A Life of Inches Read Online Free

Delvin will let me ride with him? I wanna rock Jeremy Wilder’s world.”
    Woodie holds out his hands, palms up. “Knock yourself out. He said he wanted to make us better baseball players. Maybe he can give you a few pointers.”
    The girl’s eyebrows explode upward. “Really?”
    Rolling her eyes, Molly hooks her arm around mine and leads me toward the parking lot. “Pizza is on me tonight, boys.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
    August 25, 1992
     
    Molly’s sneering lips widen. “You gonna shoot the ball or do you need an invitation?”
    Woodie piles on. “Go easy. Ryan’s worried he might be an H-O-R after all.”
    Molly’s sneer falls into a mock frown. “Awww, is wittle Wyan afwaid of losing to a wittle girl?”
    I applaud her effort to mess with my focus, though Molly should know by now that her mere presence qualifies as enough distraction. I’d be less intimidated hanging out on the set of Baywatch in my boxers.
    “Yeah, tough words coming from such an H-O like yourself,” I jaw back. “When I’m done beating you this game, I can give you some private lessons if you’d like. Then maybe you can at least compete at Woodie’s grade-school level.”
    Molly’s eyes are two emeralds at the bottom of a coalmine, and I can’t keep a straight face as she giggles. Without taking my focus off her, I raise my hands and shoot the ball.
    The three of us know every crack in the pavement, the bend in the rims, the best angles to avoid sun glare, and since we’re using my ball, I even know just how much it will bounce. Maybe that seems petty, but I’ll do whatever it takes to impress Molly—and beat Woodie.
    Clank.
    The ball bounces off the rim, right back at me, forcing me to break our stare. No matter how much I want to deny it, I am an H-O-R now.
    “All right, hotshot.” I gun the ball toward Woodie. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
    Molly jogs out of the way as Woodie dribbles across the court, and says, “Ryan, I didn’t want to do this to you, but I think you’ve talked your way out of this game. If you guys want to concede victory after this, I won’t hold it against you one bit.”
    His tone is full of good natured-humor, but his body language is all business.
    “Big talk from a man in the midst of a, what, six-game losing streak? Maybe you should keep that steam engine of a mouth clamped until after you make a shot or two.” Normally I’m not much of a trash-talker, but being on a winning streak feels good, and with Woodie and Molly around it doesn’t happen often.
    “Molly, come over here.” Woodie directs our female companion a few feet in front of the basket. “No, face me. Yeah, that’s good. Um, take one big step back. Not that big. Come forward, a few inches. Perfect.”
    As he backs away, Woodie points to a crack in the cement just under the rusted basket. “Ryan, I need you to stand by the hoop and be ready.”
    “For what?”
    “Well, if all goes well, you won’t have to be ready for anything. I’m going to dribble the ball at break-neck speed, jump over Molly, and slam this baby left-handed.”
    All of a sudden, my winning streak looks to be in jeopardy. “Real brave of you to risk Molly sustaining injuries, just to win a stupid game.”
    The concern in my voice is as much about losing as it is for Molly’s safety.
    Molly crosses her arms and stares at Woodie.
    “Hey,” he says, “if you don’t feel comfortable, I can jump over Ryan. If he kneels down, that is.” On the surface, it’s a gentlemanly offer, but Woodie knows there’s no way in hell Molly would ever back down from a challenge. The three of us are pretty predictable this way; if you want us to do something, just tell us we can’t do it.
    With Woodie standing out beyond the arc, I cup a hand next to my mouth to block the wind. “No chance, hotshot. This will be the best seat in the house to laugh as you fall on your ass.”
    Woodie nods. “Okay then. Ryan, old buddy, if I