We sit there, side by side, watching an intricate passing drill in silence for a few more minutes. Ben turns and sees me as he starts a shooting drill. He raises his hand and smiles, then catches a ball from Kyle and dribbles to the passer spot under the basket. He feeds the ball to Reggie and starts grabbing rebounds.
Ben barely has to jump to grab the balls as they drop through the net or ping off the rim. His face is pure concentration, his tongue pressed against his lower lip as he anticipates which way the ball will move. He makes sure his body follows.
Control. Stamina. Dexterity.
The power behind his passes makes them lasers—direct hits to their intended targets. As Kyle and Reggie circle the top of the key, Ben passes to exactly where he knows they’ll be when the ball gets there—not to where they are when it leaves his fingers. From the bleachers, it looks like he’s passing to an empty space in front of them.
Nothing is exactly as it appears.
By the time the pass reaches that empty space, Kyle or Reggie is there, hands snap open, the satisfying pop of leather on palms. The step back, the square up, the shot.
That promise of the consummate athlete I’ve watched a hundred times in our old soccer video has come to fruition. Perfect connection every time.
The closer you look, the more you see.
It dawns on me in this moment that the whole school is so focused on Dooney and Deacon, that no one has actually talked to Stacey. It isn’t that she’s disappeared. It’s just that no one is focused on her. We’re too busy looking at the stars.
When I turn to say this to my friend, I see Lindsey has disappeared, too.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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eighteen
THIS VIDEO DOESN’T show you everything.
For instance, you can’t see the whole drill team, so even if you know that Stacey Stallard is a member, you won’t notice that she’s missing from the formation. You can’t see that every student is standing as Coach Sanders takes the mic from Wyatt, but even though the audio is terrible, you can hear the chorus of boos when he says the words vicious rumors.
Sloane was shooting this over Mr. Johnston’s shoulder so you can’t see the frown on his face when the chant begins.
Tough as BUCC! Tough as BUCC! Tough as BUCC!
You can’t see that the blurry figures on the opposite side of the gym are Principal Hargrove and Ms. Speck. You can’t make out Ms. Speck’s charcoal tailored suit or her black high heels with the red soles. You also can’t see her mouth drop open slightly when Coach asks, What happens to losers when they run up against the Buccaneers?
But you can see the anger cloud Coach Sanders’s face when he spots Sloane Keating in the corner. You can see him shouldering through the drill team and a crush of chanting students as he makes a beeline for her. You can see Mr. Johnston’s groovy glasses as he glances over his shoulder, then back at Coach—a look of comprehension, then apprehension, spreading across his face.
You can see Coach Sanders jabbing his finger and shouting above the din at Sloane Keating. But more importantly, you can hear what he’s shouting at her.
Get the hell out of here.
You filthy liar.
I’ve got your number.
You better watch your back.
Mom gasps and sinks down on the arm of the couch. She has just walked through the door from work as Dad turns up the volume.
“Shocking footage from a Channel Thirteen reporter who was threatened this afternoon by Coral Sands High School basketball coach, Raymond Sanders. I’m Jeremy Gordon in Des Moines bringing you breaking developments in this case. As always, Channel Thirteen is on the scene, and we go now, live, to our very own Sloane Keating, who shot this incendiary footage—on your cell phone, Sloane, as I understand?
The screen splits, and Sloane’s face fills half. Her blond hair is pulled back at the base of her neck tonight. She wears a dark wool trench over a black sweater that shows no cleavage. The effect is conservative, both somber and studious, stylish with a subtle hint of glamour. I am not a model. I am a serious journalist. She smiles grimly into the camera, then uses those words again:
Coral Sands Rape Case.
“As I reported this morning, last night, local authorities released all four of the young men taken into custody on Tuesday. Two are minors whose names have been withheld, but they are both eleventh-graders here at Coral Sands High. Seniors John Doone and Deacon Mills were also released on bail after pleading not guilty.”
“And do we know if these young men have been cooperating with the investegation?” asks Jeremy.
“It’s been extremely difficult to get any further information,” says Sloane. “This town is a team—just like their coach says—and as you can see from this video, they don’t take kindly to outsiders asking questions.”
“That’s not fair,” Mom says. “Makes us sound like a bunch of stupid hicks.”