“Ten seconds left on the clock,” I say, rolling the basketball around in my hands. I take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Down by one, this is for the game.”
I start to dribble, bouncing the ball on the concrete slab my dad laid out for me two summers ago. It’s a twenty-by-twenty foot square set just behind the barn. We have the backboard and hoop hanging onto the wood siding. It’s technically only nine feet high, but it looks official. I painted the foul line and the three point arc, though, they are pretty faded already.
“Wes Spencer with the ball in his hands and a chance to win it for the Dark Burrow Crows.” I dribble to my left and then between my legs to my right. “Three, two, one… he gets it off just in time!”
I gather the ball and go into my jump shot, releasing at the highest point. I land back on the ground, watching the ball spin through the air, heading straight for the hoop.
Swoosh! The ball goes through the hoop and down into the net perfectly.
“The crowd goes wild! Wes Spencer does it again! The Crows win! The Crows win!” I jump up and down with my hands in the air, pretending that my teammates are rushing in around me, cheering and celebrating with me.
“Nice shot!”
I stop jumping and turn around. My dad is standing next to the tractor, smiling. “Are you finally going to try out for the school team?”
“Oh, thanks. Um, I don’t know,” I say turning away, a bit embarrassed. I didn’t realize anyone was watching me. I walk over to the edge of the concrete slab, where the ball is sitting half in the grass, and pick it up.
“You know you’re good enough,” Dad says. “Can’t hurt to try.”
“Don’t you need me here, it’s almost pumpkin season?” I ask.
Dad laughs and then gestures to the farm around us. “We barely got any crop last year and this year looks worse. I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that. Go on and try out for the team. I’ll be able to handle everything here.”
“Are you sure?” I glance around at the barren fields surrounding the house and barn. Last year we barely had enough pumpkins for the town. Kids at school made a big deal about our crappy small pumpkins. Some of them even threatened to go to the next town over this year so they could get big pumpkins. I know money is already tight. I don’t know what will happen if we don’t have a good crop this year.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says, still chuckling, though I can tell it isn’t his happy laugh. It sounds like his nervous laugh.
“Okay, Dad,” I reply. “I’ll give it a shot.”
“Good. Now go wash up for dinner.”
I nod and spin the basketball in my hands as I walk toward the house. Dad stays by the tractor, he’s still staring at the basketball court like I’m out there playing on it. I wonder what he’s thinking about. I know the pumpkin patch is a big deal and he really does need my help. I don’t know if trying out for the team is the right thing to do.
Just before I get to the back door, I feel the wind pick up. It’s just the beginning of fall, but the breeze carries a hint of winter. I feel chill bumps covering my arms and rub them. I pull open the back screen door and it creaks like one of the crows that hangs out on the barn. This whole town is full of crows. Crows and bats.
Inside, Mom is standing in the kitchen. She’s making dinner and it smells like spaghetti. I see steam rising up from a large pot on the stove.
“Hey,” she says when she sees me.
“Hey.” I set my basketball down on the floor and then take off my shoes. Mom hates shoes in the house.
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” she says as she picks up a spoon and starts stirring whatever is in the steaming pot.
“I’ll go wash up,” I tell her.
“And go change out of those sweaty clothes.”
“Alright,” I say, heading toward the hallway and the bathroom.
“Wes,” she calls out before I get too far. “The harvest festival is tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Even though we aren’t entering in the crop contests, your dad still wants to go,” she says.
“Why?” I ask. I think about the kids at school being there. I think about our neighbors, The Wilson's. Jeremy Wilson is a year older than me and captain of the basketball team. His family bought half of our farm two years ago when we were so tight on money that we could barely afford food. They own all of the corn fields in the town now. His dad hasn’t had any problems growing the corn like we did. I try not to believe our family is cursed.
“There is supposed to be a fertilizer company with a new product that your Dad thinks will help our patch. He says it’s not too late to grow some pumpkins this year.”
I glance out the window at the field where the pumpkin patch is supposed to be; the field is nothing but dirt. “He wants me to go with him?”
“I think it would nice. He might need help loading up the fertilizer in the truck,” she says.
“I’ll go,” I tell her, reluctantly, then turn and head to the bathroom. I really hope I don’t run into Jeremy at the harvest festival.
