Excerpt: Word to the Skies

One time I was playing basketball with Dusty and my best friend Francis on the hoop attached to the garage door, and I couldn’t seem to get my free-throws right.
“Wow. You suck,” Francis said after I missed on the, like hundredth time.
“I was never this bad before.”
I tried again and missed. Dusty groaned.
“Even your dog thinks you suck.”
“Like you can do any better.”
He stole the ball from me and shot it and made it.
“I suck, too. I guess now you suck more,” he said.
“Don’t you have to go home soon?”
“My mom’s picking me up.”
I shot around long after Francis left, trying to perfect the free-throw shot. It was frustrating. The ball either hit too far to the left or too far to the right. When I tried aiming it perfectly I shot it too hard and it bounced away. When I tried a softer touch it wasn’t enough and just scraped the rim. I tried changing positions and switching my hands. Nothing was working. I got so upset I finally threw the ball against the garage door so hard that it nearly hit Dusty. He yelped.
“Sorry!” I said, aggravated.
I sat on the concrete, exhausted. The ball dribbled down the driveway, but Dusty stopped it before it got into the street and rolled it back to me with his nose.
“Thanks, buddy,” I said and scratched behind his ears. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Dusty. I’ve never missed this many free-throws before.”
He barked.
“I guess you wouldn’t have any tips for me, huh?”
He whimpered and rubbed his head against my leg.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” I stared at the hoop, imagining a ball swishing through it. “My dad would’ve known how to help me. He would’ve known exactly what my problem is.”
I stood and grabbed the ball. I dribbled it a few times and ran up for a lay-up. It flew through the net.
“I guess that’s enough for now. Let’s get inside, Dusty. It’s getting dark.”