Free Throws, Friendship, and Other Things We Fouled Up

By Jenn Bishop

Competitive basketball takes center court in this fast-paced novel about two girls finding the truth about themselves—and their families—against the backdrop of middle school and college hoops.

Cincinnati, Ohio, lives and dies by college basketball, with two elite Division I rivals separated by a mere three miles. Rory's dad just secured a new coaching gig at the University of Cincinnati, so it means yet another school and move for her, only this time to her dad's hometown. Rory's life revolves around basketball; she's never had a close friend outside of it. Could this be a chance for a fresh start?

Abby has always lived in Cincinnati, where her dad grew up playing ball and now coaches at Xavier University. But Abby has recently retreated from basketball after a frustrating season that left her confidence in shambles. This year, she finds herself on the outside looking in when it comes to her former teammates, and she could seriously use a new friend.

The coaches' daughters connect over their shared love of the game when Abby chaperones Rory on her first day of school. But when Abby's dad practically forbids their friendship because of something that happened between him and Rory's dad when they were younger, Abby and Rory have no choice but to move their budding friendship underground.

Can the two of them get to the bottom of what went down between their dads in the 1990s before history repeats itself?

SPORTS BOOKS FOR GIRLS: This book stars two protagonists who love basketball in their own ways and features a spectrum of characters (including a basketball-playing nun!) who engage with the sport individually and distinctly. The breadth of athletes reflects the reality of sports for kids and young teens, making the story appealing to a wide range of readers.

AUTHENTIC & ACCESSIBLE NARRATIVE: Reluctant readers and book lovers alike will find a genuine story that conveys real emotions, family struggles, and insecurities driven by the tension of middle school sports.

FAST-PACED AND FUN: Unraveling like a mystery but moving like a he-said, she-said, and traveling through time and generations, this book has the right level of high stakes to keep readers hooked to the end.

ENDURING LEGACY OF BASKETBALL: As one of the world's most popular sports, basketball is significant to people of all ages and carries a sense of nostalgia across generations. It's played in schools across the globe, on official sports teams and in gym class, and brings members of communities together in parks and recreational centers. This sport's positive influence on overlooked communities and students from economically impacted backgrounds also speaks to the importance of basketball at a social level.

Perfect for:

• Fans of basketball
• Anyone looking for basketball books for teens and tweens
• Parents, teachers, and librarians seeking positive children's friendship books
• Readers of YA sports novels like The Crossover by Kwame Alexander, Dragon Hoops by Gene Luen Yang, and Knockout by K.A. Holt

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chronicle Books Digital
• Release date: Oct 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9781797217949

Jenn Bishop

Jenn Bishop is the author of the middle grade novels Things You Can’t Say, 14 Hollow Road, The Distance to Home, and Where We Used to Roam. She grew up in Massachusetts and as a college student spent one incredible summer in Wyoming. She has been obsessed with bison ever since. After working as a children’s librarian, she received her MFA in writing for children and young adults from the Vermont College of Fine Arts. Jenn currently calls Cincinnati, Ohio, home. Visit her online at JennBishop.com.

Book preview

My dad always says you can fall in love with any place if you try hard enough, but I don’t know. Can I really fall in love with a city that puts chili on top of spaghetti? A city with two professional teams historically best known for losing?

To be fair I have yet to eat this chili, or see the Reds or Bengals play, though Grandpa promises he’ll take me to Paycor Stadium soon. Still.

Now, what did I tell ya, kid? Grandpa asks, as we idle in his truck outside my new school in Cincinnati.

Don’t make friends with Xavier fans?

That’s my girl!

Back in New Haven, my old school looked like Hogwarts—ancient and gothic with ivy creeping up the walls—but this one just looks boring and new. Three stories, all brick, with a glass addition off the side that looked interesting at first but, now that we’re closer, I’m pretty sure is just the cafeteria.

You’re a March. Grandpa’s head nearly brushes the ceiling as he gives me an encouraging smile. You got this.

And even though I’m still wondering if I chose the right outfit (despite trying on five before this one) and worrying that I didn’t get placed in the correct math level (basketball stats aren’t the only numbers I like to crunch), I muster a confident smile and tell Grandpa, I got this.

Judy’ll be here for you at three. Can’t wait to hear how it went, kid.

A fellow eighth grader named Kellan is supposed to greet me at the front door. Making my way through the courtyard, I notice a red-haired girl sitting all alone under a birch tree. The morning light makes her hair practically glow. It’s the kind of thing my mom would stop and photograph—well, if she were here.

The text Mom sent a few minutes ago burns a hole in my pocket. Let me know how it goes today! Miss you, Roar. Parks and Rec tonight?

Mom and I started watching Parks and Recreation three years ago when an ice storm left us stuck in Greensboro, North Carolina, for a whole week after a tournament with nothing to do.

At first Mom wasn’t sure it was appropriate for a fifth grader, but I reminded her how many curse words I hear from the sidelines—never mind how people are always telling me I’m mature for my age. (Do other only children get told that all the time, or just me?)

By the time we finally made it home, we were deep into season three, and in the months that followed we squeezed in an episode or two—okay, sometimes five—whenever we could. Those evenings when Dad was out of town or working late were perfect for Parks and Rec binges. He jokingly complained that Leslie Knope was too chipper for his taste. I’d like to see her coach a season of college basketball.

But it’s okay that Dad doesn’t like the show. Dad and I have plenty in common: basketball, of course, but also an intense work ethic, that March stubborn streak, and, unfortunately, the most sunburn-prone skin on the planet. Parks and Rec was something special for just me and Mom. Our cozy escape from the real world. Our home, even if our actual house and home city were always changing.

But now they’re changing again. Only this time it’s just me who did the moving. And it’s all Mom’s fault.

If you want to know how it goes that badly, you should’ve moved here too, I want to reply. But I can’t even type it. It’s easier to write nothing back at all and let her think I’m too busy.

Standing on the front steps, surrounded by a group of girls with their hair in all kinds of braids—fishtail, box, cornrows, you name it—is a sporty-looking white girl in a sky-blue polo with her blond hair in two French braids. She calls out, Coach March’s daughter?

Yeah, I answer. It would’ve been nice to be called by my actual name, but I can’t be too surprised. Dad’s a famous college basketball coach—it happens. I’m Rory. Well, technically Aurora, but nobody calls me that.

Sorry—I didn’t know if you had a nickname. I’m Kellan, she says, smiling extra wide. Her eyebrows are darker than her hair. Did she dye it? Mom talked about doing something fun when I got my next haircut, but how fun can it be to dye my hair over FaceTime? Some things—okay, a lot of things—are better in person.

The bell rings and the girls around Kellan scatter. I’ll introduce you to everyone at lunch. We’re all on the basketball team. You play, right?

You could say that. It’s why I chose to come to Cincinnati with Dad. He found a school here with a great basketball team and facilities, and that quickly, I was sold. Coming here was the easiest choice. For me and for basketball—though, they’re basically one and the same.

I follow Kellan inside. What’s your position? I ask.

I’m a forward. You?

A guard—I love running the point, but I’m flexible.

The whole walk to homeroom, Kellan and I talk hoops, and for a few minutes my first-day jitters melt away. I’ve just finished telling her about my old travel team back in Connecticut when we reach the door. Well, this is you. My homeroom’s down the hall, but hey, if I don’t see you before lunch, come find me in the cafeteria by the windows.

You might think this girl is a little too eager to be my friend, but that’s the thing about being Coach March’s daughter. No matter where I land, it’s never hard to fall in with the basketball girls.

Sounds good, I say, letting Kellan go.

My homeroom teacher’s bald head has that pinkish glow Dad’s gets after a day at the beach. He straightens his rumpled button-down and gives the Steph Curry bobblehead on his desk a tap. Rory March! I’m Mr. Gorecki, your homeroom teacher.

And a Warriors fan? I ask.

You bet, he says. Nice to meet you. Now, the bell will ring within the minute, followed by morning announcements and the Pledge, but after that I’ll introduce you to the crew, okay?

Sure.

All it takes is one kid noticing me—a boy in a blue Xavier Musketeers hoodie—uh-oh—and suddenly, it’s a domino effect. Everyone’s curious about the new kid.

On my other first days, Mom was there to give me a good look-over. But would Grandpa even notice if I have toothpaste on my shirt? Not unless it’s a Xavier shirt. I glance down—no breakfast crumbs—and check my sneakers. No toilet paper. So far, so good.

Another bell rings and the loudspeaker crackles. Some overcaffeinated students try to get us psyched about auditions for the school play as I run my eyes over my new classmates. Or wait, maybe my forever classmates? Dad has been coveting the University of Cincinnati head coach job for as long as I can remember, and now it’s finally his. These might be the kids I spend the next five years with. The kids I graduate with.

The thought of actually staying put for once makes my brain hurt. Could this city become my home—like, permanent home? The only place that’s ever felt like home for me is Pawnee, Indiana, from Parks and Rec, which sounds ridiculous, I know. The girl who’s lived in glittery Las Vegas, the girl who’s lived just a quick train ride from New York City—she thinks her home is a made-up town in the middle of nowhere from a TV show?

It doesn’t make any sense, unless you stop and think about what home really is. Community. People. Family.

My life up until now has been a big game of musical chairs, but what if this is it—the spot I really land? My Pawnee. My home.

Hey, it’s okay, Mr. Gorecki says, noticing a change in my expression. First days are tough for everyone.

I’m not worried. The squeakiness in my voice betrays me. It’s not that I’m nervous, exactly, just that this is so different from what I’m used to.

Rewind to a week ago and I didn’t even know moving to Cincinnati now was an option. Dad had been flying back and forth on weekends, which probably sounds weird but isn’t that strange for a college coach with access to a charter jet. I had no idea my parents were separating, and I for sure didn’t anticipate getting to choose which one to live with. Choose. I am really starting to hate that word.

Originally, I was supposed to fly out Sunday and start school next Monday, but when I realized the rivalry game was this weekend, I begged and pleaded to have my flight rearranged to be here in time for the big game. (Getting away from Mom a few days ahead of schedule was just an added bonus.)

During the Pledge of Allegiance, I tally eight light-blue Xavier hoodies and exactly zero red Cincinnati ones. Does Dad know he enrolled me in enemy territory? I might be new here, but Grandpa has schooled me plenty in the University of Cincinnati–Xavier rivalry.

Mr. Gorecki clears his throat and all eyes shift back to me. As I mentioned yesterday, we have a new student joining us. Rory’s come from Connecticut, and I hope you’ll give her a warm welcome. Show her how we do things in the Queen City.

In the nasty ’Nati. A short, skinny boy with dirty-blond hair and freckles snickers into his hand. He’s wearing an X hoodie too. Of course.

Not my favorite nickname for the city, but okay. Can I have a volunteer to show Rory around the first couple days?

Not a single hand budges. Sorry, Mr. Gorecki says. Thought for sure we’d have plenty of volunteers.

I accidentally lock eyes with a super tall redheaded girl. Is she the same one who was sitting all by herself under the tree? And wait—is she wearing a Xavier hoodie?

She timidly reaches up her hand.

Thank you, Abby, Mr. Gorecki says.

I take the open seat by the window, and when he’s done with attendance, I make my way over to her.

Thanks for volunteering as tribute, I joke. I can hardly be picky.

Wait, now I’ve got to die for you? I thought I just had to show you around school.

Death. School. They’re practically the same.

Truth, she says, gesturing for my schedule. Okay, so, first off: history, with Mr. Irizarry. Hey! Looks like you’re in all my classes! Except for French. Yeah, sorry, you’re basically stuck with Hayden Decker—Nasty ’Nati—all day too. I’m not sure how he got admitted to our school, but his mom’s a top executive at Procter & Gamble, so she must’ve pulled some strings. Sorry, am I talking too much? Sometimes I do that. Okay, maybe all the time.

This girl cracks me up. There’s no way she was all by herself this morning. That must’ve been somebody else.

We walk down the hall until we reach a door with a Hamilton poster on it. Everyone calls him Mr. Z even though his name begins with an ‘I,’ she explains. There’s an empty seat by mine.

This classroom has yoga balls instead of seats. That quickly, Mr. Z is my favorite teacher.

You probably get asked this a lot, I say, mentally crossing my fingers.

Asked what?

Do you play basketball?

My face must sink when she shakes her head, because she adds, Don’t get me wrong—I love basketball. Watching it, though. Have you ever wondered if you were born into the wrong body? I think maybe I was supposed to be short, but somehow I ended up in a tall person’s body and my brain still hasn’t gotten the signals right. Let’s put it this way: I walk into doorways a lot. Like, a lot a lot. She points to a bruise on her left arm.

That’s a thing?

It is when you’re me. And yes, I have fallen off these ‘chairs’ before. She grins.

I don’t know what it is about her, only I can’t help grinning back. Even if she is a Xavier fan.

So what if she doesn’t play? Leslie Knope and Ann Perkins don’t have everything in common and they’re best friends.

Maybe it’s a sign.

Rory and I slink into the back row in Mr. Z’s room, where she confidently sits down on one of his bouncy balls. I eye mine with suspicion.

Sure, they look fun and, supposedly, they’re great for your core, but I swear Mr. Z is secretly punking me. On the first day of class, I tumbled off mine and right into the wall. And if you think Hayden Decker let me forget about it, you don’t know Hayden Decker.

For a split second I don’t know what to tell Rory when she asks if I play basketball. Definitely not the full story. One: There isn’t time for it. And two: It’s not like we’re going to be friends. It’s just a matter of time till she falls in with the team anyway. They’re as good at sucking you in as they are at spitting you out. And they are all-conference level good at that.

Mr. Z clicks on the whiteboard and shoots a funny look in my direction.

Lord, what did I do wrong this time?

Rory March! he exclaims. Must be a case of the Mondays … on a Friday. For some reason I thought you were starting next week. If you haven’t heard, kids, Rory’s father is the new men’s basketball head coach at the University of Cincinnati.

Whoa! What are the odds? Never mind the day before the Shootout.

Most rivals aren’t as geographically close as Xavier and Cincinnati, with only three miles separating the schools. I can’t believe I’m buddied up with the only other person in this city who actually gets what my life is like. Well, that part of it.

Hayden and a few of his friends cough.

Come on, boys. You’re better than that. Mr. Z sternly stares them down until the coughing subsides. Sorry, Rory. We may be filled with Xavier Musketeers fans on the eve of the Crosstown Shootout, but that shouldn’t affect your welcome here.

Rory’s bouncing ever so slightly on her seat, her face growing red as Mr. Z rambles on about last night’s homework assignment.

I try to keep it cool—which takes serious effort. I pull out my notebook and scribble down, No way! My dad’s the head coach at Xavier.

When Rory opens the note, her jaw literally drops. She scribbles something down, passing it back to me.

Doesn’t that make us enemies?

Good. So, she gets it. Absolutely. ;)

Rory snickers when I hand it back. She pulls her thick brown hair behind her shoulders and focuses on the teacher like it’s second nature for her. With her round face and small nose, she’s the total opposite of me. Between my pointy nose and knees and elbows of death, I’m liable to poke someone’s eye out without even trying.

For the rest of class, I try my hardest to pay attention, but it’s not easy. I’ve never met anyone who understands what it’s like having a dad with such a public job. Perfect strangers still complain to me about how Dad mismanaged the final possession in last year’s conference tournament semifinal. Dude, he knows. But since time machines haven’t been invented, we’re going to have to live with it.

When the bell rings for second period, the words come spilling out of me. Why’d you move here now? I ask as we head to Mr. G’s for algebra. Didn’t your dad get hired in April?

Rory nods, biting her lip. He was going to fly back and forth for a couple years, but that plan kind of fell apart. She goes quiet, and I wish I hadn’t asked. My mom says not everyone has verbal diarrhea like me.

Sorry. It’s none of my business.

You probably won’t be the only one who asks, so I’d better get used to it. My parents are separating. They just told me last weekend.

Oh my gosh, Rory.

She grabs a seat beside me in Mr. G’s room. They told me I could choose where I wanted to live. Back in Connecticut, I only have my mom, but here I also have my grandpa and Judy—his girlfriend who’s like a grandmother to me. Plus, I’ve moved around a lot, so I’m used to it. She sounds surprisingly chill about everything, especially considering how recently it happened. If it were me, I’d be having a complete meltdown. I mean, I’m the one who can barely sit on a chair without falling off it. On a good day. Rory’s such a pro.

I don’t know what I’d do if I had to make that choice. Probably because my parents never give me a choice in anything, but still.

Yeah. I’m pretty sure the crease between her eyebrows is a signal for I don’t want to talk about this. I couldn’t imagine basketball season without my dad. Plus, my grandpa used to coach. This is the best place for me, even if I don’t know anyone.

You know me, I say. Not that she really does yet, but I haven’t harassed her for being a Cincinnati Bearcats fan, so that’s got to put me ahead of half this school.

So far, so good? Mr. G stops by Rory’s desk.

She flashes him a thumbs-up.

Well, you’re in good hands with our Abby. Though she might talk your ear off if you don’t stop her.

Hey, I say. I’ll do it whether she stops me or not.

On the way to lunch, Rory stops to use the bathroom by the cafeteria.

Want me to wait for you? I ask.

Nah, I’ve got this. Can you save me a seat? I packed a lunch.

That girl is some kind of brave if she’s planning to head into the cafeteria by herself on her first day.

Ever since eighth grade started, I’ve been on the hunt for a new lunch spot. You’d think it wouldn’t be so hard, but this is middle school. Lunchtime is treacherous.

Brianna Hayward, who lives on my street, said I could sit with her and her super studious friends, but they kept throwing shade at sportsball, so eventually I gave up. I tried the library, but it turns out I laugh too loud for the new library aide. And so the past few weeks, I’ve just floated around. Like a piece of trash at the park that no one wants to pick up because, ew, trash.

Maybe Rory doesn’t have it so bad, moving around all the time. So many chances to reinvent yourself. Forget the past. Get a fresh start.

Normally I pack a lunch too, but I always make an exception for pizza day. Mrs. Castleman’s pepperoni pizza is almost as good as Dewey’s.

The line’s extra long, so I check on the Xavier basketball YouTube account. Before school, I uploaded a video of our new center, Zach Sackett. Since the season began last month, I’ve been recording videos to introduce fans to the secret talents of our new players.

For example, Zach can gargle the alphabet, which sounded gross until I saw him do it, and now I want to learn. I check his hits: not as many as Moses Bowen got for riding a unicycle, but not bad considering the video’s only been up since this morning.

I’m almost at the front of the pizza line when I hear Hayden Decker’s unmistakable cackle. He’s crouched beside his usual lunch table, doing some kind of weird leprechaun walk and grabbing the collar of his friend’s shirt.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Wilson is the cafeteria monitor today. She’s the sweetest human, but at eighty-two, she really should retire. She’s across the room and it’ll take her half the lunch period to circle back.

Defense! Defense! Defense! Hayden crows. His friends crack up at his impression of Rory’s dad. Dude’s face gets so red on the sidelines, I’m surprised he hasn’t had a heart attack.

Levi Callahan’s phone is out, recording.

Hey, Rory! Hayden shouts.

I glance back at the bathroom, ready to run interference, but she’s not there. I spot