OCR Text |
Show tittering when when they didn't even hit the backboard. In a large plastic container resembling a garbage can, Kim found a dozen or so rubber basketballs. Lifting the top one off the pile, she bounced it down to the top of the key- Trying to appear casual, she tossed the ball towards the basket. But it was an air ball, missing the rim. Embarrassed, she glanced around to see if anyone had seen her miss. Nerves, she thought. Relax. She took a deep breath and exhaled. Again, she shot. Swoosh. This time it was a perfect shot from the foul line. For the next thirty minutes she practiced lay-ups, foul shots, jump shots, until her blond hair was soaked and her sweat shirt clung to her skin. At four o'clock Miss Fites walked into the gym. She was young, in her twenties Kim guessed, with short brown hair and a pigeon-toed walk. She was wearing red shorts and a T-shirt with STANFORD written across the front in red letters. For nearly ten minutes Miss Fites did nothing but stand on the sidelines, watching the girls. Several times, from the corner of her eye, Kim saw Miss Fites watching her, and she automatically doubled her pace, running faster and shooting more baskets until salt stung her eyes, and her heart hammered against her ribs. "All right," Miss Fites finally called. "Over here." 81 |