You're My Baby by Laura Abbot

questions all the way from Atlanta. Like his life was any of her business.
    As the line of passengers moved toward the exit, he maneuvered to the overhead bin and extracted his backpack and tennis racket, then joined the crowd inching toward freedom.
    It hadn’t been too bad a flight. The worst part had been his mother making a big scene in the Orlando airport. Which was kinda funny when you thought about it. It was her idea to go to Dubai, not his. But you’d have thought he was shipping out for World War III the way she carried on.
    Well, screw it.
    He shouldered his backpack and walked into the jet-way. That’s where the blast furnace hit him. Great, it must be a hundred ten degrees. He’d been to Fort Worth a coupla times before. It might be okay if you were a cowboy, but he missed the ocean and the palm trees.
    When he stepped into the concourse, he scanned the crowd for his father. All around him were these freakin’ family reunions, and several freckle-faced, snot-nosed kids were hugging the old lady who’d driven him crazy. Like seeing her was a big deal.
    As groups of people moved off toward the baggage claim area, the crowd thinned. Still no Dad. He usually drove Andy wild with his Mr. Punctuality routine. Nottoday. It figured. Andy tossed his backpack onto an empty chair and slumped into the adjacent one. Prob’ly his father was all tied up with important matters at that candy-assed school. How hard could it be teaching math and coaching basketball? It wasn’t like it was a real job or anything.
    The tennis racket had been a great idea. He’d tell Dad he was going out for tennis in the spring. That’d get the guy off his case about playin’ basketball. No way was he going to consider that. About the last friggin’ thing he needed was to be the coach’s son and play on his team. It was gonna be bad enough to go to the same school. At least he wouldn’t have his father for a teacher. He’d already taken geometry and wasn’t ready for calculus.
    Maybe Dad’d let him have a dog. That would be kinda cool. And when he turned sixteen next spring, he’d get Dad to buy him a car. Wheels. Freedom. He couldn’t wait.
    â€œSon?”
    Andy looked up. There was Dad, with this big dopey grin on his face. Taking his time, Andy rose to his feet and was engulfed in a bear hug. “Where ya been?” he muttered into his father’s shoulder.
    â€œSorry. There was a wreck on the freeway. Say, looks like you’ve grown another six inches since Christmas.”
    His dad stood back, studying him. Andy shrugged, then picked up his backpack and tennis racket.
    â€œC’mon, then. We’ll get the rest of your bags.”
    As they made their way to the baggage claim area, Dad kept up this running monologue about how glad he was to see him and how he had everything arranged at Keystone about enrollment and all.
    Once they were in the car and Dad was weaving through the traffic, he didn’t say much. But when they turned into the neighborhood, ol’ Coach G. dropped the bomb. “With that additional height, I can really use you on the basketball team.”
    Might as well get it over with, and Dad’d never know the difference, since he hadn’t made it to a single one of his games last year. “About the basketball… Dad, I’m gonna play tennis instead. I know you were a high school hoops hotshot and all, but I’m no good. Last year I mostly sat on the bench.” Which wasn’t true, but how would his father know?
    Then his dad gave him one of these you’ve-let-me-down looks that was supposed to make him feel guilty. “Son, I’m really disappointed. You can play both basketball and tennis, you know.”
    â€œI hate basketball!” The words just slipped out, but they sure as hell got a reaction from the old man.
    â€œThat’s no way to—” Then his dad seemed to catch himself.