Courtside Crush: Varsity Girlfriends Book One

by Tirrell, Kayla

  Anderson: And there you go being a psycho again.

  Charlie: Oh, right. Because *I’m* the one in the wrong here.

  Anderson: You KEYED my car!!!!!!!!

  Charlie: You made out with Linzie!!!!!!

  Anderson: You’re right. And it was so much better than kissing you. I should have broken up with you weeks ago.

  Charlie: I wish you had!

  Anderson: Have fun going to Homecoming without me. Maybe some band-geek will take pity on you and let you tag along. But I bet you end up going alone like a loser.

  A growl erupted in the back of my throat. I was angry, I was hurt, and I didn’t know how to handle such overpowering emotions in the back of my parents’ vehicle. I turned my phone’s screen off as I wiped a rebellious tear from my left eye and ignored the rest of the messages that came from him or anyone else.

  I listened to the heavy beats that were blaring straight to my eardrums, not really enjoying the music that usually cheered me up. As my dad pulled up to our home, I saw Preston shooting hoops out front. The honk of the car’s horn caused him to pause and stand to the side. He held the basketball under his arm as he watched the vehicle pull into the garage.

  My dad and mom quickly got out of the SUV and walked inside. I lingered outside and walked over to where my brother stood once they were safely in the house. Preston was breathing heavily, and his bright red hair was plastered to his forehead from sweating so much.

  He’d been practicing hard all summer for basketball season, with one single purpose—destroy Brooks.

  Brooks was a player on Pinebrook’s varsity team, and he and my brother had a history of fouling each other on the court. Whenever our schools played, they were on each other like white on rice. It was almost unhealthy the way those two had it out for one another. But when Brooks had caused Pres to miss the game-winning shot last year, the rivalry had turned into a full-blown obsession.

  I sighed and tipped my head at the basketball tucked under my brother’s arm.

  “Practicing for the Senior Year Rematch?”

  “Uh, yeah,” he admitted, a slight blush hitting his cheeks. He shook his head and changed the subject. “But that’s not important right now. What happened with Anderson?”

  I shrugged. “He was kissing one of the cheerleaders, so I keyed his car.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “And he’s a complete tool.” I set my backpack on the pavement.

  “No argument there. Honestly, I don’t know that I’d talk to him if he wasn’t one of the best players on the team.” He paused and then jerked his chin at me. “So what did Mr. Richards say?”

  “I have to do eight weeks of community service, or he’s going to expel me.” I looked down at my shoes.

  “Wait? They threatened to kick you out of Rosemark?”

  I nodded and looked back up. “Even made me sign a contract.”

  “That’s rough, Charlie.”

  “That’s not even the worst part. I’m on athletic probation until I finish it.”

  Preston’s eyes went wide. “What about tryouts?”

  “I know.” I shook my head.

  “You’re practically a shoo-in for captain.”

  “I know,” I repeated. “But what am I supposed to do? Linzie had footage of me scratching Anderson’s car. My hands were tied.”

  Preston whistled low.

  We stood in silence for several moments, before my brother started bouncing the basketball in front of him. “Wanna play a little one-on-one?”

  I smiled.

  Even though Preston and I were not related by blood, he knew me better than anyone else. Our parents had met when we were both in first grade. My dad and his mom fell in love, got married, and the two of us became siblings overnight. We were young enough that we struggled to remember what it was like before we became a family.

  And because of our close relationship, Preston knew I didn’t want to talk right now. Getting my frustration out on the court—or in this case, our driveway—was precisely what I needed.

  Sure, there’d be a time for tears over the phone with Daria, and I knew there was a gallon of chocolate ice cream in the freezer with my name on it. But, in the meantime, a little friendly competition was better than either of those.

  I got into a defensive stance. “Oh, you’re on.”

  Chapter Two

  My phone buzzed obnoxiously as my Saturday morning alarm roused me from my sleep. It was 7:30 AM. I should have still been sleeping, not getting ready to go work at the local park. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, and there were still precious moments before the day actually started.

  I silently cursed Anderson, Linzie, Mr. Richards, and anyone else I could think of as I crawled out of bed and looked at the papers from Marlowe Junction’s Helping Hands.

  Mrs. Gibbs, the director, outlined the next eight weeks with remarkable detail. From where it was, to what to wear, Mrs. Gibbs had obligatory volunteer hours down to a science.

  This Saturday and next were spent picking up trash and working on “beautification” at Saunders Park. The instructions said to wear comfortable clothing, tennis shoes, a hat, and sunscreen.

  I put on an old tee-shirt for some local band I didn’t listen to anymore, some work-out shorts, and my favorite worn-out Chucks. When I finished getting dressed, I gathered my shoulder-length locks into a ponytail before slipping it through the back of one of my baseball hats. It had the word NOPE on it in all block letters and summed up how I felt that morning.

  Nope, I didn’t want to be awake.

  Nope, I didn’t want to clean up trash.

  And, nope, I didn’t want to do this for eight weeks.

  As I walked down the hall past my brother’s room, I was tempted to pound on the door out of spite but forced my hands at my sides as I made my way to the kitchen. I wasn’t really mad at Preston, even though he got to sleep in while I was forced to go volunteer. It wasn’t Preston’s fault Anderson was a jerk and that all of this horrible junk had happened to me.

  I just wasn’t convinced it was entirely mine either, and that made me grumpy toward everyone.

  When I entered our kitchen, I saw my mom sitting at the small table in the corner. Her red hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She wore a green robe that was wrapped around her tight as she read the paper.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said tentatively as I walked in.

  “Good morning, Charlie.” She smiled as she got up from her seat. “I thought I could make you breakfast before your Saturday work detail. What do you think?”

  I looked down at my phone. I’d been cutting it close with setting my alarm so late. “I can’t. I gotta be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh, okay.” Disappointment marred her features, but she quickly turned toward the cabinet and pulled down a granola bar.

  After yesterday’s visit to the principal’s office, I was surprised she’d want to eat with me. If I had known, I might have woken up a few minutes earlier.

  “Here,” she said, sticking out the sad excuse for breakfast. “At least take this, so you have something in your belly before you go.”

  I reached out and grabbed the food from her. “Thanks.”

  “Good luck today.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said as I grabbed the keys to the car Pres and I shared.

  But it wasn’t luck I needed. I wasn’t off for a job interview or even a basketball game. I was picking up garbage at Saunders Park. The task was so menial, I could do it with my eyes closed. No, what I needed to make it through the day was a whole lot of patience.

  I pulled up to Saunders Park ten minutes later.

  There was a small group of kids gathered around a stern, heavy-set woman I could only assume was the director. She was already barking out orders as I walked over.

  “You must be Charlotte Royce.”

  “Charlie,” I corrected.

  “Well, Charlie,” she said putting an emphasis, that sounded a lot like mocking,
on my name. “Welcome to Helping Hands. I’m Mrs. Gibbs, and we were just discussing this morning’s duties. It looks like you’ll be in the north quadrant today.”

  She put a large, black bag in one of my hands and a pole with a metal spike on the end in the other. Then, she pointed to where I was supposed to go.

  My gaze went to my assigned area and I saw that not only was the “north quadrant” less shaded than the rest of the park, it also appeared to be much messier. I turned back to face Mrs. Gibbs who watched me with a look that begged me to argue.

  I took a deep breath and gave her a tight smile. As much as I wanted to argue, it wasn’t going to do me any good. I needed to make it through these next weeks without making things worse.

  But that didn’t mean I had to be happy about it.

  I stomped off to my assigned area grumbling under my breath the entire way. Once there, I stabbed the first piece of trash—a hamburger wrapper—and lifted it to the opening of the bag. With it safely inside, I poked the next thing and also dropped it inside the bag. I did this with the next piece, and the next, and the next.

  No one joined me in my quadrant, but it was okay because soon I was actually searching for the biggest pieces of trash in my area. Turned out, picking up trash was quite therapeutic if you went into it with the right attitude. And the right attitude consisted of lots and lots of angry jabbing and cursing.

  “Stupid...” I slammed the pole into a paper cup.

  “Anderson...” This time a napkin.

  “And his stupid...” A piece of cardboard.

  “Mouth.”

  I saw a large plastic soda bottle begging to have a spike jammed through its side and smiled to myself. Unfortunately, when I made a move for it, the sharp end of the pole slipped on the smooth, rounded surface. It flew several feet in front of me. It wasn’t exactly how I expected that to play out. A groan escaped my lips as I went to track it down and try again.

  I’d only taken a couple of steps when a low chuckle had me turning back.

  I looked up to see a guy my age watching me with a giant smile on his face. He wore a Lakers cap and the standard uniform of everyone else out here—a tee-shirt and shorts. His eyes were covered by sunglasses, and in his hand was a metal pole identical to the one I carried.

  “Something funny?” I propped the hand that held the trash bag on my hip.

  He drew his lips down in a mocking frown and shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Really? Because I could have sworn I heard you laugh,” I snapped, not wanting to deal with this, or any, dude’s crap.

  “You must be mistaken.”

  “Whatever,” I grumbled, and turned to go after the plastic bottle.

  The annoying boy followed me, as I tried to ignore him and focus on my game of hide-and-seek with the soda bottle.

  “Word of advice? Don’t wear that hat next time.”

  I stopped. “What?”

  His grin was back. “Mrs. Gibbs really hates it when people don’t take Helping Hands seriously.”

  I lifted a single brow. “Oh, yeah? And how do you know that?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been doing this a long time.”

  Interesting.

  I continued my search. There was a large bush in front of us, and I pushed parts of it this way and that, looking for that stupid bottle. After doing it for longer than reasonable, I abandoned my hunt and began looking for new pieces of trash to put inside my giant bag.

  The boy stayed with me.

  My feet stopped—again. “Why are you following me?”

  He chuckled. “I’m here to keep an eye on you.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I told you, I’ve been doing this for a while.” He took off his sunglasses, and his eyes showed the same friendliness as his smile. “I’m Jackson, by the way.”

  “Okay.”

  He leaned forward and whispered loudly. “This is the part where you tell me your name.”

  “If you’re here to babysit me, shouldn’t you already know?”

  His laughter rang out, and he shook his head. “Fine, I already know your name is Charlotte. I just wanted to hear it from you.”

  “Call me Charlie.” I pressed my lips together, preventing the smile that wanted to surface.

  “All right, Charlie.”

  He continued to stare at me, and I couldn’t stop my own perusal. With his mouth now shut, Jackson was hot—like super, mega hot. His eyes were bright green and friendly, his tan skin was smooth, except for a light stubble on his cheeks, and his dark hair was just long enough that it stuck out in several places from beneath his hat.

  It would be incredibly stupid to get involved with a guy the day after my breakup with Anderson, I reminded myself. I needed to keep my head down and avoid trouble for the next eight weeks, not get crushes on guys who got in trouble so much they’d become a regular at Helping Hands.

  Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy how pretty he was to look at.

  Afraid I’d been ogling him too long, and unsure of what to say, I started picking up debris with my metal pole again. Jackson followed me, and we picked up trash in uncomfortable silence, sharing the same garbage bag. It was a lot less therapeutic when I wasn’t yelling at inanimate objects, and worried about looking like an idiot in front of a cute boy.

  “Here,” he put his hand out. “Let me carry that.”

  I looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Why?”

  “Because I’m trying to be nice.”

  I handed the bag over and started stabbing trash again.

  “You know, I don’t care if you want to keep yelling at the stuff you pick up.” I shot him a sharp look, and he raised his hands. “It just looked like you were really into it earlier, and now you’re acting like you had a lobotomy.”

  My eyes widened. Who was this guy?

  “Here, I’ll even do it with you.”

  Jackson started jabbing the metal pole into the ground, mumbling and grumbling under his breath. He looked ridiculous.

  I let out a quick laugh and shook my head.

  “Now, it's your turn.”

  I stood there debating it for several moments, before nodding. “Fine.”

  Each time I hit a piece of trash, I said something about Anderson. It felt good to let my anger out, but I soon realized Jackson had stopped and stood to watch me.

  “So, what’s up with this Anderson guy, anyway? He must have done something pretty bad to earn such hatred from you.”

  I closed my eyes, not really wanting to go too much into it. “We just broke up yesterday, and I’m still a little bitter about it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “He made out with a cheerleader under the bleachers.” I lifted one of my shoulders. “I keyed his car.”

  Jackson laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, it’s why I’m out here for the next eight weeks.”

  “Well, I say let’s make sure we really stick it to Anderson.” He waggled his eyebrows and lifted his pole.

  “Oh, no. You’re a pun guy?”

  He stuck it into the ground, and when he lifted it up, there was another burger wrapper on it. He started beatboxing. “Would you like it better if I was a wrapper?”

  I groaned. “That’s horrible.”

  Jackson slammed the stick down, and when he brought it up this time, there was a maple leaf on it. “Oh, leaf me alone.”

  “Stop it!” The words were mixed with laughter.

  Jackson stopped. “I like to see you smile.”

  The laughter died on my lips with his comment. “You don’t know me well enough to know what you like.”

  He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. You’re right. I don’t know why I said that. Let’s just get back to punishing Anderson.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  We continued walking around our area, just the two of us, picking up trash. We talked a little about recent movies and music, and surprisingly, the time passe
d quickly.

  In fact, the time had been moving so quickly, I didn’t realize it was already time for us to be done. Mrs. Gibbs blew a shrill whistle that meant we all needed to gather around.

  “This place looks passable. You’re free to go. I’ll see you next week.” I smiled at Jackson, wondering what we would say as we parted ways. Would we exchange numbers? Was I the worst kind of person because I hoped we did even though Anderson and I had just broken up?

  But Mrs. Gibbs called him over before we had a chance to speak again. He gave me an apologetic look before walking toward her. I watched him, waiting for him to look back at me, but he never did.

  I awkwardly stood there as everyone began to disperse, but Jackson never returned, so I grabbed my bottle and left. Not sure if I was looking forward to seeing him next week or not after that goodbye.

  Chapter Three

  Daria linked her arm in mine as I walked from the school parking lot up to the main building on Monday morning. Her high, blonde ponytail swayed back and forth with each step we took.

  “You never called me this weekend.”

  “Sorry,” I answered lamely.

  “And you didn’t answer any of my texts.”

  I shrugged. “My parents limited my internet and texting privileges as extra punishment.”

  I’d only gotten my wi-fi and data turned back on for my time at Helping Hands after telling my parents I should have it in case I had a hard time finding the group—as if everyone didn't know where Saunders Park was. By the time I got settled into my community service hours, I’d been so distracted by Jackson, I’d forgotten to call or text my best friend.

  “And they wouldn't let you send a quick text to let me know you’re alive? I was worried about you. I didn’t know what happened with Anderson.” Her voice became increasingly shrill as she continued. “I had to get my info from Veronica. Veronica, of all people. I hate that she knew more about what was going on than I did.”

  I pulled my arm from Daria’s. “Veronica wasn’t even there when it happened.”

  “And yet she still knew more than me. It’s my right as your best friend to know what’s going on.”