Chapter Text
Chapter 9: Monday, August 31, 1964– Charge and Dream!
“The Charge Suite, Bugler’s Dream”
–Music composed by Leo Arnaud
(John Williams and the Boston Pops)
Abigail Gerhard’s team huddled in the locker room, studying the plays the coach hastily drew on the chalkboard. “Listen up! We’re gonna review the steps for a 2-5 Cross Screen. Pay attention, Isabella. You step up for a ball screen. Martha dribbles off the ball screen. Erlinda, you’ll screen for Miranda, timing it so Miranda arrives at the block as Isabella brings the ball to the wing. Isabella, look to the low post. Ana screens for Erlinda, and then Erlinda cuts to the wing. Isabella reverses to Ana for a pop-out jumper. Finally, Ana passes to Erlinda off the screen for the shot.”
“Why does Erlinda get to take the shot, Coach? Let’s do the other play! The diagonal screen!” Martha Cortez grumbled.
“It doesn’t matter which plays we’re running,” Erlinda settled the outburst. “Coach trusts me to deliver the–”
“Is that true, Coach?” Martha whined.
“At least you’re not a bench warmer, Martha,” Norma Parker glared at Coach Gerhard accusingly.
Abby pressed so hard that the chalk stick snapped in two, causing the players to giggle. “It’s not funny, ladies. Now pay attention!” Abby barked.
“Listen to the noise out there, Coach. Even the students are rooting for Team Chalk Dust.” Norma looked over her shoulder, the sound carrying through the thick walls. “No one’s ever cheered for us like that.”
“Ignore the fuss, ladies. Turn around and quit letting Team Chalk Dust get into your head space. My final words today are,” Abby gulped, predicting how her team would take the following news. “Take it easy on Miss Belivet, girls.”
“What?”
“Coach!”
“What the hell?”
“No way!”
Martha whined for the tenth time during their pre-game session, “You’ve never told us that before, Coach? You usually shout, ‘Knock ‘em dead!’”
“What? What have I never told you?” Abby barked at the Senior Varsity player who dared contradict her.
“To go soft on our opponents,” Erlinda Rodriguez looked at her teammate and piped up, challenging Abigail’s directive.
“Never mind what I said in the past. Maybe I’m the new, improved Coach Gerhard.” Ten pairs of eyes simultaneously rolled to the left. “Well, I’m telling you now. Look at Miss Belivet’s knee! There’s an ace bandage wrapped around that pathetically scrawny limb. Do you want to kill her? She’s like a toothpick waiting to splinter in two.”
“I have one on my knee, Coach,” Isabella Palacios set hers on a bench so everyone could see.
“Yeah, but look at your height and stature compared to the little shrimp standing out there. Be mindful that you don’t hurt Miss Belivet, is all I’m saying. She’d probably sue me,” Abby huffed. “Or, at the very least, her mother would call the cops and have me arrested.” Abby stared each member of her squad in the eye. “It’s not funny, Erlinda Rodriguez. Wipe that smile off your–”
“Yes, Coach.”
Abby dismissed them to warm up on the court but yanked Erlinda to remain. “Listen, kid. Miss Belivet has been practicing free throws ‘round the clock. Get my drift?”
“Uh, no. Oh, do you mean, don’t foul Miss B?” Erlinda wasn’t tracking Abby’s agitated directives this afternoon.
“No! That’s not what I mean!” Abby shook her head and huffed. “Who was in your corner? 100% your sophomore year? C’mon, spit it out.”
“Miss Belivet.”
“Right. And who never spilled this deep, dark secret of yours?”
“Um, that would be Miss Belivet, Coach,” Erlinda recited.
“Correct again. And who endured taunting by… by my varsity basketball team?”
“Miss Belivet.”
“And who suffered physical abuse at the hands of a half-crazed, nasty person?”
Erlinda’s eyes widened. “Do you truthfully expect me to answer that question, Coach, seeing as how you were the half-crazed, nasty person who shoved her to the ground?”
“Argh! You’re missing my point. I’m telling you that this moment, right here, is the perfect time to repay that debt of gratitude. Understand?”
“Oh, now I get it.”
“Do what you can, Erlinda. Knock ‘em dead.” Abby looked up, frantic. “No. Don’t knock ‘em dead. Well, knock ‘em dead except for Miss Belivet. Leave her alone!”
When the varsity girls ran from the locker room onto the court, they halted, confused. The Chester A Arthur concert band appeared, decked in their borrowed tuxedos and hand-me-down black dress gowns, set up on folding chairs at one end of the court. The band director, Marietta Swenson, allowed her orchestra a quick tuning session as the musicians adjusted their instruments and played scales or snatches of refrains to ensure they were in tune before their performance began.
On the opposite end of the court, the entire Chester A Arthur Drum and Bugle Corps did the same, crashing cymbals, beating drums, and blowing random notes.
Mid-court, the combined choirs’ lip-buzzing vocal warm-ups, tongue-trilling exercises, and jaw-loosening techniques competed for attention.
“What the fuck?” griped Miranda Sweeney. “Is all this for us?”
“Hardly. It’s for the team we’re playing,” Martha Cortez jerked her thumb at Team Chalk Dust. “The student body is cheering for them. Such traitors. But they’re old people, and we’ll beat ‘em. Easy Peasy.”
“Yeah, easy peasy,” four or five girls echoed.
Isabella crossed her arms and pouted, “But even Letty Martinez is handin’ out free basketball lessons, especially to Miss B.”
“Hey, hey, hey. Hands off, Miss Belivet,” Erlinda warned when she caught up to her squad. “Coach is right. She’s a walking, talking toothpick. Plus… Plus, she’s nice. She’s a great teacher, actually. So leave her alone. No rough stuff directed at Miss Belivet!”
Ed Vanderspeck allowed Team Chalk Dust to use the boys’ locker room before the game. Therese had composed a speech of inspirational quotes and encouragement, but she couldn’t focus on anything but the lack of privacy and indignities the boys must suffer in the smelly locker room. Then her eyes lit on the only comforting, convenient piece in the entire odorous room.
“What are those, Jerry? Places for the boys to shampoo their hair? That’s nice, at least.” She walked to one, a hand reaching to the porcelain before Jerry screamed,
“Do not touch that, Therese!”
“Why? I won’t break it.”
Roger skewed his head to capture Therese’s attention. “It’s a men’s urinal. The boys line up and–”
“No! I’m not that naive! Carol, Roger said–”
“Roger’s correct, Therese. It’s a urinal, so keep your hands where we can see them.”
Fists balled on hips, Jeanette gave her team her best school secretary expression, the one which meant, Can we stop being ridiculous and get down to business? “And Coach Belivet, how do we approach this championship game? Will there be prizes at the end? Glittery rings for us to wear after we win?”
“Rings? Rings? No one told me to buy rings. Carol, was I supposed to buy–”
“Jeanette is kidding you, Therese,” Carol muttered.
“It would have been nice,” Jeanette sulked.
“I did prepare something for everyone, though,” Therese dug into her satchel. “I found a special quote for each one of us. And, I wrote it in calligraphy on a slip of paper so you can tuck it in your pocket for good luck.”
“That’s sweet of you, Therese,” Roger complimented.
“The first one is for you, Roy, from Albert Einstein: ‘In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.’”
Roy grinned, “Thanks. This piece of paper is a keeper!”
“Jerry, here’s yours. In the words of Alexander the Great, ‘I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.’”
“That’s kind of you, Therese,” Jerry smiled, holding up his quote for everyone to see.
“Jeanette, from the great Lao Tzu, ‘A leader is best when people barely know he exists. When his work is done, his aim fulfilled, they will say: We did it ourselves.’ … And I’m really sorry about no rings.”
“What does that mean, Jerry?” Jeanette subtly turned to whisper. “Who said that?”
“Mrs Regina Latimer, ‘It is wiser to find out, then suppose,’ as Mark Twain said.”
“So true, Therese,” Regina nodded. “So very true.”
“Roger, this quote made me think of you. I’m not sure why, but it screamed your name: ‘The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.’ That’s from Leo Tolstoy.”
“Ah, shucks! Is he a general? A basketball player? A musician?”
“Uh, no. He’s probably one of the most influential writers of all time, Roger.”
Roger looked at his quote and reread it. “Oh, that Leo Tolstoy.”
“Carol, as Aristotle often said, ‘It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.’ I thought that was clever– like you!” Therese gave her partner a stare so full of love and admiration that the rest of the team blushed, shuffling their feet and looking around the locker room.
“What’s yours, Therese,” Carol leaned in to read over Therese’s shoulder.
“Oh, JD Salinger’s, ‘I’ve survived a lot of things, and I’ll probably survive this,’” Therese grinned, her dimples lighting her face.
“Okay, our little captain, what about actual strategic plays?” Jeanette prodded. “We need some.”
Therese regained her composure, “Don’t laugh. I thought of a basketball play. It’s rather simple, but–”
“Go ahead, Therese. Tell us or use the chalkboard.” This interest in strategy was new; Carol was downright curious.
“I named it the Ghost Play. Cute, huh? It involves an up-screen for the guard leading to an open key. This move can lead to a simple pass inside and an easy layup. If that option isn’t available, the post player sets a screen on the wing.”
Regina swerved to Jeanette, who turned to Roy, who shot a look at Roger, who nudged Jerry. Then they all looked at Carol, who gasped, “Who are you, and what did you do with the real Therese Belivet?”
“Don’t be silly, all of you. Now, for the key players. Roy, you should be in the #5 position, a post player, or the best screener on the team. #2 should be the player we want dribbling in a pick-and-roll, either Carol or Roger. Jeanette should be #1 because she can finish at the rim with pressure. I hope this is clear,” Therese checked for comprehension.
“The setup starts with a 4-out 1-in formation with the four perimeter players above or in-line with the free-throw line. The play starts with the point guard, #1, passing to #2 on the wing.” Therese diagrammed it with chalk.
“As #1 passes, #5 sprints up and sets a strong screen on the back of #1’s defender as #1 cuts off the screen towards the rim. See? Like this!” The chalk danced elegantly across the board.
“If this pass is open, #2 will make the pass inside the key to #1 for the layup. But, if the layup isn’t available, #1 clears out to the weak-side corner. #5 will then immediately set an on-ball screen for #2 on the wing. #2 attacks the rim off #5’s screen as #5 rolls to the rim, looking to create an opportunity to score. Does it make sense? Ask questions if you don’t understand my play.”
Everyone nodded, amazed.
“Now, as #2 is driving to the rim, #3 and #4 slide up and into open passing lanes for the potential open shot and to play safety. Okay, that’s my idea.” Therese gently set the chalk in the tray.
“Jesus Christ, Therese! That is outstanding!” Jeanette gushed.
“I have more if you don’t like this one,” Therese reassured her team.
“Hot damn, girl! You’re on fire!” Roger stood and gave Therese a standing ovation.
“Yeah, Therese. That was mighty fine,” Roy congratulated her.
“I only ask to satisfy my curiosity,” Carol reiterated. “Who are you, and what did you do with the real Therese Belivet?”
“Oh, I don’t understand any of it. I just memorized it. The Ghost is an adorable nickname for a play, don’t you think. Now, as they say in the major leagues, ‘Charge!’”
Both teams were on the court practicing when the lights dimmed and flashed, and a spotlight operated by a drama student careened wildly around the gym. Craig Baggot's smooth baritone boomed over the loudspeaker. "Your attention, please! Welcome to the event of the decade– the staff versus the students in an epic championship basketball game kicking off Chester A Arthur's 1964-65 school year!”
The audience erupted in unruly cheers, stomping on the wooden bleachers.
“The Chester A Arthur High School Concert Band and the Drum and Bugle Corps, under the direction of Mrs Marietta Swenson, will perform composer Leo Arnaud's The Charge Suite, featuring Bugler's Dream.”
Piccolos, flutes, and oboes soon accompanied the trumpet fanfare and the solemn beat of the drums. Then, the bassoon and soprano, alto, and bass clarinets joined. The B-flat trumpets I-II-III continued their part as the band director cued the baritone saxophones, euphonium, and tubas and added them to the mix. The string bass and timpani rounded out the effect.
Carol brushed Therese’s arm and whispered, “I have chills. The sound is majestic.”
“The New York Times reported that this will be played for the Olympic coverage on television this October,” Therese noted.
At the conclusion, Craig’s voice returned to address the assembly, “And now the combined choirs of Chester A Arthur High School will sing the Team Chalk Dust anthem accompanied by the Lady Tigers cheerleaders and pep squad, and baton twirler, Debby Houston. Let’s give it up: ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls.”
Therese’s mouth formed an O. “The cheerleaders are here, Carol! Jeanette! Regina! Debby Houston, the baton twirler, is performing!” Her hands made tiny clapping noises as she bounced on the balls of her feet for a better view.
Jeanette tapped Carol’s shoulder. “Really? Therese is this excited over a pimply-faced Junior prancing around the gymnasium floor with an aluminum tube. I'd hate to see Therese amid something really... um… earth-shattering if you get my drift.”
Carol clipped her hair back, “Like what, Jeanette?”
“God, she’s rubbed off on you!”
By now, the attendees knew the repetitious words and melody by heart, and they sang with gusto, matching the choir’s three-part harmony:
“Dribble down, Chalk Dust,
Dribble down.
We can win, Chalk Dust,
If we’ll only dribble down.
We can break their necks;
We can make them wrecks!”
In the stands, Rindy marched in time to the music, saluting her mother and Therese, and playfully, Deirdre, Greer, Rose, and Ginny followed suit. Rose’s parents, Tom Fitzgerald and his wife, Marion, continually pointed to Therese, yelling above the fray to those around them, “That’s our granddaughter!”
“We can lift the hex,
So dribble down!”
Carol and Therese’s former students filled one section, dressed in Chalk Dust jerseys they ordered from Joseph Cole, chanting “Aird, Belivet” at the end of each line.
“We’ll make ‘em yell, Chalk Dust, make 'em yell.
We can win, Chalk Dust,
If we’ll only give ‘em hell!
If we don't give in, take it on the chin,
We are bound to win, if we only dribble down!
If we fight, we’ll chuckle at their defeat.
If we fight, our luck’ll not retreat.”
One mysterious friend was also present, high in the bleachers, channeling good luck and fortune for her friends. She continually rubbed an ivory medallion in her pocket between her thumb and index finger– a mighty Chinese dragon.
“Aim high, Chalk Dust,
Aim high.
We can win, Chalk Dust,
If we’ll only aim high!
If we mow them down,
We’ll tear up the town,
We can wear the crown,
If we’ll only dribble down!”
On the sideline, Abby Gerhard was busy studying her clipboard but glanced up when she caught a whiff of her favorite perfume. It meant Gloria Cubák was near, and she swiveled to catch a glimpse.
“Is this seat taken? May I join you on the bench until the game starts?”
“Sure! You can keep me company the entire game.”
“Here. I bought us Coca-Colas from the kids at the folding table.”
“Thanks. I was going to try not to drink anything during the game. The last thing I need is to go to the bathroom during halftime.” Abby’s eyes immediately shifted through the gathering crowds, looking for one elegant woman– Deirdre Henderson. She spotted her, mid-court, fourth row up, sandwiched with the rest of her posse.
“Oh, afraid to run into Therese’s mother again?”
Abby let the question settle in her thoughts. The two– Deirdre and Abby– had parted on good terms at the semi-final. But, the problem arose as Therese faced players who knew what they were doing. “Yeah, but I don’t need the tension today.”
As the hour hand slipped to three o’clock, the referees took center court and motioned for the starting players. Erlinda Rodriguez easily tipped the ball to a teammate, and Martha Cortez dribbled until she passed to Isabella Palacios in the far corner. Without access to the basket, she bounced passed to Miranda Sweeney, who heaved a two-point attempt. No good. Ana Sanchez rebounded it, and she scored for two.
Chalk Dust received the ball. Roger hurled a neat in-bound pass to Roy for a quick play to catch the defense off-guard and allowed the wing player to attack the baseline. They scored in under a minute, and the challenge was full speed against the girls’ varsity team.
The scoreboard ping-ponged a tight match. An inch forward for the girls’ team, then Chalk Dust scored and tied. Back and forth.
Roy called time out and suggested Therese’s Ghost Play. “Remember your roles? Okay, on three. Go, Chalk Dust!”
However, at the half, neither team had pulled ahead.
Abby stood on her toes to ensure Deirdre was preoccupied. Satisfied, she slipped away to the restroom. She continually glanced over her shoulder as she stealthily crept down the corridor to her office. Abby opened the door, greeted with,
“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting impatiently!” Deirdre Henderson groused.
“How…?” Abby pointed wildly. “What the hell? You were in the stands! I. Saw. You!”
“Simple. I took the shortcut,” Deirdre made a puzzled face. “You don’t know there’s a shortcut to your office restroom? Pity.”
“What can I do for you, Mrs Beli– I mean, Mrs Henderson? I mean, Deirdre.”
“No. It’s good. Just don’t let Therese get hurt. If you see something, stand and start screaming at the umpire! Walk onto the court and–”
“Ref! They’re called referees in basketball.”
“Don’t interrupt me, Abigail. My daughter has mastered free throws. See if you can arrange some.”
“Why would I do that?” Abby blustered.
“Because we’re friends. Sort of. Maybe. Perhaps.”
“Jesus F Christ. Friends? Really?”
Deirdre patted her skirt pocket. “Here. This object is for you.” She handed Abby something in a tissue.
“You’re giving me a used Kleenex? Something you used to blow your nose, probably.”
“Don’t get mushy. I found it… in… the road. The gutter. I don’t need it. Goodbye, Abigail. Maybe I’ll see you around. There’s Back-to-School Night. Open House. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
Abby waited until Deirdre swept dramatically from the restroom. She caught herself before tossing the tissue into the trash can. There was a bit of heft to it. Carefully, Abby opened the tissue, sure she’d see a wad of snot. Instead, a medal rested in her palm. Abby read the inscription: Saint Jude, Patron of the Impossible. She noted the pencil scribbling inside the tissue: Stay strong, Abigail. Abby unfastened the whistle and chain from her neck and looped the bail of the Saint Jude medallion onto the necklace. She never thought she’d be in this place or time in her life.
The second half proceeded much as the first. But finally, the girls’ team took a strong lead in the fourth quarter. Chalk Dust was tiring, and Roy looked at his teammates. It was time to let Therese enter the game.
“Therese! You’re up.”
Abby debated her role in the drama. She stood, then walked the sideline, giving Erlinda a discreet nod.
The fouls began…
Therese ventured onto the court, ready to be touched, pushed, shoved, and jostled. And she was– repeatedly. But, each step to the free throw line brought the lovely swish sound as the ball dropped through the net as her teammates softly sang,
“Aim high, Chalk Dust,
Aim high.
We can win, Chalk Dust,
If we’ll only aim high!”
Therese would sink the free throw. Swish! A beautiful onomatopoeia of the basket dropping through the hoop and shimmying along the net.
“We can break their necks;
We can make them wrecks!
We can lift the hex,
So dribble down!”
Then, the second. Swish! The comforting whisper of the basket slipping through the net again.
Therese had perfected the motion as she concentrated on the image of hurling her biological relatives– her crazy brother, the Tiny Monster, her cousins, Danny and Phil, and Uncle Sam through that hoop. Again, the pleasant sensation coursed through her heart and body, bringing her a sense of finally stuffing them the hell away.
Chalk Dust’s points accumulated as the fourth quarter drew to a close. A one-point lead separated the two teams, the edge to the varsity girls.
The game clock ticked down to the final minute. Chalk Dust had seconds to go with no hope of securing the ball, the varsity girls dazzling with their ability to pass the basketball smoothly, eating up time. It was too risky to shoot, so Erlinda gave the signal to keep the ball in motion.
A one-point lead. Thirty-seconds.
Jeanette Johnson and Roy Perry watched the clock.
A one-point lead. Twenty-five seconds.
Carol grimaced. It had been a surprisingly tight game; she was shocked that their team could keep up with Abby’s elite squad. Still, starting the official school year off with a staff win would have been nice. It could have given them a boost and credibility with the student body.
A one-point lead. Twenty seconds.
Fred Haymes was nonchalant; he knew the ending. He nudged Superintendent John Gothard, “Want to put money on this one?”
A one-point lead. Seventeen seconds.
The varsity girls maintained possession of the ball and used the time clock to their advantage, dribbling and passing, making sure not to let Team Chalk Dust wrest control.
A one-point lead. Fifteen seconds.
Somewhere in the stands, Madame Wong reached into her pocket for a fortune cookie. ‘It is wise to prepare for the unexpected,’ she read.
A one-point lead. Twelve seconds.
But Therese Belivet had held up under the pressure. Currently, she was reticent, hanging in the backcourt, dead center, far from the action, just an inch inside the varsity girls’ half-court.
Erlinda Rodriguez had a plan. She wasn’t giving this game away, but wouldn’t it be fitting to let the buzzer signal the epic showdown and have Miss Belivet in possession of the ball? It would be a full-circle moment for her favorite teacher.
A one-point lead. Ten seconds.
“Ready?” Erlinda nodded at Isabella, who sought Martha’s agreement. Martha glanced at Miranda, who mouthed, "Yeah, why not?” Ana grinned and passed the ball to Erlinda. She dribbled by Therese, pretended to fumble, and the ball was loose.
“Grab it, Therese!” Chalk Dust screamed in unison.
“The Beast! The Beast!” the audience roared.
“What’s happening?” Rindy cried.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Abby muttered.
A one-point lead. Eight seconds.
“What do I do with it?” Therese yelled. “Tell me!”
A one-point lead. Six seconds.
Roy and Carol crowded close. “The game’s over in four seconds,” Carol screamed over the commotion.”
“Just toss it in the air,” Roy directed. “The girls won,” he laughed. “We’ll let them have their victory.”
A one-point lead. Three seconds.
Therese decided to hurl the basketball backward, over her shoulder, from mid-court, a fun gesture to end the game. It had been exhilarating. She had finally played on a team– a real, honest-to-God team. Therese sniffled, choked on a sob, kissed the ball, and…
Everyone saw something different in those three seconds, interpreted from their viewpoint and relationship to the slip of a young woman center court. Silence swooped down on the crowd as if they awaited the Grim Reaper passing judgment on the losers.
Then,
Therese’s students in the bleachers knew it was intentional. It had to be. After all, Miss Belivet was The Beast, the best damn teacher in their universe.
Superintendent John Gothard extracted a five dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to Fred Haymes.
Rindy thought Ter–ez the most accomplished best friend in the world! She decided it would be Ter–ez, the professional athlete she’d take to School Career Day this year.
Maureen, Rose’s sister, laughed in relief. One twin, Thomas, averted his eyes from Allison Kelly in time to see it. Tim had closed his book, Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, also in the last three seconds, causing him to exclaim:
“‘If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.’”
Rose and Ginny teared up, nearly fainting, and Nan Fitzgerald jumped repeatedly, clapping.
Tom Fitzgerald turned to everyone nearby, “That’s my granddaughter! That’s my granddaughter! Do you know that’s my granddaughter?”
Greer McKinney thought it a fitting ending to this stressful and hilarious chapter in their lives. And she was thrilled to claim Therese as her de facto stepchild.
The Kelly Family– Kathryn, Gene, Allison, Kyle, and Kevin– screamed for Auntie Therese. Kathryn, supported by Gene, raised her crutch in the air for all the impossible dreamers in the world.
Jeanette and Regina realized Therese was long worthy of being team captain, and they whooped loudly, joining in with the reverberating “The Beast! The Beast!”.
Roy Perry asked Jerry, “What do you have to say, Jer?”
“For once in my life, I’m speechless, Roy!” he answered. Then, Jerry McNichol regrouped, “‘If you do not expect the unexpected, you will not find it, for it is not to be reached by search or trail.’ Heraclitus, the ancient Greek philosopher, said that, and it is proven today.”
Roger Henley sang and danced on the court,
“Pack up your troubles and just get happy,
Ya better chase all your cares away.
Sing Hallelujah, come on get happy,
Get ready for the judgment day.”
The varsity team’s mouths hung open.
Erlinda Rodriguez felt she’d placed a partial down payment on a huge debt she owed Miss Belivet. She stopped and searched the crowd for her long-held secret in the audience– her baby daughter nestled in her boyfriend’s arms, the two beside her parents.
Abby’s lips trembled. And somehow, she knew she’d eventually work her way to being whole. She sought Deirdre’s face in the crowd and gave a hesitant wave and a thumbs up. Then she turned to Gloria Cubák and said, “What a gutsy player that kid is!”
“Who?” asked Gloria. “Erlinda?”
“Both of them. Erlinda and Therese.”
“You’re gutsy, too. You’re on your way, Abby. We’re on our way.”
Deirdre’s heart beat with motherly love and pride, and she slumped into Greer McKinney’s side and cried.
Carol never doubted it– not one damn minute. This woman was her partner, her lover, her best friend. She was an accomplished teacher, a colleague, and a bright star shining a path for Carol and Rindy to follow. She was their Miss Therese Belivet, their lovely Beast! Everything about her was perfect, and Carol was so very much in love with her, just as she was.
… And where did Therese’s basketball go in the last three seconds of that championship game? What was its final destination?
It was a date with destiny, streaking across the air in a three-second arc– on a course with history. Only a one-point lead. An erasure of the memory of Therese as a victim of Abby’s shove to the gymnasium floor that year. Only a one-point lead. Forevermore, Miss Belivet would be synonymous with the unimaginable.
Oh, somewhere on a gym’s court, the lights were shining bright,
Jeanette was dribbling somewhere, and somewhere, Roy took flight;
Somewhere, Roger sang a tune, and Carol cheered in bliss,
For there was joy that night– mighty Therese had…
Swish!