Vincent was torn between going to the basketball court and staying for the after school tutorial with Nairobi. The school had started preparing for nationals and Olamide said he could come for their practice match. He wanted to go because in as much as he couldn't make himself play the game, he still enjoyed watching people play it. He knew there was no way under the heavens and on earth that Nairobi would allow him especially if he told her that Olamide invited him. He would have lied that Stephen wanted him but the boys were practicing tomorrow instead.

"Can you invite Nairobi to the court during practice?" Vincent asked Stephen immediately the closing bell rang.

"Why?" Stephen asked back shoving his books carelessly into his bag.

"Olamide wants me to come. And I would like to go but I have a session with Nairobi."

Stephen looked at him like he was stupid. "Why don't you tell her directly?"

"Because obviously she wouldn't let me. Don't be slow bro."

"Be a rebel," Stephen winked at Vincent as he backed his school bag. "Why would she even agree to skip tutorial because I tell her to?"

Vincent didn't want to admit it but he felt like Nairobi and Stephen had a chemistry. He couldn't be sure though.

"If you invite her and I tell her I want to go then she's bound to agree."

"But then I'll have to stay for practice."

Vincent gave him a pleading look. "Please."

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Vincent watched Stephen walk over to Nairobi's desk and sit on it. Stephen said something to her and she laughed. They kept talking and Vincent had to wonder what they were talking about. He only asked Stephen to invite her to the basketball practice.

When Nairobi looked in his direction, he looked away quickly. God, what on earth did Stephen say now? He wondered.

When he looked at them again, Jessica was speaking with them. When Jessica left, Stephen waved at him to come over.

"Hey Ro," he greeted Nairobi after walking reluctantly to where they were standing. Vincent had a thing for giving unique nicknames so he preferred to call Nairobi Ro instead of Naya.

"You could have just told me you wanted to watch the practice instead of sending an intercessor," she said.

Vincent facepalmed and looked at his cousin who gave him a silly smile.

"I'll note that for next time," Vincent told Nairobi.

When they went to the court the girls had already started practicing. Olamide was yelling and waving her hands at a girl. A woman Vincent didn't know stood on a side of the court watching the girls. She was on a track suit pant and a plain tee so Vincent assumed that she was the new coach.

There were three other spectators on the bleachers and they joined them. Nmesoma was not in the court and Vincent felt sorry for her. The girl had not returned to school and he was worried about her. Israel's cheating seemed to be taking a toll on her. When he and Olamide had gone to visit her, she banged the door shut in their face. Olamide spewed all the curse words she knew and stomped away leaving him behind. For a moment he was annoyed that Olamide had the guts to be angry. But he knew his friend had pride, even if she was remorseful her pride wouldn't let her show it.

Watching the girls own the court was somewhat therapeutic for him. Especially Olamide, the way the girl handled the ball every time was badass. She made him want to bounce a ball so bad. Sadly he still couldn't get himself to without flooding his mind with memories, both good and bad.

Nairobi and Stephen got up. When Vincent asked them where they were going, Nairobi said she needed water. Vincent watched them go down the stairs and walk towards the female health prefect who was in charge of the glucose, water and first aid. Vincent was still watching when Nairobi was handed a bottle of water and even when she uncorked it and drank, he was still watching. When she was done, Stephen said something to her that made him glare at him playfully. They stood there for some time talking. Vincent saw Chimamanda wave at them when she was free before concentrating on her game again.

Vincent had to admit it that he wished he was as close to Nairobi as Stephen was. Nairobi was usually free with Stephen but with him, there was this guardedness he usually noticed. There was a lingering awkwardness between them, it was tiny but it was still there. Vincent understood why. He was guarded too because he didn't want to cross any lines. But Stephen and Chijioke had advised him to be bold if he wanted to be friends with Nairobi because she was a closed off person.

Vincent looked away from them and concentrated on the game. After what happened on Saturday which they've not spoken about till today, he thought something had changed between them. Or maybe it was just him. Nairobi had held him in an embrace during his breakdown and that had stirred something in him. He had not expect the hug but he enjoyed it. He had really needed that hug. And he truly appreciated the fact that she never brought up that episode. Despite the fact it classified as memorable, it was still embarrassing to think about.

The duo came back to their seats but they kept distracting Vincent with their side talks. That left him was feeling like a third wheel. But soon enough, the practice match was done and Olamide came over to where they were with a smile lighting up her sweaty face.

"God, this woman is mean!" She whispered as she took the empty seat beside Vincent. "Can you believe she says she can't believe how we made it to finals? I don't like her."

Vincent laughed. Olamide was truly chill-less.

"Pretty boy, how did I do?" She asked Stephen who was still speaking with Nairobi.

"You owned the court as usual," he smiled at her.

"Cuz I'm the queen of that court," she said sassily, adjusting an invisible crown. They laughed. Nairobi didn't, she just hissed.

"Kenya, I'm surprised you're here. What do you know about basketball?"

"Mide," Vincent chided.

She shot him an innocent look. "I'm just curious."

"I know that you're very short for it. It's no wonder you couldn't make even one basket," Nairobi clapped back with a smirk.

Olamide's face morphed into a glare. "I don't actually blame you–"

"You can't actually. You have to blame yourself for being mad enough to think of annoying me," Nairobi interrupted with a glare of her own.

Before Olamide could get any words out again, Nairobi excused herself.

Olamide gaped at her as she walked away before turning her attention to Vincent. "How do you stand her all of a sudden? So fucking prideful. Just because she has a scholarship she thinks she actually has the liberty to act anyhow."

"Don't talk like that na."

"Pretty boy," she called Stephen. He hummed a response turning his attention to her  "I hope you are not hitting on her."

Stephen chuckled. "I'm trying not to."

"Try harder."

"But I'm not promising not to," he said with a rueful smile. Vincent stared at his cousin for a while. It was obvious to Vincent and Chijioke that Stephen was interested in Nairobi but he always argued that it wasn't in that manner. Now his statement was contradicting. Vincent shook his head mentally. He didn't care what his cousin was up to. Or maybe he cared just a little bit.

"Hopeless." Olamide rolled her eyes. Vincent looked away from an oblivious Stephen's  to see Olamide staring at him pointedly.

"I'm only trying to be her friend," he said, raising his hands in surrender.

Olamide sighed. "I know I can't choose your friends but I really hope that's all to it."

Vincent punched her playfully. "Rest abeg."

Olamide jumped to her feet. "I need to go and freshen up. See you guys soon, later or tomorrow."

When she left, Vincent glanced at his watch. He had informed his driver to come at a later time and it was already time to leave.

"Stephen are you going yet?"

"Definitely. I didn't inform Mr. Abiola that I would stay back for practice."

***

The ball was dusty and the court looked terrible. Vincent didn't mind. The only thing on his mind was to throw a ball into the basket that loomed high in front of him.

He bounced the ball once and a memory flashed. He bounced it again and again and again. He remembered the first time his mother taught him how to aim for a basket.

It was on a Saturday afternoon. The court looked better and the air was filled with the sounds of chirping birds. He had clutched  the basketball unsteadily and gazed up at the hoop unsure of his ability to make the basket. His mother with a smile on her face knelt beside him. She gently guided his stance, explaining to him how to make a throw.

"Hold the basketball with one hand under the ball and the other hand on the side," she told him correcting his hands accordingly. "Now I want you to lock your eyes on the hoop and visualize the ball going through the net."

Vincent did just that. The leather ball felt cool against his fingertips as he lifted it, his gaze locked onto the newly painted hoop ahead.

"Good boy. Now you have to bend your knees and then straighten them as you release the ball. Throw when you're ready Love!"

With a deep breath, he followed his mother's words, releasing the ball into the air. But he had failed. The ball went way over the basket.

"You wouldn't always get it. But what matters is that you keep trying, love." She said to him when he grumbled and threatened not to play again. "Learn from your mistake and try to do better."

Now he followed what his mother had told him then.

Hold the basketball with one hand under the ball and the other hand on the side.

Lock your eyes on the hoop and visualize the ball going through the net.

Bend your knees and then straighten them as you release the ball.

Throw when you're ready.

Vincent watched the ball's projectile until the ball went into the basket. A triumphant grin lit up his face as he realized he'd made the basket. It made him remember the day he made his first basket and how victorious he felt. It was a moment of connection and accomplishment, a memory he would cherish forever. He remembered all those times they played with aunt Damilola and Stephen. If only he hadn't. . .

The sound of a ball bouncing didn't let him complete that line of thought. Constance was on the court clumsily bouncing the old basketball.

"I didn't know we had a ball," she said to him smiling brightly. "Now we can play basketball everyday."

She kept bouncing the ball around joyfully. One of her armature bounce caused the ball to stop at Vincent's foot.

Vincent took the ball and bounced expertly it. Constance gazed at him with wonder in her eyes.

"I didn't know you could do that!" She screeched running towards him. "Teach me. Teach me!"

Vincent laughed at her enthusiasm. "Calm down Connie." He threw the ball and made another basket.

Constance screamed in delight. "No way!" She ran to pick up the bouncing ball, then ran to where Vincent was. She threw the ball and it didn't even reach the basket.

Constance sighed in defeat. "Aww."

"Hey don't be sad," Vincent said to her placing his hand on her shoulder. He went to get the ball. "Let me teach you how to do it."

"You have to hold the basketball with one hand under the ball and the other hand on the side," he told her, correcting her like their mother had done then. "Focus on the hoop and visualize the ball going through the net."

"What's the hoop?" Constance asked slight confusion etched on her face.

Vincent offered her a patient smile. "The round part holding the net."

"Oh. Okay, continue."

"Now before you throw, bend your knees and then straighten them as you release the ball."

Vincent took a step away from his sister. "Throw whenever you're ready."

The ball swished through the sky and went easily into the basket.

The siblings screamed in delight and embraced each other. When they pulled away, Vincent gave her a high five. "You are a natural Connie."

Constance smiled brightly at him but soon she started blinking rapidly.

"What's the matter baby girl?" He asked alarmed.

"Mummy. . ." Vincent's heart raced at what her next words would be. "I wish she saw me do that."

Then a tear rolled down her right cheek. She wiped it quickly and snifled. Another one came and she wiped it again. She was going to wipe her eyes again but Vincent held her hand.

"I swear I'm sorry–"

"It's not your fault, Deji. I know you think you are the cause but I don't believe that."

Vincent eyes widened. "How?"

"Stephen told me. He told me that because you were with mommy in the accident, you believe it's your fault."

Vincent bowed his head in shame and guilt. Constance promptly held the sides of his face and made him look at her. "Deji, please stop feeling guilty. I am sad too but Mrs. Odii said that feeling guilty and thinking about it too often makes it hurt more than it should. So please stop feeling like that."

Vincent drew his baby sister into an embrace and they wept into each other until they were satisfied.

"I love you," Vincent told Constance. Constance couldn't help the smile that lit up her face. She didn't know if Vincent had told her those words before but him saying it now made her happy.

"I love you too."

They spent the rest of the evening sitting on the court and sharing their memories of their mother with each other. Unlike many other times, Vincent didn't wince at the memories neither did he feel like he was going to choke on guilt. He only wished he had had the courage to talk to Constance about their mother before now.

When the sky got darker, they went into the house and Constance claimed she had an inspiration and she wanted to colour. When Vincent got to his room, there was only one thing in his mind. He walked into his closet and got his violin case that he had stuffed away with most of the things he didn't use anymore. He took the black case and sat on the floor in front of his mother's altar. This wasn't the first time he was trying this but he hoped that it would be different this time just like talking about his mother had been earlier.  He unboxed the instrument and the glossy brown instrument greeted his eyes. He brought it out and caressed the smooth wood.

He swallowed.

This thing was what reminded him of her the most because it had been hers once. She had handed it down to him personally.

Vincent got the bow out before placing the violin under his jaw. The moment he closed his eyes and strung the strings with the bow, the sound of a crash followed causing his eyes to shoot open. He winced disappointed. Shaky breaths followed and before he knew it he was crying. His hands flew to his hair as he tried to pull it wondering why he couldn't get himself to enjoy the violin without remembering that awful day. He squeezed himself into a foetal position as he cried.

"Three years. Three years." He kept telling himself. It was obvious he needed help but he wasn't brave enough to seek it. The guilt, survivor's guilt Ms. Rasheed had called it, was not helping matters. Vincent looked back up at the smiling image of his late mother and his heart broke.

"I'm sorry."

It was truly his fault. He knew it was and he believed it was. Everyone was trying to make him feel better by telling him otherwise. Even his father couldn't hide the truth. The man had called him out for killing his wife on some occasion when he tried to drown his sorrow with alcohol.

Vincent bowed his head and wept, hating himself more each passing second because of what he had done.