ASHLEY This is so frustrating. Again, he's a pro player and I'm not even a newbie. My shoulders slump as I hold the ball. I look at the hoop that's more than ten feet away from me. I'm not even sure I can hit the backboard from this distance, let alone pass it through the net. I stretch out my hand, my fingers pressed against the ball. “It's your turn, isn't it?”André's eyes drop to the ball, then move back to me. He takes it from me, holding it lazily.He doesn't even look at the net as he tosses it, yet, he makes a perfect, clean shot as the ball passes through the net. He keeps his eyes locked on mine the entire time, his expression light. “Do you want me to keep making shots?” he asks, his voice plain. “Or are you gonna try scoring now? We could do this all day, Marià.”I roll my eyes. A show off. A frustratingly smooth show off. He goes to retrieve the ball again, and hands it to me. I take it from him, sighing.“Step back, smarty,” he says, looking down at my legs. I do
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