Late March
Mack sat in the back seat of Steph’s battered Toyota Corolla, squished between Kiki and another player. The three of them barely fit; the car was a jumble of elbows and knees, long legs every which way. Music blared through tinny speakers up front. Steph drove, singing at the top of her lungs, and a fourth player in the coveted passenger seat bopped her dreadlocks in time with the heavy rap beat. Another car followed close behind them with more players from the Lady Rebels team in it.
Mack couldn’t help feeling a little out of her league. Older than everyone else in the car by almost twenty years—hell, in both cars, who was she kidding?—she suspected she might get into trouble with the college administrators if word about this little excursion got back to her supervisor. At th
