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“I wish,” she replied, threading her arm around my waist.

“Thanks for editing my essay. You da bomb, even if you didn’t say good morning to your only kid—tsk, tsk.” I palmed my wounded chest, and she snickered.

“And now you’re laughing at my pain.” I sighed. “It’s this kind of egregious behavior that makes a guy feel unloved.”

“Egregious,” she repeated with a nod of approval before angling her face up to kiss my cheek. “Two points.”

“Yes!” I fisted the air.

Mom dealt out points every time I used an SAT word. I racked up the points like a championship ring was on the line.

“What else you got?” she asked.

It wasn’t enough to throw one in a sentence. I scanned my brain. I needed to make it relevant to the conversation.

I snapped my fingers. “On the matter of my bruised heart, I must seek recompense in the form of extra chocolate in my pancakes.”

“Boom!” She patted my chest. “Three points.”

“Ha!” I spun around. “Dad, five points!” I lobbed an imaginary ball his way.

He caught it, hit a behind-the-back dribble, and released.

“Swish,” Dad shouted while Mom coughed, “Air ball.”

I bursted out laughing. “Cold, Ma!”

Dad shook his head. “It’s the Bahamas out there”—he pointed to the frosted window—“compared to in here.”

Mom blew him a kiss, a playful smirk on her lips. “I was joking, honey. It was all net.”

Her gaze snapped back to me. Mom’s facial expressions were a language. This one said “Did I or did I not tell you to get in the shower?” I bounced off the wall and stood up straight.

“Yes, ma’am, yes!” I saluted her and raced toward the bathroom, hitting a between-the-legs crossover with my imaginary ball.

“Ty,” Mom called.

I spun around.

“Good morning!”

I rubbed my fake bruised heart and kissed the inside of my palm. I made a loud smacking noise before I launched the kiss at her. She rolled up to her tiptoes and pretended to catch it just as Dad eased behind her and wrapped her up in a hug.

The school day flew by,and it was game time before I knew it. I felt unstoppable as I hit the easiest thirteen points of my life. As I raced up the court, the opposing team’s center moved in todefend me. I feinted left but spun right, creating enough space to rip past him and charge toward the rim at breakneck speed. The crowd’s noise reduced to a murmur, heightening the thumping in my heart.

I signaled to my teammate to lob me the ball.

Don’t choke.

You got this.

I launched myself through the air, and the second my hands gripped the leather, I knew the next fifteen seconds were mine. Never mind that I attempted the play a hundred times and landed only a handful.

Time to light up.

The opposing team’s point guard jumped up to block me, but my teammate intercepted him mid-air.Clutch.

I kicked my heels toward my butt and arched my back to get more height. A deep belly roar thundered out of me as I windmilled my arms 180 degrees and hammered the ball through the net.