Down On My Knees by Victor McGlothin Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t miss a single thing.”
    â€œHe never does, Ma.”
    Grace contemplated telling André that she’d peeped the cheerleader’s well-devised sleight-of-hand phone-number pass, but thought better of it. Perhaps it was more prudent to let him enjoy the moment and think he’d put one over on her. Lord knows, she’d gotten away with her share of mischief when she was his age. Besides, there wasn’t much Grace could do but watch him spread his wings and pray that severalyears passed before he became consumed with girls in short skirts and getting at what was underneath them.
    Skyler spotted André in the parking lot from the confines of an old rusted-out Chevrolet Impala. The skies were so clear that it seemed improbable a storm had blown through a couple of hours before, except for the pools of puddles here and there. “Dré,” Skyler yelled out, approaching with long, nimble strides. “Hey man, good game today. Next time, keep the ball a little closer to your hip. A better guard would have locked down and come away with a few gimmies.”
    â€œThanks Sky, I’ll watch that. It’s too bad Central didn’t bring a better guard with them.” The boys slapped high-fives as Grace fiddled in her purse for car keys. André peered through the windows of the SUV to see if she’d locked them inside, but two large boxes caught his attention instead. “Ma, what are those?”
    Grace glanced up with her keyless remote in hand. “Oh, just a little something for a hotshot freshman point guard and his personal statistician.” She unlocked the rear doors with a steady eye on the fellows, noting their curiosity. “It appearsthat a very famous Dallas Maverick wanted to say thanks to a couple of deserving fans.”
    André’s eyes grew wide as he tore into the first box. “Ahh, Ma, basketballs signed by All-World Allen Foray!” He shoved the second box into Skyler’s waiting arms, then dove back into the other goodies at the bottom of the one he’d claimed for his own. Grace stood back, out of the way, as both boys rifled through professional basketball marketingapparel and NBA-approved knickknacks.
    â€œMiss H!” Skyler cheered. “Ah, man, this is old-school hype. Can I keep the throwback jersey?”
    â€œYes, of course,” Grace shrugged, feeling like a mother with two sons. She understood the marketing ploy behind old-school nostalgic jerseys, but failed to understand why it was so fashionable to wear something brand new that was carefully manufactured to look twenty years old. “I met with Allen yesterday for a bit of business and told him how much of a role model he was,” she recounted. “Then he had this stuff sent over afterward. No big deal.”
    â€œNo big deal!” the boys chuckled in unison. “Women just don’t know.”
    Allen had scored major points with Grace’s son, so his conning strategy to get in through the back door was in full tilt. She figured he’d show up again, merely by chance of course, and then lay on the charm with her the best way he knew how. The sad thing was, at Allen’s age, he didn’t know nearly enough about grown women to pull it off.
    â€œYou’re the greatest, Miss Hilliard,” Skyler thanked her with big, round, adoring eyes.
    â€œYeah Ma, the greatest,” added André, without taking his eyes off his new toys. He was still a boy after all, she thought, like a small child on Christmas morning after she had been taken to the cleaners by department store advertisements promoting good tidings and bad credit.
    Suddenly Grace remembered another thing: she’d forgottenher marketing reports in the bleachers. “Hey guys, I’ll be right back. Keep an eye on the car.”
    Without hesitation, she marched back toward the metal gymnasium doors, where the sweaty pervert was turning the locks. “Could you wait a