Mr. Rutledge and his posse huddle around my mom after practice. I mean, as soon as she blows her whistle and tells us to go to the locker room to grab our stuff, they swarm her.

I go to the bleachers, pretending to look for something.

"Mrs. Weston, it's admirable that you've volunteered," Mr. Rutledge says, sounding more sincere than he looks. "And as a parent, I can understand how you want to be involved in your son's life, but this isn't the way to do it."

"Well, Mr. Rutledge, seeing as how you're standing here, I can assume you want to be involved in your son's life. But honestly, this isn't the way to do it either."

From the bleachers I can see him getting aggravated. I don't think they realize who they are dealing with. If my dad were still alive, he'd tell them all to stop talking and back away slowly. But this guy just can't see it.

"All we want to do is help you."

"You mean tell me what to do. You want me to play those boys you deem fit to play. Isn't that really what you mean? Look, I appreciate your offer, but I already have someone helping me."

"Really?" Mr. Rutledge scans the gym. "Who?"

"Pete. He's on call 24/7. Oh, and there's Coach Parker. You don't need to worry about me. I'll be just fine."

"So far, Aaron said all you've done is make them run."

"We do run...a lot. But we've also practiced free throws and I've had them go over some plays."

"You've had Billy Snelling show you. That kid couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a pine cone."

"Are you angry because I had Billy showing me plays, or because I haven't assured you that Aaron is starting?"

Rutledge takes a step toward her, leaning over to intimidate her. I clench my fists and stand up, ready to run over if I have to.

"My son will start. I guarantee that, but he will not be coming to anymore of these idiotic practices. I'll hire a real coach to work with him."

Mom straightens herself and smiles calmly at him.

"If he doesn't come to practice, he doesn't play with the team."

"You don't know who you're messing with, Mrs. Weston."

Mom smiles, but even I can see the fire in her eyes from where I stand.

"Oh, I have a pretty good idea who I'm messing with. So, I'll repeat myself. If Aaron doesn't practice with the team, he doesn't play with the team. Same goes for any other boy."

Rutledge looks at the other men, most of whom have stepped back a ways from the little huddle. He looks really angry, but somehow the other dads don't look too upset.

"You think this is over, but you are wrong. I'll take this to the school board."

Mom says nothing.

"Do yourself a favor and accept our help. If you don't, it won't just be you that suffers. Give this school a losing season and that kid of yours will be the most hated kid in school."

Mom waves him off with her hand and looks away. For a moment we lock eyes and she freezes, but recovers almost instantly. "You almost ready, Jack?" she calls.

Without a word I disappear down the hall to the locker room. Aaron brushes past me, pausing only to say this to me. "Is your mommy crying yet?"

I hate him, I really do. I just want to ball up my fist and hit him right in his fat nose, but I can't. Even though I want my mom to stop coaching just as much as he does,I can't tell him that. Every ounce of me wants to tell him to kiss my butt, but I have something better up my sleeve. This will get him worse than a punch in the nose. This may very well bring him to tears.

"Nope, she's fine. But you, uh, you may be needing a Kleenex. Your dad just pulled you off the team."

"No way," he sneers.

I look at him and smirk. "Go ask him."

"You are such a liar. My dad wouldn't pull me off the team," he says confidently.

I want to grab my stuff and be back out there when Mr. Rutledge has to answer Aaron, but I don't go. I don't want to see the accusing looks from the rest of the team when they hear about it. And I don't want to have to defend my mom when I'm angry with her.

All I want to do is play basketball and she's made it her mission to ruin it for me.