The smell of bacon greets me as I wake up on Sunday morning. After I take a quick shower, I head downstairs to find my mother sitting at the table. Her laptop is open and I can hear a man's voice.

"...this here will fool them every time," the voice says. "Follow through and change direction. I did it in college and it even worked a few times in the NBA."

"Morning, Jack," she says.

"What are you watching?" I ask.

She swivels the laptop around for me to see it better. There is a really tall white guy, with a ridiculous moustache. He is wearing the shortest basketball shorts I have ever seen.

"Ever heard of Pistol Pete Maravich?"

"No."

"Well, he was one of the very best basketball players ever."

If he was so great, how come I've never heard of him? What does he do now? He's not on ESPN. "Mom, everybody knows who the great basketball players are. Michael Jordan, Lebron James, Kevin Durant...those are the greatest basketball players."

"I'm sure they are. But there have been others. The ones who played before there was an ESPN. Before there was a three point line. Before people could watch them on YouTube or hear about them on Twitter."

"Okay, okay. What's your point?" I say, impatient at the lecture she's dumping on me so early in the morning.

"Sit here and watch this," she says, pulling the chair next to her for me to sit down.

For the next hour we sit and watch. I gotta say I'm pretty speechless. I knew Mom was impressed with this white guy who wears really short shorts. I just didn't expect to be, but I am. Whoever this Pete Maravich is, he's incredible.




School on Monday is going along fine. That is, until I see Aaron and Mac pointing my direction in the hall. They're laughing. Great, I think, just great. I will try to ignore them for as long as I can, but like the over achieving jerks they are, Aaron talks loud enough for me to hear.

"She's gonna be crying her little eyes out on the court when my dad gets through with her today."

Mac nudges Aaron, and he looks a tiny bit uncomfortable. Maybe he thinks I'll tell my mom and she'll cut him from the team. But that's never gonna happen. Aaron, Trayvon and Mac are the team.

"Hey, Jack," Aaron yells from across the hall. "Is your mom gonna fit us for our jock straps today?"

The hallway erupts with laughter. I scramble for a good comeback.

"Only if she has her tweezers with her, Rutledge," I blurt out.

Granted, it wasn't my best comeback, but at least he walked away with a red face, just like me.




Mom shows up in her yoga pants and one of my dad's old sweatshirts. She looks all cheery and way too enthusiastic, if you ask me.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," she says.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Weston," Billy says. He's the only one who bothers to respond.

"Lets warm up with a few laps around the gym," she says, quickly pulling her hair back into a stubby little ponytail. "Remember, breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth."

She is demonstrating the breathing technique, unaware that Rutledge and company are walking up behind her.

Everybody else sees them, and I don't have to look over at Aaron to know there is a hateful smirk on his face.

"Mrs. Weston, excuse me, but may we have a word with you?" Mr. Rutledge says.

Mom bows her head briefly, then with surprising calmness she says, "I'll be available after practice."

"I don't believe this can wait."

Mom graces him with a confident smile. "I'm sorry, but it's going to have to."

Mr. Rutledge looks at the others, like maybe he's waiting for one of them to say something, but no one does. They move off the court, leaving Mr. Rutledge standing there alone.

"We should be done in about an hour. You're welcome to wait," she says, then turns to run the laps with us.