camisha demanded.

His eyes stayed on the pom-pom's as he held a twenty dollar bill in the air. "Hook me up with a Milky Way."

Camisha rolled her eyes, grabbed the bill, and she and Martha stood to leave.

Back in the cafeteria, they found the end of the concessions line. "I had no idea he was... that good," Martha said.

"Oh yeah, Jimmy Quinn's a baller," Camisha agreed.

"He barely even mentioned he was on the team."

"Yeah, he's different like that. Like, most jocks make sure everybody knows they're on the team – even if they're not any good. It's probably because it's all they got. Not Jimmy, though. He could quit the team and still have twelve things he was good at. He mention how smart he is?"

"Well... no, but we're in chemistry together and yeah, he's smart."

"That ain't even it. I was in creative writing with him last year and he wrote this short story for the literary magazine." Camisha shook her head. "It was something."

"What? Was it really good?"

"Depends on who you ask. They scheduled a damn PTA meeting just to debate whether they should remove it from the magazine."

"Wow. Did it have like, sex or drugs in it?"

"Nope. Nothing like that. Basically, it was about how all white people are racist to some degree and need to own that. You know, like just because you're not a Klan member doesn't mean you deserve a medal."

"I didn't realize he was so righteous."

"Yeah, he's righteous. Sneaky righteous, though. Like, none of that shit I just said was actually in the story. The whole thing just takes place in a cafeteria over the course of a lunch period. But kids read it and started talking about it, then more kids read it and argued about what it meant and how it made them feel and all the conversations added up to this, like, grand effect or theory or whatever. But then the parents got ahold of it. I actually went to the PTA meeting. Hooo! So many angry white people."

"Really? They got that angry?"

"Oh yeah." They reached the front of the line. "Could I get a Milky Way and a Payday?" She turned to Martha. "You want something? Calvin's buying."

"Thanks," Martha said. "Umm, another Payday?"

Camisha paid and they left with the candy. She continued, "Anyway. White people so mad they were pink – grown men and women yelling profanities at a boy just because he wrote a story."

"Struck a nerve, I guess."

"Hell yeah, he struck a nerve. And Jimmy just sat there chillin' like it was nothin'. Eventually, he got a chance to speak and when he was done, one of the ladies who was yelling took the mic back and apologized to him. I mean, it was just the one, but still."

They re-entered the gymnasium. The floor was clear and the teams had returned to their benches. James and his teammates were standing in a circle around their coach who gave last minute instructions. Martha watched James as she and Camisha made their way down the sideline. He spotted her and scrunched up his face flirtatiously. Off a brazen impulse, Martha mimed a yawn. His face shifted to emote faux-outrage then relaxed to a smile.

"Quinn!" his coach yelled. James returned his attention to the team and apologized.

Martha felt victorious elation. She had playfully rebuffed James Quinn's advances and gotten him in trouble. The basket is good – and the foul! She and Camisha reached their seats and the second half began.

A minute and a half into the fourth quarter, James' team was leading by twenty-five. Martha was having a fantastic time sitting with Camisha and Calvin and cheering on her Cougars. It was apparent to her that James was having a fantastic time as well. There was a carefree ease to his demeanor atypical in high school athletics. Martha understood why.

Camisha was on the right track when she said he didn't need it. Some players were still under illusions of playing in college and professionally. Others were desperate to gain the respect or love of their fathers. Without the inflated stakes, the game for James was simply a game.

An opposing player made his free throw and the teams ran down the court for the change of possession. James dribbled the ball across half court and raised a fist to signal a set play. His tallest teammate ran to the three point line to set a pick. James dribbled across and just around the teammate. His defender followed but ran into the pick and James was free for a moment. The defense adjusted, however, and the two defenders swapped assignments leaving the tallest player on the court – in the building – guarding James. Sensing the mismatch, James' teammates spread to the sidelines, drawing their defenders out and leaving the middle of the court empty. The crowd buzzed as the showdown became apparent.

It was a cliche of biblical proportions as James was at least a foot shorter than the giant in front of him. He dribbled slowly then twitched right in a playful feign. The defender jumped at the move but recovered. James smiled then reprised his ball handling show from the beginning of the game. It didn't take long before the defender was off balance enough for James to dribble around him and toward the basket. This time, however, the defender did not trip nor did he give up and his long strides helped him catch up to James at the basket. James jumped to lay the ball in but the giant had reached him. In the air, James was helpless. There was no dribbling his way out. Momentum and gravity were in charge. He twisted the ball left and right searching for a window to the basket but the behemoth had eclipsed it. Finally, just before his feet landed, he released the ball in a desperate attempt and the giant slammed it back to Earth in a violent spike.

The fans in blue jumped to their feet in raucous celebration. Martha couldn't make out what any of them were saying, but some appeared angry – pointing and yelling at the home fans across the court and at James, who sat on the floor having fallen on the play. It had been a difficult game for the away team and they were making the most out of this brief victory.

But the humble cannot be humiliated and the taunts had no effect on James. To the contrary, his face was a wide smile as he held up his hand to his opponent. The goliath took it and helped him up. James said something and they laughed and bumped fists, then took their places for the next play.

Blood dripped from the cartoon cougar's teeth and down a paper banner draped across the wall of the hallway. Martha, Camisha, and Calvin waited outside the home locker room for James to emerge. The game had been eye opening, though Martha figured this was something she would need to get used to.

"So what are you guys gonna' do after this?" Camisha asked.

"Not sure," Martha answered.

"Mm-hmm," Calvin slyly intoned. Camish shot him a look. "What? They're probably gonna' get ice cream or something cute like that. Jimmy's a gentleman – just like me."

"Mm-hmm," Camisha mimicked.

The locker room door opened and James walked out.

"There he is!" Calvin said. "Yo, Jimmy. Your game was fetch tonight!"

"What did I tell you about that word, Calvin?" scolded Camisha.

"Which one?"

"'Fetch.' Gotta' be the stupidest word ever – like we're dogs or something."

James smirked away a grin.

Calvin looked to James. "Man, Jimmy. Camisha be hatin', right?"

"Yep. She's been drinking too much of that haterade."

Calvin started to laugh. "Did you just say 'haterade?' Oh shit! I gotta remember that one."

Camisha scowled at James to which he responded, "Mishi... you know we're just being silly. Silly, stupid boys."

"More stupid than silly," Martha threw in.

"Who are you again?" James glared.

"She's my girl." Camisha put her arm around Martha. "And you know what? I drove tonight. I'm holding the keys. And maybe she's my date tonight."

"But I just couldn't live with myself if I broke up the cutest couple in school." James soothed. "'Camisha and Calvin – Prom King and Queen, Class of '96!' Sounds right to me."

Martha was faintly surprised to see the reflexive, blushing smile on Camisha's face.

"That's right – what he said, baby," Calvin added.

Camisha failed to master her smile and said, "Okay whatever fine – let's go, dummy."

"Aiight then," Calvin said.

Camisha hugged Martha. "Have fun," she said then lowered her voice. "Whatever that means, however you do it."

Martha smiled and shook her head. "You too. See you Monday."

Camisha and Calvin walked away. "Nice game, Jimmy!" Camisha called without looking back.

"Thanks, Mishi!" Jimmy replied then turned his full attention to Martha. They looked at each other for a moment... and then another. There was a happiness in Martha with equal parts contentment and thrill and she was in no hurry to move anywhere in time or space.

Martha's father's voice hurtled through the air. "James! I daresay that was an astounding game!"

They turned to him. James said, "Thank you, Steven. Yes, we did well tonight."

"The modesty... We did well." He turned to Martha. "Hey Marty."

"Hey Dad."

He returned to James. "Fifteen assists? Is that right?"

"I think it ended up fourteen, but thanks."

"Fourteen assists! And you barely played the second half... Astounding, James."

"Dad."

"I know, I know. I just wanted to congratulate him. That bounce pass you made with enough spin to travel around the defender was... was..."

"I appreciate that, Steven."

"My pleasure. So you guys are..."

Martha thought to tell her dad to mind his business, but James was too quick. "Just a bite to eat and then I'll have her home safe and sound... If that's okay."

"Oh... oh of course. Take your time," Steven apologized. "And you don't owe me your itinerary."

"And I'm starving," Martha said. "So we should go."

"I get it. Have fun. Be safe."

"We will," James said. "Thanks."

Steven smiled and left down the hall and Martha and James were back.

He raised his eyebrows. She narrowed her eyes.

"Did you like the game?"

She narrowed them further.

"Okay, okay. So yeah, in addition to declarative memory, I also retain any and all muscle memory."

"Yeah, I gathered."

"Let's go eat and I'll tell you all about it." He turned to walk and she mirrored.

"All about 'The Legend of Jimmy Quinn?'" Martha asked with mock enthusiasm.

"Yes and if you play your cards right, I might even give you my autograph." He took Martha's hand. She flinched and nearly took it back. They continued down the hall. James turned his head to Martha and said, "Sometimes your hands sweat." There was no judgement in his voice, nor was there forgiveness. It was a statement of fact stripped of stigma.

Martha relaxed her hand and settled her knuckles with his. She cleared her throat and said, "Your autograph? Wow. That would pull down like... twenty-five... thirty cents at a trade show."

"I daresay you meant that as an insult."

"Astounding deduction, James."

And the snark continued all the way to the car.

Author's note:

I actually wrote the short story to which Camisha refers for my high school literary magazine. It did NOT inspire school-wide debate nor an emergency PTA meeting. In short, James is a much better writer than I am. Now you're all wishing you could read James' version of this book, aren't you? T_T

Like, totally 90's detail: Another of James' linguistic cheats, 'hater' wasn't introduced into our pop culture until 2001 by Dr. Dre. It goes without saying that Dr. Dre was stuck in his own loop and stole the term from Taylor Swift.