Severance Pay (Chapters 49 Through 54 Of 78) free porn video

CHAPTER FORTY NINE It was nearly halftime and St. Ann's were up fifteen. Gretchen had eighteen points, six rebounds and three blocks, she was an absolute monster out there, at least to the untrained eye. Patricia had put her in perfect position for every point and half her rebounds. She even provided the defensive pressure that forced bad shots that Gretchen then blocked. Gretchen is good, but Patricia is the engine that drives this team. She spreads the ball around too, not simply setting Gretchen up every time. Terri Hughes has ten points, Bailey Brooks, I think they call her BeeBee, has nine. Patricia just has five, but there is no doubt she's the ringmaster. Right now, they're playing a zone defense. They always play some variation of the zone, 2-3, 1-3-1, box and one, depending on the strength of the other team. They don't have a lot of girls on the team so they play zone to save energy and fouls. It's understandable but a little too passive for my taste. In this case, it's the box and one, letting Patricia chase and harass St. Mary's leading scorer, their point guard. She stole the ball three of their first five possessions and the poor girl has been playing defensively ever since. She spends more time watching Patricia than she does looking for her teammates, which is easy to understand because Patricia has the quickest hands I have ever seen in my life. She cut out the crazy steal attempts in their second game, she didn't get in foul trouble and they beat Sunnyside by nineteen, the largest margin of victory for a St. Ann's basketball team in twenty six years. If they don't let up, they'll beat St. Mary's by more than that. Patricia doesn't tolerate any of the girls letting up. Every time one of them doesn't hustle, she talks with the girl. She doesn't point or scream but pulls her aside and pumps her up, stoking the fire. When the buzzer goes off at the end of the half, all the girls run by my floor level seat, a look of determination on each face ... except for Patricia, who smiles and winks at me, lightly slapping my half-raised hand as she runs by, quickly followed by Sister Rita. "Good half, Sister!" I shout. She waves her hand as she pushes the locker room door open. "Thank you, Ms. Conner" she shouts back, her closed fist with an upright extended thumb being the last thing I see before the door slams shut behind her. Looking around, I'm filled with a wave of nostalgia, memories of my days as a player flooding back. Some of the best years of my young life. I played for a public high school with over five thousand students, in a gym at least four times larger than this one, but the sounds and the smells are identical. Shoes squeaking on the gym floor, laughing children, fresh popcorn. This is the first game of the Twenty Second Annual Catholic Holiday Tourney. St. Ann verses St. Mary is the warm up act for St. Agnes and Blessed Sacrament. St. Agnes is a large Catholic school, over two thousand boys and girls enrolled. They've been a dominant athletic school for decades. This Holiday tourney has just been a kind of scrimmage for them. They're currently ranked number four in the state. This year, though, Blessed Sacrament may give them a run for their money with their senior dominated team. The gym is barely one third full, the crowd waiting to arrive for the second game. However, one small section is packed. Hobbes and at least fifteen of his men are sitting at mid-court, slightly above floor level. They have every available refreshment, Coke, popcorn, pretzels, hot dogs, you name it. He notices me looking his way and waves, smiling. I paste a big, fake smile on my face and return his wave, then immediately walk rapidly to the bathrooms, hoping to avoid another invitation to join him. So far, I've been able to dodge him, but, as the season goes on, there will likely be no way to avoid the man. The first game, he was there with ten men, the last game with twelve, this one fifteen. The surprising thing is, they all seem to enjoy themselves. They shout and yell the entire game, giving the refs hell if they disagree with a call. If the refs knew what kind of man was sitting at mid-court and that his daughter was playing, it might affect their calls, it certainly would mine if I were in their shoes. It is hardly an ideal situation, but they do seem to help get our few fans more involved in the games. Once out of the bathroom, I linger near the entrance, trying to hide from Hobbes, waiting for the second half to begin. There are two men seated on the small set of bleachers under the basket, each with a shot chart and other papers. They are either obsessive fans or coaches. I ease my way through the crowd until I'm near enough to listen in on their conversation. "... really got them playing as a unit. Can't be anything their coach has done, she's never been able to do it before now." "It's that damn little point guard of theirs. That is one mean little bitch. She's a junior. Where the hell did they get her?" "Don't know, but I think she's the one Martha Zendahas mentioned." "Zendahas, the lady from the YWCA?" "Yeah. She told me there was this really short girl going to St. Ann's who was some kinda super athlete. Must be her." "What else does she play?" "Apparently everything." "That isn't good. The one problem we have right now is bringing the ball up against pressure. We may have to get her out of the game." "You aren't really worried about St. Ann, are you? They're St. Ann, for God's sake, St. I'll-play-a-zone-no-matter-what Ann." "No, I'm not really worried, not as long as we got Ridgeway. Hell, it'll probably do us good in the long run to face a quick kid. Bring on the midget!" They both laugh ... long, loud, raucous, laughter. These coaches clearly have no respect for our girls. We'll just have to see about that. * * * *** * * * *** * * * Patricia insisted on staying and watching the second game after St. Ann won, as did most of the rest of the team, including Gretchen. It probably wasn't the best idea. St. Agnes had a full squad of fifteen girls, all of them athletes, but one girl really stood out ... Aelia Ridgeway. Six four, not skinny but not fat either, and, unlike many girls, she can jump! Not dunk it jump, at least not yet. She's not particularly fast or quick but she has good footwork, knows how to get in position near the basket and is big enough to defend it. Gretchen has played against men but this girl knows what she's doing. She's not the only good player but she's tops in this tourney. She's already accepted a scholarship to the University of Connecticut and they only take the best! Blessed Sacrament was supposed to give them a good game, but it wasn't close. They doubled the score on them, sixty four to thirty two. St. Agnes kept the starters in most of the game, actually shooting threes at the end instead of just running out the clock. Ridgeway was a real beast in the middle, she ended up with a triple double, thirty one points, fourteen rebounds and eleven blocks. The blocks may have been the most impressive. She let the girl shoot before she jumped up after it and she kept her distance, not fouling anyone, though the refs let her get away with quite a lot of shoving to get and keep good position. Patricia just watched intently, Gretchen on one side and Terri Hughes on the other. Patricia would point something out and the other two would nod their heads. At different times, she would call to another player, who would come over and they'd talk about something, making gestures or scribbling on a note pad. As the game went on, our girls seemed to become more dispirited. Patricia tried to keep their enthusiasm up but it didn't seem that they were buying it. The girls drifted away until, at the end, it was just Gretchen and Patricia, plotting and planning. On the drive home, I just had to ask. "So, how do you plan to win tomorrow night?" "Win? We'll be lucky not to be blown out." "What was all that discussion about? All those pointers?" "Oh, we may be able to give them some trouble, they can't handle the ball very well, but once the get it to Ridgeway, there's not much you can do about it. I've got a couple of ideas that should work for awhile, particularly if they're slow to adjust. If we make a fast start, we can worry them a bit, but they've got too many good players, they'll eventually wear us down. Their third string is probably better than our first." "Including you?" "No, of course not. Gretchen either, though Ridgeway is better than her, but only because of more experience. If Gretchen had played these last three years, she could make it interesting. I told the girls no more moral victories but I hadn't seen St. Agnes play yet. A moral victory may not be so bad tomorrow." * * * *** * * * *** * * * Ever since he started coming to my games, Father has been a different person. He's more cheerful, more upbeat, more anxious to look for reasons to get out of the house. He is actually making plans to fly to Rio for Carnival next year. The guards were lining up to volunteer for that job. He was also really interested in what was going on in my life, not just polite questions but genuinely interested. It freaked me out! What the hell could I tell him? I couldn't say anything about me and Patty, not yet certainly. He asked about school but my answers were boring. Even I nodded off a couple of times. Basketball though ... that excited him. He had one of the guys sit up high and video each game. Father would have sent him to practice if he could have gotten away with it. After every game, he would sit with me and watch it, sometimes in slow motion to get a good look at a particular play. What was weird, though I never noticed it during the game, was that every time Patty missed a shot, the ball came right to me and I had a lay up. You'd think at least one time the ball would have bounced deep or something but no ... straight to me, every single time. Weird. Father also had me sit with him and watch other basketball games. Colleges are just getting started and the pros are just out of preseason. There's a lot of pre-Christmas tourneys and we watch as many as we can. Father spends most of the time pointing out things I should do when I play. He means well, but I'm just not that good. I can barely handle the ball, though I'm getting better. Sister Rita has me doing some drills that Patty found in a book and they're helping a lot. I hit barely seventy percent of my free throws. Patty's working with me on that. She's only missed two all year and both times, the ball came right to me. Again. Super weird. The best things I do are run the pick and roll, run fast breaks, and play defense. Blocking shots is fun too! Even better, all the girls on the team are nice. We hang together at school during lunch and between classes, just like regular girls. They're still nice to me when Patty isn't around. Girls who aren't on the team are also talking to me. I never dreamed that school could be like this, that my life would be like this. * * * *** * * * *** * * * RIO?! CARNIVAL?! Is he MAD?! "I thought I'd get a suite of rooms, take a top floor, maybe the floor below too, just to be safe. I went to Carnival when I was in college. Very enjoyable." "Raymond ... this is madness. Carnival is a security nightmare. It's barely restrained pandemonium." "That's what was so enjoyable. To a young man, it made quite an impression." "There is no guarantee that we will have all our problems under control by that time." "If we don't, I'll cancel. Simple as that. Enrique, I am tired of being trapped in this house. There is an entire world out there, a world that I once enjoyed with enthusiasm." "The follies of youth are best left to the past." "They were not follies. I would do them all again if given the choice. The trips to Gretchen's games have reminded me of what my life used to be like, the places I used to go, the things I used to do. There is no reason I can't do them again or do new things. I want to host a Christmas party for Gretchen's team." Where? HERE?! In THIS compound? "I hope you plan on renting a reception hall somewhere." "No, in my home. I spoke with Raul, he was enthusiastic! We have more than enough room." "And what about a dozen girls running through the house? How do we protect against that?" "There's only nine other girls, plus their parents, if they want to come, maybe boyfriends. These girls are not children, they are all well behaved young ladies. We've had large dinner parties before." "With people we knew, people we had checked out in advance. Christmas is only a week away. There is no way to complete the security checks by then, not with everything else I am doing." "Just put extra men in the vulnerable areas and run the bug checks after the party. And the party's on the twenty third, you can't expect people to come on Christmas day, that's strictly a family day." I know where all this openness is coming from, this overwhelming desire for normalcy. As soon as I have gotten past the current problems, I will deal with her. * * * *** * * * *** * * * The girls are warming up. It's St. Agnes' gym so the crowd is seventy percent theirs. Patricia never shoots well in warm ups but that act will only work for a few more games. Eventually, there's going to be enough video out there that opposing teams will know what she's capable of. That's not true. They'll know what she's willing to reveal of her capabilities. I have to admit that I'd love to see a game where she lets off the chains and hits the gas but I'm afraid it might bring too much attention to us. Still, it would be fun to see. St. Agnes seems loose, very loose. Too loose. They don't respect St. Ann's, why should they? So we've won a couple of games. Historically, that means nothing. Our girls know that too. I see a number of them nervously glancing towards St. Agnes as they shoot around, paying particular attention to number twenty five, Aelia Ridgeway. Patricia keeps bringing their attention back to what they're supposed to be doing but it's not a good sign. As the teams line up for the tip off, St. Ann's seems to have their game faces on. Patricia's moving around, slapping hands and butts. Ridgeway is at least two inches taller than Gretchen and easily gets the tip, Gretchen not even trying, falling back into a 3-2 zone, Patricia in the middle. It seems to be a passive zone, just shifting as St. Agnes passes the ball back and forth, left to right. Ridgeway flashes to the lane just below the free throw line, Gretchen going with her. St. Agnes' guard passes the ball to her over Patricia's head, which Ridgeway easily catches, starting to dribble to make her move. Patricia darts back and cleanly steals the ball, shouting "GO!". Bailey Burks and Cassie Moore immediately break towards the other end of the court, leaving the St. Agnes guards just standing there. Patricia throws a mid-court pass to Cassie, who sends a bounce pass to Bailey for a lay up. The next possession for St. Agnes is almost an identical repeat, except Cassie gets the lay up. The next possession, Patricia doesn't bother to shout, Cassie and Bailey are already running as the pass goes to Ridgeway, who freezes as soon as she catches the ball, waiting for Patricia to drop down. It doesn't matter, Patricia snatches the ball from her hands and the fast break is on. The fourth possession ended up with one of the guards taking an outside shot, which missed and was rebounded by Terri Hughes after Gretchen neatly blocked out Ridgeway. Patricia blew by the girl guarding her, penetrating all the way to the basket, drawing several of St. Agnes' players to her before passing the ball out to Bailey, who hit a three point shot. Not surprisingly, St. Agnes called a time out. Our girls hit the sideline excited and high-fiving, all except Patricia. She quickly huddled with Sister Rita, talking for about twenty seconds before turning to talk with the rest of the girls. When St. Agnes brought the ball up court the next time, they faced the same passive zone. Ridgeway moved to the middle but continued to the right wing, Gretchen on her the entire way. After catching the ball, she attempted to drive back into the lane. She only dribbled twice before Patricia stole the ball again, though this time she wasn't able to pass the ball to either of our guards because St. Agnes had quickly dropped back with them. However, with their team scattered all over the floor, Terri was able to get free on a delayed fast break, with Patricia hitting her for a lay up. It was clear what the plan was. They weren't going to deny Ridgeway the ball but they weren't letting her put it on the floor. Patricia and Gretchen were double teaming her despite the appearance of the zone. They weren't going to let Ridgeway beat them. The teams traded baskets for the rest of the first quarter with the occasional defensive stop for both teams. Ridgeway got a couple of baskets on rebounds but, other than that, Gretchen and Patricia pretty much stopped her. Unfortunately, once St. Agnes stopped fixating on Ridgeway, the other girls were able to score, both inside and out. They were bigger and stronger than our girls, though I think we're faster. Gretchen was certainly faster than Ridgeway, enabling her to score several times by beating her down the court. Patricia hit the one shot she took but concentrated on moving the ball around and getting shots for the other girls, either by driving and dishing or quick passes whenever one of them would get open. We stayed with some variation of the zone the entire quarter. We got the ball to open the second quarter, Gretchen being replaced by Linda Hatke. It looked like we might score but Cassie lost the ball along the baseline. There was a big scramble, with some of the girls heading back on defense and others fighting to recover the ball. One of St. Agnes' girls came up with it and started to drive down the middle of the court. Patricia was back peddling ahead of her, shouting to the other girls, pointing out who they should be guarding. Suddenly, Ridgeway, who was about fifteen feet ahead of Patricia, stopped at mid-court and set a pick. The other girls were too busy finding their men to warn Patricia. Just as Patricia was about to make contact, Ridgeway lowered her shoulder and raised her forearm, then sprang upright, hitting Patricia hard in the back of the head, knocking her completely off her feet, her forehead bouncing off the floor when her head struck the hardwood! The entire crowd gasped, some of them applauding, but all fell silent when Patricia didn't move. It took me a moment to overcome my initial shock at the dirty play to realize that Patricia might be seriously hurt. Springing from my seat, I was the first person to reach her disjointed, sprawled body. Ridgeway was standing off to the side, a look of satisfaction on her face. I'd have punched her out right then and there if there weren't more important things to deal with. CHAPTER FIFTY My head is buzzing, I can actually feel it vibrating. I'm lying on my back and it's dark. I try to open my eyes but something's covering them. It's cool and damp. I reach up with my right hand and pull it away, touching my wet forehead with my left hand, making contact with a painful swollen lump above my left eye. Looking up, I see the dull, gray ceiling of the locker room. Mom's face moves into my line of vision. "Patricia? Baby? How do you feel?" I blink several times, twist my jaw left and right, then start to sit up. "I'm fine ... I think." "Careful! Be careful, honey!" I slowly continue to sit up, everything feels normal except for the spot on my forehead above my left eye and the vibrations in my head, which seem to be fading away quickly. "I'm okay, Mom. What happened?" "You were blind-sided, that's what happened." That's Gretchen! I turn to look for where the voice came from. She's sitting on a bench nearby while I'm sitting on an elevated training table. Mom's standing next to me. "Where's everybody else?" "The games still going on" said Mom. "Then what are you doing here?" I ask Gretchen. "She was ejected" answered Mom. "EJECTED?! YOU? Why?" "She left the bench when you were hurt." "I wasn't the only one" Gretchen grumped. "You were the only player, sweetie. Everybody else was ... uh ..." "Who else?" I ask. "Father. The guards. Your Mom. Sister Rita. Sister Carmela. A whole bunch of people" Gretchen answered. "It was a bit of a ..." started Mom. "Riot" finished Gretchen. "That's an overstatement, but it did take the ref awhile to get the court cleared." "Your Mom was pretty upset, we all were. Father was mostly angry, so were the guys." "Who did it? Who hit me?" "Ridgeway. She set a pick, then hit you in the back of the head with her forearm, knocking you off your feet. Your head hit the court" Mom explained. "The sound was gross" added Gretchen. "Did she get tossed?" "Who?" Gretchen asked. "Ridgeway, who else!" "No, the stupid ref didn't even call a foul. I thought Henry was going to shot him on the spot." Nice to have well armed friends. Just then, the rest of the team came in the locker room. "Hey! She's awake!" shouted Terri and the team swarmed me, gathering around the table, asking questions. Sister Rita entered the room along with Sister Carmela, Sister Rita hustling the team back into the locker room area. "How are you, Miss Conner?" "Fine, Sister Carmela. I hear you rushed the court." "Simply concerned about the health of one of my student's, nothing more." "Either way, thanks." "If you need to take a day or two off to recover, I'll make sure your assignments get to your home." "No, I'm fine. I'm playing the second half." "Miss Conner, you were unconscious for several minutes. The paramedics were prepared to transport you to the hospital before your mother insisted you be brought back here ... and I still question the wisdom of that decision." Of course! Mom couldn't let any regular doctor's near me, imagine what my head x-ray would look like. "I have a call into Patricia's personal physician" said Mom. "He should be here shortly. Patricia has some unique ... conditions and it would be best that she be treated by someone who knows ..." There was a knock at the locker room door, a pause, and then it was pushed open. A female paramedic stepped in. "There's a man here who claims to be the girl's doctor." "Thomas Matthews?" asked Mom. "Yeah." "It's him, please let him in." She stepped aside and Matthews hurried in, averting his eyes from where the other girls were sitting. He had a large case in his right hand. "I was told what happened and have spoken with the paramedics. I think I can determine fairly quickly what the damage is, if any." He sat the case on the table next to me, flipped open the lid and removed a helmet that was similar to the one from the machine at his office. It was attached to a laptop computer. "This is the first chance I've had to try out the portable version. An exiting opportunity!" He carefully slipped it on my head and made several adjustments, gradually tightening it until it was a snug fit. I caught Mom's attention and slightly nodded towards Sister Carmela. She nodded back. "Sister, if you would please excuse us. This is a personal matter. I'm sure you understand." Sister Carmela had been skeptically observing everything and clearly did not want to leave but she didn't really have a choice. She reluctantly left the training area, joining Sister Rita and the team in the locker room. "Patricia, what did you feel when you regained consciousness?" asked Matthews. "I felt my head vibrating, like a million bees buzzing, though a lot quieter. Sometimes the vibrations were synchronized, sometimes not. It didn't last long, started fading away almost as soon as I was awake." He looked surprised. "You actually felt it? That is unusual. The damage might have been more extensive than I anticipated. We shall see." He turned the computer away from me so that I couldn't see the screen and began to type. I couldn't feel anything from the helmet, but I never did at the office either. While I sat on the table, Mom reached out with her right hand, taking my hand in hers, squeezing it gently. I squeeze back as Matthews scans the results, mumbling to himself. Mom can't contain herself. "Well Thomas ... is she okay?" He doesn't respond, just continues to scan and mumble. "Thomas?" He looks up. "Yes?" "Is Patricia alright?" "It would seem that she is ... repaired, or mostly repaired. Initially, there was some damage and the nanites kept her unconscious so that her body could concentrate it's energies on repairs. Doctors often keep patients with brain injuries in induced comas to speed recovery. There was no difference here, just at a much faster rate." "Patricia had brain damage?" "Yes, but not that much. Any concussion by definition is brain damage; it's just a matter of degree." "So, how much brain damage was there?" asked Mom. "Nothing the nanites can't handle." "Are you saying there is still unrepaired damage?" "Yes, but it is mostly clean up work. That is why she is awake now." "So the buzzing I felt was ..." "The nanites, yes, exactly. Amazing when you think about it." He unstraps and removes the helmet, stowing it and the computer in the case, closing the lid. "Can I play?" I ask. "Basketball?" "Yes." "Today?" "Yeeessss!" "I don't see why not." I jump off the table, hurrying to where the team is, Matthews shouting "you're welcome" behind me. The girls are all sitting on the benches, heads mostly down, a couple sipping from paper cups, Sisters Rita and Carmela whispering in the corner. "What's the score?" I ask. "Twenty five, Forty three" answered Terri. "Who's ahead?" She looks up at me, disgust clear on her face. "Who do you think? They are!" "What happened? We were up by ... twelve, right?" "Things kinda fell apart when you and Gretchen went out. I don't think they were counting on a twofer with that cheap shot." "So, it really was a cheap shot?" "You don't remember?" "No." "Oh yeah, it was a cheap shot. That Ridgeway ..." she glanced at the nuns, who weren't paying attention "... BITCH tried to hurt you. She was pretty proud about it, the whole ..." checked the nuns again, "... damn team was patting her back and bumping fists." "I saw one of the coaches rub the top of her head" chimed in Hatke, "they were both smiling." "Got it." The whole thing made me angry, angrier than it should. That kind of stuff happens, it's all part of the game, but the knowledge that they had gone out of their way to try to hurt me just ... ticked me off! How dare they! Who did they think they were? Who did she think she was?! What gave them the right?!! I stride over to the Sisters. "Sister Rita, we're going to have to change our defense if we're going to win this game." They both look down at me, then at each other, then back to me. Sister Rita goes first. "Patricia ... I appreciate your confidence and competitive nature, but I can't let you play, not after what happened today." "Why not? My doctor says I can play." They look at each other again. "I'll check" said Sister Carmela, who heads back to the training area. "As I was saying, we need a new defense." "And a new offense." "Offense won't be a problem; I just need stops and turnovers. They picked the wrong girl to screw with." * * * *** * * * *** * * * The girls charge out of the locker room, lead by Patricia. She had assured me that she was fine and, with what Thomas had said, I didn't have much of a case, beyond a mother's concern. I had tried to convince her that her health was more important than a game but the longer we talked, the more adamant she became ... and the angrier. I can understand the anger, I was upset about it too. If it had been me who had been attacked, I'm sure I would also feel something like that, but Patricia had always seemed to have a better handle on her anger, better than me, truth be told. I certainly hope Thomas is right. When our fans realize Patricia is on the court, they give the girls a standing ovation, Hobbes and his men being very vocal. They really do like Patricia. I can see why she has been so successful in the past. Anyone who can make the enemy feel that way about you could accomplish a lot. Each team is running lay up drills to warm up. Anytime one of St. Agnes girls get near Patricia, they say something. I can't hear what they say but Patricia doesn't respond, she just smiles ... but it's not a pleasant smile. It's the kind of smile you see on the faces of a family as the Thanksgiving turkey is set on the table in front of them, a hungry, anticipatory smile, relishing the thought of what is about to happen. St. Agnes gets the ball to open the third quarter. St. Ann's doesn't fall back to a zone but puts all their players in the front court, randomly spaced. When St. Agnes inbounds the ball, all the girls rush towards the player with the ball, screaming. The St. Agnes player panics, loosing control of the ball. Cassie is the first to reach it, burning a pass straight to Patricia who is set up outside the three point line. She immediately shoots, the ball bouncing around the rim, then falling through. Fifteen point lead. This time, St. Ann's sets up in a full court press, leaving the inbounding girl unguarded. Patricia is patrolling the middle of the front court. Once the player gets the pass, Cassie and Bailey quickly close on her, forcing a lazy bounce pass to an apparently open teammate but Patricia easily intercepts the ball, backs out behind the three point line and fires. Twelve point lead. The third time, our girls set up in a zone press. St. Agnes is clearly confused. They hadn't anticipated this or anything like it. They inbound to a guard who quickly passes it to Ridgeway, who is near mid-court. She attempts to hand the ball to a passing teammate but Patricia beats her to the mark, takes the ball and dribbles towards the three point line, Ridgeway in hot pursuit. When she reaches the line, she hesitates, allowing Ridgeway to catch up, then leaps sideways, kicking her legs out slightly. Just before Ridgeway runs into her outstretched leg, Patricia shoots, hitting the basket and getting fouled in the process. Once she hits the free throw, it's a four point play, an eight point lead and a time out called by St. Agnes, their coaches having seen enough. Our girls hurry to the huddle, new life and vigor in their bodies, smiling and clapping, congratulating themselves but not Patricia. She sits down on the bench, a towel over her shoulders, listening while Sister Rita talks. She's the last one to leave the bench at the end of the timeout. This time, St. Agnes clearly has a plan. A quick in bounds pass to a guard, who just as quickly throws a high pass to Ridgeway, who turns and passes to one of two forwards who are breaking for the basket, clear of any of our defenders. Our girls had been caught off guard and the ball never got anywhere near Patricia. The lead is back to ten. Terri inbounds to Patricia, who is promptly double teamed. St. Agnes is trying to force her to give up the ball but she won't do it. The two girls try to apply pressure but they can't keep up with her, Patricia constantly changes direction, eventually causing one girl to fall down and the other to trip over her fallen teammate, Patricia then shoots more than ten feet behind the line. Nothing but net. Seven point lead. We put Linda Hatke on Ridgeway when she sets up at mid-court this time but Linda is barely five eleven, above average height for a girl but she can't challenge Ridgeway. We don't let the St. Agnes forwards break clear but they do get the ball across the time line. They pull the ball out and start passing it around, primarily keeping it away from whoever Patricia is guarding. When she cheats towards whoever has the ball, her man breaks towards the basket, forcing her back to prevent an easy score. The rest of our team tries to stay with their respective men but someone eventually gets open and scores. Lead back to nine and only two minutes left in the quarter. We call timeout and the girls huddle up, with Lynne Rodgers coming in for Terri. Lynne is a sophomore who doesn't play much, she's a little too short and skinny to play Forward. Out of the timeout, St. Agnes presses but once Patricia gets the ball, the rest of the team runs to the other end, forcing most of the St. Agnes girls to follow them, leaving Patricia to be double teamed again. This time, neither girl falls down but they barely slow Patricia, who breaks clear after a few seconds of ankle breaking cuts and crossover moves, hitting her fifth consecutive three point shot. The lead is down to six with a minute forty five to play in the quarter. St. Agnes beats the press again and pulls the ball back as before, moving it around, taking up as much clock as possible. As soon as the girl Rodgers is guarding gets the ball, she fouls her while trying to steal it. The St. Agnes player hits both of her free throws and this time, Patricia faces a triple team as she brings the ball up court. St. Agnes is desperate to get the ball out of her hands but Patricia ignores obviously open teammates, forcing her way across the time line with an assortment pack of moves, one time passing the ball to herself through a defender's legs. It takes more than thirty seconds but she eventually shoots from almost twenty eight feet out, banking it in from the side. St. Ann's is only applying token pressure now so St. Agnes gets the ball quickly across the timeline and starts to move the ball around, waiting to take the last shot of the quarter, however Rodgers fouls her man immediately when she gets the ball. So that's the plan! We're willing to trade two points for three points. Lynne Rodgers is the designated fouler. If they won't let the ball anywhere near Patricia, then we'll foul whoever does get the ball, give them whatever they can get from the line then let Patricia score three points, gaining one, two or even three points in the exchange. It's ugly, but it works, as long as you have enough bodies. Unfortunately, several of our girls picked up a number of frustration fouls in the first half so we can only do this for so long. St. Agnes hits both free throws, the last one with forty five seconds left in the quarter. As Patricia brings the ball up court, she is facing four defenders, with only Ridgeway covering the rest of our team. She manages to get across the timeline before ten seconds by sheer force of will, keeping the defenders off balance with lightening fast changes, but, eventually, she passes to Bailey, who is open in the corner. She shoots but misses, the ball bouncing long, with both Ridgeway and Patricia chasing after it. This time, Ridgeway wins the race, but just barely. She gets the ball in both hands, then viciously swings around, squatting low but elbows high, Patricia pulling her head back just in time to avoid being hit square in the jaw. The two girls stare at each other for a moment both of them knowing exactly what just happened. Ridgeway was going for the knockout blow and if it had been anyone other than Patricia with her hummingbird reflexes, she would have succeeded. Before either of them can do anything, the horn blows and a ref runs between them, signaling the end of the quarter. Eight minutes left and seven points down. * * * *** * * * *** * * * As soon as I plop down on the bench, someone hands me a drink, which I down in one, long swig. I'm more tired than I should be, the nanites must have used up a lot of my energy reserves. If I had half a brain, I'd quit right now. This is only a game, it doesn't actually mean anything! It's got nothing to do with the assignment, with Gretchen's future, my future, nothing. Then why did it take every ounce of my self control to keep from punching that big goon out ten seconds ago? I wanted to kill her, actually kill her, and I could have done it too. Even made it look like an unfortunate accident. If that horn hadn't blown ... Sister Rita's saying something, pumping up the team. Eight minutes to go, game of our lives, honor of the school, blah, blah, blah. All I know is ... that bitch is going down. * * * *** * * * *** * * * We get the ball to open the fourth quarter. Patricia is again the last one to leave the bench. She looks determined but tired. I wish I knew what was so important about this game. I reach into my purse and locate the remote control to the Balancer. I could change the setting to the upper Pink range, make her more willing to listen to me, to obey me. It would violate our agreement, but it would be for her own good, wouldn't it? Cassie passes the ball to Patricia to begin play. She dribbles to the right, followed by her four shadows. Suddenly, she passes the ball back to Cassie, surprising the defenders. Two of them move towards Cassie while the other two freeze, allowing Patricia to run past them down court, breaking clear. Cassie hits her with an arching pass, leaving only Ridgeway to guard four players. As Patricia drives right at her, Ridgeway slides back towards the basket, turning towards her left. Both of them are ignoring all the other players, this is one on one. Just as Patricia draws close, she pulls up to make a move but stumbles, falling towards Ridgeway. As she falls, Patricia reaches out with her right hand, flipping the ball softly upward, arching near the basket. Ridgeway could block this one in her sleep. With Patricia sprawled on the court at her feet, Ridgeway jumps as high as she can, swatting the ball out of bounds with a triumphant shout that can be heard throughout the gym, a shout that she extends as she drops back to the court, Patricia twisting away to avoid being stepped on. She almost gets completely clear, except for her right foot, which lingers for just a fraction of a second until Ridgeway's left foot lands on it, then she jerks it away. What was a shout of victory becomes a scream of anguish as Ridgeway rolls her ankle, bending it more than ninety degrees, all her weight, all her downward momentum, concentrated on that single, fragile joint. All the tape in the world, all the braces, could not prevent the stretching and tearing of her ligaments. She crumples to the floor, landing on her side, grasping at the rapidly swelling joint, gasping for air, shrieking, cursing and crying, all at the same time. Every person in the gym who had every twisted an ankle in their life grimaced in unison at the memory of the excruciating agony, their ankles aching with sympathetic pain. As the St. Agnes coaches and players scramble to Ridgeway's aid, Patricia slowly stands up and walks away, not even looking back towards the girl writhing on the floor. Walking by our fans in the bleachers, she looks up towards Hobbes and his men. They are all standing, stone faced, but with tight smiles as they watch Patricia pass by. She pauses and nods her head ever so slightly towards them. They respond in kind, a demonstration of respect. They all know exactly what she did. Hell, a third of the gym knows what she did, but no one could prove it was anything but an unfortunate accident. One of those things that can happen to any player at any time. St. Agnes's coaches don't even bother to argue with the ref about not calling a foul. Patricia sat heavily on the bench as several teammates and an assistant coach help carry Ridgeway back to their locker room. Patricia didn't even look up as they passed in front of our bench. Several of our girls came up to Patricia, resting their hands on her shoulders, telling her it wasn't her fault, that it was an accident. She thanked them for their sympathetic gestures. It was almost believable. I managed to catch her eye and hold it for several seconds. She finally smiled ever so slightly and shrugged her shoulders, palms up in a "shit happens" gesture. Right. After the delay to cart Ridgeway off the court and to wipe up the sweat from the floor, we took the ball out under our own basket. Still down by seven, Patricia passes to Teresa Gaeta, who gives the ball right back. Patricia takes it out beyond the three point line, turns and faces a still shell shocked team, a team who had just seen their best player, and possibly their season, lugged off the court. She fires a bounce pass with back spin to Terrie Hughes, who had back cut her defender, the ball hitting her perfectly in stride for an easy lay up. Five points down. We set up in a half court trap, Patricia in the middle but St. Agnes is ready for it, taking the ball down the sideline, avoiding the trap. They cross court a pass, high enough that Patricia has no chanced at it, The St. Agnes guard shooting a three as quickly as the ball reaches her hand. It was good, for an eight point lead. We trade baskets over the next few possessions but ours are all threes, two by Patricia and one by Bailey Burns, our crowd shouting "BeeBee!" when ever Burn's scores, reducing the lead to five. With St. Agnes having the ball, they pass it in to Ridgeway's replacement, a tall girl but she lacks Ridgeway's skills and confidence. Patricia drops down, knocking the ball away from her, setting off a mad scramble of bodies diving to the floor, struggling to get their hands on the ball. St. Agnes eventually recovers it but Patricia comes out of the scrum with a cut on her right cheek, just below her eye. It's bleeding badly, so she has to come out of the game. I quickly make my way to the bench as our trainer works on it. The other girls make room for me and I sit down next to Patricia. "What happened?" "What's it look like? I got cut by number fifteen out there!" She points at Ridgeway's replacement. "Was it an accident?" "Of course not! They want me out of the game! Hurry up Sister, I need to get back out there!" One of their girls hits a three, to the resounding cheers of the St. Agnes fans. "If you will sit still, Patricia, I'll do what I can" answered the Sister. I believe her name is Charity, she might have some training as a nurse. "Are you sure getting back out there is a good idea?" I ask. Patricia glares at me. "Fifteen punched my in the face, cutting me with the metal clasp on that elastic wrap around her hand. She said it was from the entire team. I won't let them get away with this, not now, not ever!" "Patricia ... this isn't like you, you're acting like some kind of over emotional ..." "Teen age girl? Isn't that what I am? What else should I be acting like?" "I don't know, but if you don't settle down ... I'll be forced to ..." I reach into my purse. "Don't you DARE, Mother" she hisses. "If you do, I will never forgive you. NE-VER. Do you understand me?" She stares at me, as angry as I have ever seen her, Sister Charity finishing treating the cut. As she steps away, it leaves just Patricia and me, me fingering the remote control in my purse. I slowly pull my empty hand out. Patricia relaxes. "Thank you." "I hope you know what you're doing." St. Agnes scores again, pushing their lead to ten points. The girl was fouled by Hatke, so they get a chance to make it eleven. "I hope so too" says Patricia as she jumps up off the bench and reports to the scoring table, putting herself back in the game. The ref quickly inspects Sister Charity's repair job then lets Patricia back on the floor, to the muffled groans and a few boos from The St. Agnes fans, who are quickly drowned out by the cheers and shouts of our fans, again led by Hobbes and his men. You really must admire their enthusiasm. St. Agnes hits the free throw, and falls back to mid court, not pressuring Patricia, but as soon as she crosses the time line, they foul her. It was intentional but not terribly so Patricia just gets two shots, which she hits. Apparently, St. Agnes isn't going to let her rain threes on them anymore. There's only three minutes left and they've got plenty of fouls to spare. St. Ann's sets up in a zone, the first time in the second half, but then try to trap the ball. St. Agnes moves it too quickly for our girls to get to it and they hit number fifteen for a lay up, pushing the lead back to eleven but it only burned twelve seconds off the clock. Patricia brings the ball up and there are three girls spread out along the time line. They're going to foul her as soon as she crosses the line. She stops just short of the line, dribbling as the ref counts down the ten seconds. At the last second, she passes to BeeBee and sprints to the left corner. BeeBee makes a cross court bounce pass back to Patricia, who shoots as two St. Agnes girls desperately grab her. Too late. She hits the three and gets a free throw, which she nails. A seven point lead with two and a half minutes left. We try to trap the ball again, St. Agnes still moving it quickly from player to player, not bothering to even look at the basket. The problem with that is they can't keep the ball away from Patricia. Eventually, the player that she's guarding gets the ball along the baseline and Patricia immediately steals it. Terri was already at mid court, several feet ahead of the nearest St. Agnes player. They all head for the basket and Patricia hits Terri with a pinpoint pass, who hits a lay up and is fouled. Our girls huddle up at the top of the key around Terri but St. Agnes calls time out, apparently trying to ice her. All the girls head to their respective benches. Our crowd is screaming and yelling, with a lot of base tones. I can't hear what is being said in the huddle but both Patricia and Sister Rita are talking while the other girls intently listen. The St. Agnes coaches are also loudly talking to their players, being quite emphatic at times. The ref blows her whistle and the girls return to the court, setting up along the lane, Patricia again being the last one off the bench. The ref hands Terri the ball, she spins it in her hand, dribbles twice, sets and smoothly shoots, hitting it cleanly. She thrusts her hand in the air, holds it there for a fraction of a second, turns and sprints down court. St. Agnes brings the ball up slowly, using as much clock as possible. When they cross the timeline, there's just fifty three seconds left and we're four down. St. Agnes spreads the court, trying to limit the double team opportunities. Patricia takes the ballhandler, not pressing her hard but staying close, shooting her left hand out towards the ball repeatedly, worrying the St. Agnes player. When she passes to the player on her right, Patricia doesn't contest it, backing off slightly, leaving her open for a return pass. However, when the return pass comes, Patricia dives for it, deflecting the ball up in the air, setting off a desperate scramble for the ball. It's actually kicked a couple of times before Suzie King dives, grabs it and quickly calls time out with forty three seconds left. All the girls gather round Sister Rita, except for Patricia who sits on the bench, head hanging down. She looks completely out of gas. When the huddle breaks, Cassie has to actually help Patricia stand. St. Agnes again sets up at the timeline, this time with only two players, trying to limit Patricia's options. As she approaches the line, the clock ticking down, she pauses at the top of the center circle, then fires a bomb from half court, swishing it! Our fans go completely crazy, screaming, high fiving and bumping fists, our girls jumping and clapping as they run back to play defense. St. Agnes calls their last time out, sending the players back to the benches. St. Agnes substitutes three new players, all smaller than the one's they replace, though number fifteen stays in. I'm guessing they expect St. Ann's to quickly foul and give up two points at the foul line so they can get a chance to tie it with a three from Patricia. The new players are probably better free throw shooters but they aren't warmed up and haven't played much in the game yet. When they pass the ball in, St. Agnes has a one point lead, thirty three seconds left on the clock. We don't foul immediately, which surprises them. Bailey closes on the girl with the ball, the ref starting the five second count. The girl has to do something or it's a turnover, so she passes it to the girl on the right sideline. Twenty nine seconds. Terri does the same. Our fans are screaming for her to foul but she doesn't, instead playing good defense. The player Patricia's guarding runs around, starting on the left sideline, down to and along the baseline, trying to get to the ball. Linda Hatke switches off her girl, number fifteen, doubling on the ball, the girl trying to dribble out of the double team. Twenty three seconds. Patricia's player tries to use fifteen to set a pick, but Patricia jumps it, beating her to the front, forcing her to change directions, clogging the middle. With the exception of number fifteen, we actually have a height advantage, well number fifteen and Patricia. St. Agnes is having trouble getting clear of our defense but time is quickly running out. Fouling makes sense, but we refuse to do it. Some of our fans are getting angry. With sixteen seconds to go, the girl with the ball decides to drive towards the basket, primarily because it was the only way open. As she got close, the ball bounces off Hatke's foot, bouncing high and heading out of bounds. At the last second, Patricia goes for it, stretching all out, getting her right hand behind it, twisting in midair, throwing the ball as hard as she can back in bounds, square into the face of number fifteen, the ball rebounding deep out of bounds into St. Agnes's bench. Number fifteen drops to the court like a rag doll. Patricia lands flat on her back, sliding on the gym floor, leaving a sheen of sweat. The bench players and coaches all jump up, screaming for a foul call but it was no different than trying to bounce the ball of a leg or an arm to keep possession. There's no rule against smacking someone in the face with the ball. St. Agnes's assistant coaches struggle to keep their players from rushing the court while the head coach hovers over number fifteen as the paramedics work on her. They have her sitting up in seconds, bloody gauze pressed against her nose. The refs send the players to their benches while the medical people keep checking number fifteen out. She seems woozy, her nose likely broken. The St. Agnes fans applaud wildly when she stands up, with a little assistance, and walks back to the locker room, our fans politely joining in. Once the sweat and blood is wiped off the court, the refs are ready to resume the game. It's St. Ann's ball, one point down, nine seconds left, inbounding right in front of St. Agnes's bench. They can't afford to foul anyone, particularly Patricia, who is likely going to get the ball. They could try to deny her the ball, but she's clearly quicker than any of their players. They're just going to have to play straight up defense, hope to slow her down. The ref's call the players back out onto the floor. Bailey and Patricia come over to take the ball out, St. Agnes setting up at three quarter court in what looks like a zone press. The fans and bench are in full throated roar as the ref hands the ball to Bailey, who passes it to Patricia and runs down court. Patricia stands there, dribbling as the clock ticks. Eight seconds, seven seconds. She starts to walk the wrong way, toward the baseline, while glaring at the St. Agnes coaches and players, her eyes shifting from face to face, looking each one in the eyes as she dribbles by them. Six seconds, five seconds. The crowd quiets down, not understanding what they're seeing. I've got a very bad feeling about this. Very, very bad. She keeps dribbling, heading toward the ref standing just out of bounds on the corner of the court. Four seconds, three seconds. Just two steps from going out of bounds, Patricia reaches out, the ball in her right hand. She heaves the ball over her shoulder, high and deep, towards our basket. She continues off the floor, jogging toward the locker room, opening the door just as the ball plummets from the sky like a laser guided meteor, hitting the rim dead center, ripping through the net with such force that it's turned inside out. I hear the locker room door clang shut before the gym explodes. CHAPTER FIFTY ONE Hobbes had insisted. There was a pizza place near St. Agnes's gym. A lot of the fans hung around after the game, waiting for the team to shower and change. Mostly friends and families of the players, some students from school and the nuns but also some fans from the other schools who stayed after the consolation game to root against St. Agnes. Hobbes said that food and drinks for the night were on him, so almost two hundred people descended on this neighborhood place that was within an hour of shutting down for the night. It was their biggest day of the year. A couple of people with experience in the business actually volunteered to help get the pizzas and sandwiches out to the crowd. Everyone was in an insanely good mood, celebrating the victory. And they were all over me. I couldn't go anywhere in the building without twenty people wanting to relive the final shot ... and that includes the bathroom. Right after the game, while we were still in the locker room, Mom pulled me away from the pandemonium and demanded to know what I had been thinking when I had taken those shots. All I could tell her was that I was mad, angry at being attacked, angry that Ridgeway had tried to do it a second time, that her coaches probably approved it and her teammates supported it. "Wrecking her ankle wasn't good enough for you?" I couldn't keep from smiling just a little. "You saw that?" "Everyone saw that!" "The ref's must not have because they didn't throw me out." Mom smiled just a little too. "That's because it was so well done. How did you even think of doing that?" "When I played football, I was the master of the leg whip. The other linemen were usually bigger than me, so when I'd go down, I'd take em with me. Got pretty good at it. They don't call a foul if you're splayed on the ground." "Why'd you do it?" "Maybe next time she'll think twice before she tries to decapitate some one." "It'll probably be a long time before she gets another chance. What about the other girl?" "You mean the one who punched me in the face?" "Nuff said. That was well done too, by the way." "Thanks. Look ... I don't really know WHY I acted like I did. I mean, everything was fine until the cheap stuff started. When I woke up in the locker room ... I just wanted to make them PAY! We were going to win that game or I was going to die trying. Then she came at me again and I just ... snapped. All bets were off. That other girl was just secondary damage, though she started it." "I understand, honey ... but those shots! The half court one was bad enough but that last one?! Did you even think about how that looked?" "I know, I know. I just wanted them all to understand that I'd just been playing with them the whole time, that I could score whenever and however I wanted and there wasn't a darn thing they could do to stop me." "I think that message was delivered, loud and clear, but you can't hide anymore, everyone knows what you can do." "Not everything." "Enough to attract attention. A lot of attention." "Okay, short term, maybe. I'll just say I was hot that night, couldn't miss. It happens. I remember this pro player, Quinn Buckner, averaged like three or four points a game, scored fifty one one night. Never got more than ten in a game the rest of his career. It happens." "How many hit a full court, over the shoulder, no look, last second shot for a two point victory?" I screwed up. We both know it. "How many people actually saw it? Were there even five hundred people there?" "More like eight hundred." "Fine, eight hundred. They'll talk about it, tell their friends, word will spread, the story will get wilder as it spreads, it always does, but there wasn't any television coverage, no concrete proof of what happened. It'll blow over ... in time." "I hope you're right, Patricia." The celebration had been going on for almost three quarters of an hour when a couple of televisions suspended from the ceiling of the restaurant turned on and a video started playing. It was the game. The picture switched off after a few seconds, then it was back, replaying the last shot. The crowd roared. Oooohhh CRAP! * * * *** * * * *** * * * All the cars drove up the driveway, horns honking and lights flashing. Switching to the front door camera, I saw the men carrying Gretchen up to the porch in their hands over their heads. Those not carrying were applauding. All were shouting, including Hobbes. From their appearances and behavior, some of the men had a few too many drinks. I had better get out there to make sure the celebration didn't attract unneeded attention. By the time I had reached the main house, everyone was inside, Gretchen still being paraded around in the air, laughing loudly. "I take it that things went well?" I shout. The celebration stops, though all the men are still smiling broadly. They gently drop Gretchen onto her feet, as Hobbes makes his way through the crowd towards me. "You should have been there, Enrique! There has never been a game like it in the entire history of basketball!" "I'm sure that you are exaggerating, Raymond ..." "Oh, he's not Mr. Cardoza" said Henry, waving a video camera in his right hand. "I got the whole thing here. Jackson says he's putting it up on YouTube. Patricia Conner ain't human. If this don't prove it, nothing will! That little girl got knocked out, came back and hit three point shots like a God damn machine! That last shot? Never been one like it, EVER! She practically beat that cheating bunch of bastards all by herself." Clearly, Henry was at least tipsy, probably spiffed, but not blotto. "Wait just a second, Henry" said Hobbes, who was also in his cups. "Patricia was unbelievable, but she wouldn't have had to work so hard if Gretchen hadn't been ejected." Most of the men nodded and murmured enthusiastically in agreement, and I don't think they were sucking up. "You're right, you're absolutely fucking right, Mr. Hobbes" said Henry. "With Gretchen out there, they'd have won, going away. But without her ... she really stuck in the knife and twisted it on that last shot. Fucking amazin'." "Agreed Henry ... fucking amazin'." Nothing is going to be accomplished tonight, though I need to review that video. Sports bore me but there could be some new information buried in there somewhere. Right now, it is best to break this up. "I'm so happy that everything worked out in the end, for everybody. However, it is quite late and tomorrow is a busy day ... for all of us. I would suggest that we call it a night and all of those who have had too much to drink should stay in the bunkhouse tonight. No need to spoil such a wonderful evening with a DUI arrest. What do you say ... Mr. Hobbes?" "An excellent idea, Enrique! Have the maids make up how ever many beds we need. We must watch the video together, particularly the first quarter when Gretchen outplayed their star." Joy. "I look forward to it, Raymond. Now, every one to bed. I'll make sure the security is covered for the night." Hobbes slaps me on the shoulder. "Good man, Enrique Cardoza. I can always rely on you." He then puts his arm around Gretchen's shoulder and she helps him up the steps. Looking around at the condition of the rest of the men as they slowly walk away, it's good that no one has an interest in attacking us. This group couldn't turn back a Girl Scout troop tonight. I pull Escaban aside before he leaves. "What happened out there, Tony?" "Just what they said, Mr. Cardoza. Patricia Conner was totally awesome tonight." "What is this 'shot' they all speak of?" He chuckles. "No shit, it was amazing. She stalked by the other team's bench, as time was running out, staring them down, completely ignoring what was happening on the court. She kept going, headed right out of bounds and at the very last second, she throws the ball over her shoulder, never even looking at the basket before or after the shot. She runs off the court and the shot goes in. It really was a million to one shot, maybe a billion to one, but she never looked. The fans go nuts, flooding the floor. Hobbes has everybody go to this pizza place, pays for the whole thing. Needless to say, there was a lot of beer drunk ... drank? Whatever. Now, we're back here. Oh, that shit about Conner being a machine, not human? Forget it. She bleeds, I saw it with my own eyes. And she did get knocked out, out cold, for like ten minutes, at least. She's no machine but she is the toughest, meanest girl I've ever seen in my life." "How do you account for her accuracy in shooting the basketball?" "That last one? No idea. The rest, she just got hot. Sometimes a player gets in a groove, everything they throw up goes in. I've seen it before. It's impressive when it happens but it's not a miracle or anything." As I thought, nothing extraordinary, though I will review the video ... with Hobbes, if it can't be avoided. * * * *** * * * *** * * * I was back in Wisconsin. At least that's were I think I am. I'm younger, smaller and, for some reason, it feels familiar, like home, though not a happy one. As I move from room to room, I'm on the alert for my father, the man who repeatedly raped me. It's a small house but well kept, neat and clean, like my father likes it. How do I know that? Walking down a short hallway, I pause at the first closed door, starting to reach for the door knob but stop, my hand hovering near the knob before I slowly pull it back. Things have happened in this room, things I don't want to remember. I move down the hall to the next room. It feels safer. I open it and peer in. Clearly a girl's room. Bright pastels, frilly curtains, stuffed animals ... two beds. I carefully close the door and lean on it. A sister. I have a sister. A younger sister. "Jenny Jo!" Someone called my name. They were in the kitchen. It wasn't Daddy, thank God. When I get there, the only other person is a small woman, not a lot taller than me, working at the sink. At least now I know where I get my height. "Yes, Momma?" "You need to get changed, your father will be home soon and he wants you to go to the lake with him tonight." Not Again! I can't do that again! Suddenly, another girl runs into the kitchen. "Why does Jenny Jo get to go to the lake? I love fishing, she hates it! Why can't I go?" "Hush Penny. You're father will take you when you get older. Right now, he's taking Jenny Jo. Go get ready, girl." Penny frowns at me, whips around, her twin pony tails flying behind her and skips away. He'll do it to her too. When she gets old enough, he'll do the same thing to her. He'll rape his daughter. He'll rape my sister. My baby sister. She's got ... how old is she? How old am I? "Momma? I don't want to go with Daddy tonight. He ... he ... does things ... to me. I can't go with him to the lake." She dries her hands on the apron she's wearing, then quickly reaches out, grabbing my left wrist and twisting it. "OOWW! MOMMA!" She pulls me closer, still twisting. "Hush Girl! Your daddy works hard, putting food on our table, keeping a roof over your ungrateful head, buying you those fancy clothes and pretty underwear. It's the least that you can do to show a little appreciation now and then!" She let's go, pushing me away. She knows! I suspected that she knew but ... she knows and she won't stop him! She won't help me! "Momma, what about Penny?" "What about her?" "Will Daddy ... will he ..." She turns back to the sink. "Sooner or later. Your father likes young