The Magnolia Dribble
The ground beneath the basketball court was not wood. Eli Thibodeaux knew this the way he knew his own name—because someone had told him, because the evidence was in the dirt, because the sound the ball made when it bounced was wrong. It should have been a sharp, clean *thwack* against polished hardwood. Instead, it was a dull *thump*—softer, deeper, like a heartbeat heard through layers of...
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