Not that I’d been looking for him, but his chair in the cafeteria had been empty. I’d heard his girlfriend, Hannah, telling people that he was with Josh and Tommy and that Tommy had been sick Monday night. I was glad that they had spoken and that he’d told her the truth. He’d looked pissed when I had said that I didn’t want anyone to find out that we knew each other. High school was enough of a bitch as it was. I didn’t need people like Hannah as my enemy. I’d studied enough to pass my classes and moved on to the next day. But he was there that day. Which I knew meant that I’d most likely see him at work, or earlier, as fate would have it. I saw him when I showed up for gym class. “A special guest,” Coach Riley called him. “He’s here to teach us the fundamentals of basketball.” Fundamentals? We were eighteen. Seniors. If we didn’t know the fundamentals of basketball—living in Wilmington, North Carolina, home of the Michael Jordan—then it meant we didn’t ever care to learn.
