43. Wednesday Nights

The words reel through her mind as she watches the game play out against the setting sun, but to no avail. Every time she tries to speak, she freezes, the awkward silence a dry heave, and then the moment passes along with the what-ifs and could-haves.

But the game is still young as she watches, the ball dribbles across the pavement to a John Wesley Hoover, 17, who arcs it, pushes up his glasses and watches the swish. Hoover chuckles, his jump shot never fails, and for a split second his eyes light up like when he's playing guitar again but it's already packed up in his Nissan. He's pretty good, suprising, since he hasn't played besides these Wednesday nights and the years up in his bedroom teaching himself.

Fasty gets the rebound, groaning. He's 22, but just like a teenager, he hates to lose. You can't tell by the way he slams down the ball that unlike a teenager, he owns up to anything he does wrong, that he has a respect and determination to be kind and sweet and everything he wasn't in high school. But, wait, look again and you see it – he tips it off to the freshman that he drives to club every week; Tyler takes it and sinks a layup and his face lights up. Fasty could have hit that shot with his eyes closed, not like he'd let anyone know.

Next thing you know Bob has the ball, and he takes it across the court, letting the imaginary clock run down. He's looking for the perfect spot to take the shot, but everyone knows he can make anything, he's just showing off.

She's still watching, and wondering if maybe him being a show-off is the real show after all, anyone who takes a minute to look at Bob can tell that he's the real deal. Both him and his wife Carrie are. They're teachers, not because they can't do anything better, but because they honestly want to make a difference and the truth is they do, because they're nice and funny and friendly and for some reason they still pay attention to high schoolers and their high school problems.

Carrie's on the sidelines, talking with Kelly, who's got a voice bigger than her body and a heart bigger than all that. Two minutes talking to her and you'll feel like her best friend, and the thing is that she actually cares. Alex is standing next to her, she's 17 and completely gorgeous but she doesn't know it. Maybe that's why she's so nice to the younger kids, or maybe that's just who she is.

Mel's there too, and when she laughs the gentle music fills the April air. She's quiet but when she talks she has something to say, while her arms are crossed they're also lifting people up. Her husband, Ben, is on the other side of the driveway, trying to dunk the ball but failing horribly. He's funny though, always smiling, and he knows just what to say to make someone feel a hundred times better. Speaking of which – "Hey, Rachel, you want to play?"

She catches the ball as easily as Ben hurls it to her. Rachel smiles and nods, her heart rising with the steady dribbles between her hands.

She shoots, she scores, and her eyes are tearing up because she's realizing once again that these are the most beautiful people she's ever met and she knows exactly why. Because she can sink a three pointer but she can't say two words to the eight people that saved her life. Because these Wednesday nights are the ones that she'll remember forever, but for all the money in the world she won't be able to come back and be any more charming or outgoing or any of the other things she so desperately wishes she was.

But then she smiles. Because somehow they love her anyway. And that's enough to carry her until she learns to fly.