Joy Princeton’s finger slowly traced the black, smooth lines that curved around the bumpy orange ball. Why were basketballs made that way? Were the black lines a reminder of a time when the balls were just pieces of leather sewn together and the goals were peach baskets instead of nets? A shrill whistle drew Joy’s attention away from the ball and onto the court. “Princeton,” Coach Evans called, “you’re up.” Joy hopped up from the bench and joined the other girls on the court. Her legs were a little wobbly from the drills they’d run earlier. She’d hardly done more than play P-I-G with her dad that summer, so she wasn’t exactly in shape for basketball season. But she wasn’t too worried. From the looks of the other girls, most of them had spent their summers lying on the beach, not running on the court. The rest of the country might have gotten the message about skin cancer, but not the girls of southern 3
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