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against last year’s WBA Champions, the New York Thunder. The house is pretty packed, Melinda.”

“You’re right about that, Todd. A nice sized crowd has shown up tonight to see if Coach Dylan Lambert’s offseason wrangling has paid off.”

“That’s true, Melinda. She’s made a lot of changes this year, including the shocker of the decade, her choice for first pick of the draft, the diminutive

Catherine Hodges.”

“Well, Ms. Hodges may be small, but she has heart, and she knows her way around a basketball court, leading her college team, the UCONN Huskies to an

NCAA championship. It’ll be interesting to see how she fits into the new offensive scheme sources say Coach Lambert has spent the entire offseason

developing and perfecting.”

“Sounds interesting, Melinda. Anything else your sources have to tell you?”

“Not really, Todd. Just that this is an entirely new Badgers team, and that we should look forward to seeing some things we haven’t before from them.”

“I’m sure we’ll all be keeping our eyes and ears open, then. And now, let’s get courtside and listen to the team introductions.”

Hodge stood on the sideline, shifting back and forth on her feet and shaking her hands.

“You doin’ alright, Shortchange?”

Rolling her eyes at her new nickname, Hodge turned toward Shaniqua Chaney, who was standing beside her. “My stomach is a cave and the bats are

rebelling.”

Chaney laughed, making the black and purple beads at the ends of her cornrows click together. Hodge found the sound oddly comforting. “Don’t sweat it,

Shortchange. Those bats’ll always be there. You just gotta use em in your favor.” A careless hand swept forward to the entire arena. “Look at all them

people up there. All of em’s waitin to see you fly or fall. You just tell yourself them bats are gonna help you fly.”

Hodge couldn’t help laughing at the analogy, and the action caused her stomach to settle somewhat. “Thanks, Chane.”

“Hey, no problem, girl. Let’s do ‘em.”

The cheering crowd became silent as the public address announcer’s voice came over the speakers. Hodge’s stomach began to churn again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Horace Johnson Arena, the home of your Birmingham Badgers!”

Jumping to its feet, the crowd went wild, cheering and throwing purple and black streamers which littered the court.

“And here are your starters. A five foot six inch point guard from the University of Connecticut, number 33, Catherine Hodges!”

Hodge ran onto center court in a daze, barely hearing the cheering of the crowd. Though it was something she’d done more times than she could count

during the past eight years of her life, and often in front of crowds much larger than this one, something about this night was different. It seemed almost

magical somehow, dreamlike in a way that even the NCAA Championship hadn’t felt.

Before she knew it, she was surrounded by her teammates and was being escorted to the sidelines, watching as Dylan, dressed in a black suit with a

blinding white shirt beneath, shook the hand of the opposing coach.

Cat blinked, then shook herself out of her daze when she realized that Dylan had joined the group and was imparting some last minute instructions.

“Alright guys,” Dylan said, looking each player directly in the eyes, “play aggressive, play smart. Back each other up, and remember what we’ve been

practicing.” Looking around the circle, Dylan finally smiled as she saw the sea of determined heads nodding. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

The butterflies came back with a vengeance as Hodge returned to center court and waited for the game to begin. The running sweat of her palms

dampened the fabric of her jersey as she wiped her hands in a nervous gesture.

The referee’s whistle blew, and the game was on.

Roo tipped the jump into Chaney’s hands. Chaney passed the ball to Hodge, who dribbled past half court and waited for the play to set up around her. The

defense was easily read as man-to-man, and faced off against her was Tarma McKinney, the best point guard in the league.

Chaney broke free of her coverage and Hodge rifled a pass, which was immediately intercepted by McKinney, who took off down the court like a rocket and

scored the game’s first two points with an easy, uncontested lay-up.

Cursing herself, Hodge stepped beyond the endline and took the ball, passing it to Chaney, then receiving it back and dribbling quickly past center court. A

lane to the basket opened like Moses parting the Red Sea, and she went for it, managing to dribble into the paint before a dark hand shot through and

relieved her of the ball neatly as you please.

Gritting her teeth, Hodge turned and ran after the thief, but McKinney’s speed was greater and again she was forced to watch as the veteran point guard

scored an easy lay-up to make the score 4-0.

McKinney placed the ball on the endline, then turned, brushing Hodge’s shoulder with her own as she ran by. “Go back to the sandbox, scrub. You got no

game.”

“Don’t listen to her, Shortchange,” Chaney advised as she handed the ball to Cat. “Bullshit’s the only thing that comes outta that mouth.”

“I’ll try, Chane,” Hodge sighed as she started back upcourt.

“You don’t try, girl. You do. This shit ain’t no different from what you’ve been through already. Suck it up and play.”

Standing on the sideline, Dylan resisted the urge to turn away as the approach of Diana Caulley registered in the periphery of her vision. “Save it,” she

snapped when Caulley got within range.

“That’s not why you pay me, Dylan,” Caulley interjected softly. “You need to bench her. Now, before she becomes even more of a liability.”

“I told you to save it,” Dylan replied, turning and pinning her assistant coach to the floor with her glare. “She just needs a little time to get settled.”

“How much time are you gonna give her, Dylan? Are you gonna wait until we’re so damn deep in a hole that we’ll never get out?”

“Enough,” Dylan snapped, and turned away, putting an end to the conversation. She kept her gaze focused on Hodge as the young woman drove up and

down the court, always in constant motion. To Dylan’s experienced eye, Cat had settled somewhat, but Dylan frowned as she realized the reason behind it.

As the point guard, Hodge chose the plays the team would use, and Dylan could tell that the young woman was choosing plays that kept her as far away

from the action as possible.

She doesn’t trust herself, Dylan thought, gritting her teeth. Shit.

Her jaw clenched harder as she watched Hodge try a courageous block which, unfortunately, wound up in a shooting foul. That was followed up almost

immediately by a second foul as Hodge pushed off on McKinney in order to get herself free to receive the inbounds pass from Chaney.

Two fouls in two minutes.

Her reluctant decision made, Dylan called out over her shoulder without ever taking her eyes from the action on the court. “Mackey!”

“Yes, Coach?”

“You’re in for Hodge.”

“Ok, Coach.”

Dylan watched as Hodge jogged from the court, sat on the bench, and covered her bowed face with a towel. She sighed softly and allowed the young

woman to stew for a moment as she made sure Mackey was able to pick up the slack.

Assured, Dylan walked back down the sideline and squatted down in front of Hodge, laying a hand atop the point guard’s knee. “Hey.”

Hodge looked up, an expression of abject misery darkening her eyes. “Hey, Coach.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.