Courtside Crush: Varsity Girlfriends Book One

by Tirrell, Kayla

  “With good reason.”

  “Yeah, because he’s overrated.”

  “Over—?“ Jackson made a strangled sound and put a fist to his mouth. “Overrated? People know who he is because he’s the best player in the NBA right now. That’s why he’s everyone’s favorite.”

  “Oh, please. Chris Paul is so much better.”

  He raised his brows.

  “What? It’s not his fault he was saddled with Blake Griffin for so long.”

  Jackson tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Yeah, I’ll give you that, but LeBron is more than just a great player.” He started listing reasons he was a fanboy on his fingers. “He speaks out against racial inequality, he opened a school in his hometown, he sends kids to college. Plus, he’s been with his wife forever.”

  All good reasons.

  I let out a long sigh. “Fine, you’re allowed to like LeBron, but Chris Paul is still my favorite.”

  Jackson smiled. “I’m impressed you know so much about basketball.”

  “Seriously?” I stopped painting and narrowed my eyes at him. “I didn’t take you for that guy.”

  “What guy is that?”

  “The kind who doesn’t think girls can like basketball. Or, am I supposed to act like I’m an idiot?” I pouted my lips and lifted my finger to them. “Remind me, basketball has three innings?”

  “Yeah, please don’t ever say that again,” Jackson said with a grimace.

  “Then don’t patronize me.”

  He nodded. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “Good, because saying that felt way too wrong.”

  We started painting again but, this time, I had to fight hard to keep the corners of my mouth from lifting into a goofy smile. Like the week before, our conversation quickly moved through one subject to another. And as Jackson and I worked, we found a comfortable rhythm.

  We were just finishing the last section when I jokingly called him a goody-two-shoes.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I’m just saying, you can’t be all that bad if Mrs. Gibbs is sending you to watch over the other troublemakers.”

  “Oh, I’m totally bad.”

  “Sure, you are.” I laughed.

  “I can prove it.” He leaned in closer, and I found myself completely distracted by the scent of his cologne. Too distracted to see the dangerous glint in his eye, and too distracted to see his right hand reaching up, or the paintbrush in it. Jackson tapped it gently against my nose.

  It was wet. I lifted my hand to my face, and when I pulled my fingers away, I saw white on their tips. My mouth fell open.

  “Told you so.” He jumped up and started running away.

  “Oh, you’re a dead man!”

  I chased him with my paintbrush with every intention of getting him back. He weaved in and out of people who were on trash duty today. They watched him with confusion and then turned those same expressions to me when they realized I was in hot pursuit.

  When I caught up to Jackson, I fully intended to wipe paint all over his stupid face. He laughed as he stayed just out of reach. Every time I got close, he would use his long arms to keep me away. No matter how much I squirmed and tried to fake him out, I couldn’t get close enough to get him back.

  So, I did the only thing I could think of.

  I fell to my knees, careful to keep my paintbrush from touching the dirt. “Ow!” I cried loud enough to draw everyone’s attention.

  Jackson stopped. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice cautious as he kept a safe distance.

  “Yeah, I think so.” I stood up but whimpered as I set my left foot to the ground. “I think I tripped over a root.” I started limping toward the pavilion, forcing my face to stay turned away from Jackson. If he saw the grin on it, my cover would be blown.

  I continued to make my way to the picnic table, intently listening as his footsteps got closer. And closer. And closer.

  I felt his presence beside me before he spoke. “Charlie, are you—”

  Splat!

  Jackson’s eyes widened as the paintbrush connected with his cheek. A big blob of white spread from his ear to his lips, just narrowly missing his mouth. I dropped the paintbrush, and ran, but not fast enough.

  Soon strong arms were circling around my waist, and lifting me from the ground. His cologne hit my nostrils again, and I fought the urge to close my eyes and inhale deeply. Instead, I wriggled to break free. His responding laughter rumbled deep in his chest, and I could feel it against my back as he continued to hold tight.

  “Let me go!” I yelled, drawing more attention our way, but I didn’t care.

  “Not until you admit I’m not a goodie-two-shoes.”

  I shook my shoulders back and forth. “Jackson.”

  “Fine.” He released me, and I sprinted a few paces away. I bounced on the balls of my feet, ready to run if he started coming at me.

  He wiped the paint from his face and rubbed it on his shorts. “You don’t play fair.”

  I smiled wide. “I never claimed to.”

  Mrs. Gibbs came over, a stern look on her face. “Glad to see you’re having fun over here. Charlie, clean this mess up. You”—she looked at Jackson—“come with me.”

  I watched as Mrs. Gibbs and Jackson walked away. I could only imagine what she was telling the boy who was supposed to be keeping an eye on me. Still, I didn’t regret it.

  As she led Jackson towards the parking lot, Mrs. Gibbs stopped and talked to a girl my age who had been busy pulling weeds. The director pointed in my direction, and the girl started walking over. She was petite in every way—less than five feet tall with short blonde hair.

  “Mrs. Gibbs told me to come over and help you with the mess you made.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said still watching Jackson. I really hoped our flirting didn’t tack more weeks on to his never-ending string of Saturdays with Helping Hands.

  The girl followed my gaze and turned back to me. “Might as well give up that dream now.”

  I turned to face her, irritated I was so transparent. Of course, I’d just chased him around the park giggling like a schoolgirl, so what did I expect? “What do you mean?”

  She sighed and pointed to where Mrs. Gibbs and Jackson stood talking. “Brooks. All the girls at Pinebrook are in love with him. He’s a shameless flirt, but he never dates.”

  “Wait. I thought his name was Jackson?” I asked dumbly as my mind struggled to make connections it didn’t want to.

  “Yeah,” the girl said slowly. “But everyone calls him Brooks. It’s his last name.”

  Brooks.

  Pinebrook?

  Jackson Brooks was more than a cute boy who liked the Lakers. He also played for Pinebrook and was one of the best forwards in Marlowe Junction.

  Not to mention, he was my brother’s biggest enemy.

  Oh, crap.

  Chapter Five

  Daria grabbed me in the hall on Monday morning wearing a silk robe tied around her waist and a sleeping mask over her hair like a headband. She had colorful socks on her feet that were barely covered by the slippers she wore as shoes.

  She looked like a perfect picture of someone getting ready for bed.

  “I seriously hate spirit week,” I said, allowing my friend to link her arm in mine.

  “You say that every year.”

  “And I mean it every year,” I argued. “It’s dumb that the football team gets five days of dressing up.”

  “It’s meant to get that Mountaineer team spirit going.” Daria smiled at a girl who wore a similar get-up who walked in the opposite direction. They even went so far as to give each other a high five as they passed by. “See? I never talk to her, but we get to share in that one special moment because of school pride.”

  “And wearing your pajamas to school is supposed to garner that camaraderie?” I asked. “Or any of the other themed days? Like, what does dressing like a tourist have to do with the Mountaineers? Or your favorite sports
player? Honestly, dressing up like someone from another team seems like it would detract from school spirit.”

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “You like dressing up. You’re just being stubborn.”

  “You’re right, I do. But I wear my normal clothing purely on principle. I’ll start dressing up when they dedicate a week to Rosemark’s basketball teams.”

  Daria snorted. “Which means you won’t be dressing up anytime soon.” She paused. “Unless you’re going to Sammi’s Halloween party?”

  Daria had been hounding me about it ever since the captain of the cheerleading squad invited everyone to come to her house while her parents were out of town. It was just dumb luck it fell so close to Halloween.

  “Do you think I really want to go to her party? Cheerleaders are bad enough on their own. I definitely don’t want to go to Linzie’s best friend’s house.” I didn’t like the way she watched me in the halls ever since I caught her making out with my boyfriend. Linzie acted like I was the bad guy here, which was completely insane. She was the one who made out with my boyfriend!

  “Oh, come on. You know Sammi's parties are more than just the preppy kids. Everyone will be there, including the boys from St. Joseph’s.” She waggled her eyes.

  “Stop being so boy crazy!” I playfully pushed Daria away from me.

  She shrugged as she laughed it off because we both knew she was anything but. Daria hadn’t dated anyone as long as I had known her, always claiming she wasn’t interested in any of the guys in Marlowe Junction.

  And I’d definitely had my fill of guys in our small town. Between my ex, my brother, and my teeny, tiny infatuation with his enemy, I was good for a lifetime.

  “Just think about it, Charlie. It’s our senior year. We should be taking advantage of every possible chance to live out our high school days.”

  “That sounds like something straight from a motivational poster.”

  “And you sound like a boring, old lady with twenty cats who’s too afraid to leave the house. Stop being so lame.”

  I stopped and fixed her with a look. “Either I be the lame old lady who stays on the straight and narrow, or I kiss basketball and college scholarships goodbye. I can’t risk it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Mr. Richards can’t fault you for dressing up and going to a party, Charlie. You’re taking this community service, probation thing too far. Live a little.”

  A corner of my mouth lifted. “Maybe.”

  “Definitely,” she argued.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think about what?” a male voice said from beside me. I looked over and saw Anderson standing far too close for comfort. I’d been so absorbed with my argument with Daria, I hadn’t even noticed his approach.

  Anderson was dressed up for pajama day in a thick terry robe draped over a tee shirt and basketball shorts. On his feet were white socks and slip-on sandals. He slung his arm over my shoulder as he stopped at my side.

  My gaze quickly found some of the guys standing a safe distance away. I saw Jeremiah, Mackey, and a few others from the team, but no Preston. The guys struggled to make eye contact with me as I looked at them. Jeremiah shifted from foot to foot.

  Whatever was about to go down wasn’t going to be good.

  I twisted out of his grip and gave him an irritated look. “What do you want, Anderson?”

  “Can’t a guy say hi to his girlfriend in the hall?” His smile caused a shudder to go through me.

  It was weird how knowing one thing about someone could change how you interpreted everything that came from them. Anderson's smile, for example. There was a time when he could lift those lips, and the butterflies in my stomach would come to life. Now, as I imagined the way he kissed another with them, his smile only made me feel icky—and anxious.

  I held my breath as I waited for him to strike.

  “Actually, I was just talking to the guys about your lack of costume.”

  I cocked my head. “What?”

  “You know, why you’re not wearing anything special for pajama day.”

  I’d literally just been having this conversation with Daria. Had he been listening in? “Uh, because I don’t want to participate in spirit week?”

  The sound of Anderson chuckling raised the hairs on the back of my neck. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be shy. I already told the guys the reason you don’t have pajamas is—”

  “I have pajamas.”

  “—because you sleep naked.” The words were loud enough to gain the attention of several people in the hall.

  “You don’t know what I sleep in,” I grated, but the damage had already been done.

  I looked around, and people were already whispering and raising their eyebrows. They’d heard just enough to form their own conclusions, and it would be everywhere by the end of the day.

  Anderson and Charlie were sleeping together.

  Yeah, right!

  I was half tempted to call up Veronica, Rosemark’s very own gossip girl, just to make sure the truth was what circulated. I wanted to scream at Anderson, yell at everyone who stood watching out of the corners of their eyes, call my brother up and ask him where the heck he was.

  But I didn’t do any of those things.

  I stormed away down the hall, not bothering to walk in the direction of my class. Mrs. Whitmore would just have to survive without me. Daria chased close behind. When I walked out the double doors and started moving toward the parking lot, she grabbed my arm.

  “What are you doing?”

  I shook my head frantically. “I gotta get out of here.”

  “But school hasn’t even started.” Her face was etched with concern.

  “Yeah, and Anderson is already being a jerk. I can’t be around him. Not today.”

  Not after the wonderful and awful Saturday I had with Jackson Brooks, I thought to myself, unwilling to share those details with anyone—not even Daria.

  I continued to stomp toward the parking lot determined to escape for a few minutes in the safety of the car my brother and I shared. When I looked at the spot Preston parked in that morning, I stopped dead in my tracks.

  The car was gone.

  I turned to Daria. “Where is my car?”

  She lifted her hands. “Don’t look at me.”

  “Crap!” I shouted. “Crap, crap, crap!”

  I stood there silently, staring at the empty spot. But no amount of time would make the missing vehicle appear. That was unless Preston decided to pull back in—which he didn’t.

  “Crap,” I said one last time for good measure, not wanting to go back to school.

  The tardy bell rang in the distance, and Daria watched me, her feet facing the school, her body turned to go inside.

  I waved at her. “Go ahead. I’ll be right there.”

  She continued to stare at me.

  “Seriously. I’m fine. I’ll just be a couple of minutes late.”

  Daria stood there for a moment longer, before finally turning her body completely and walking toward the front of the building.

  Once I was alone, I let out a frustrated growl. This really sucked. I didn’t want to deal with Anderson. Any other time, I might have been able to face him with an equally conniving attitude. But not right now, not with so much on the line.

  I sat down on the curb and pulled my phone out. There were no missed messages, so I scrolled aimlessly, not really reading what was on the screen. I just needed something to do while I waited for my annoyance to recede enough to go to class. When I was sure I could return without feeling like I was going to explode, I stood up, wiped the dirt from the back of my pants, and walked toward the building.

  Unfortunately, once I made it through the front door, I saw my principal standing just on the other side—almost like he was waiting for me.

  “Miss Royce.”

  I gave him a tight smile. “Mr. Richards.”

  “Why don’t you come with me to my office?”

  I followed him silently, m
entally cursing myself for getting in trouble once again. I’d just needed a few minutes to escape, so I didn’t do something idiotic, and now I worried I’d sabotaged myself anyway.

  We entered into his office, and I sat down in my all-too-familiar seat across from him.

  “I caught your friend, Daria, walking in late. Since Miss Williams never breaks the rules, I gave her a free pass. Imagine my surprise when I walked her to homeroom, and you were missing.”

  “I couldn’t have just been, you know, absent?” The words were out before I could stop them, and I knew I was digging my hole even deeper.

  “Believe it or not, Miss Royce, I am not the bad guy. And I am not out to get you. The rules we have at Rosemark are for you and your fellow students’ protection.”

  I exhaled. “And I get that. I do. But I needed a minute to collect myself.”

  Mr. Richards sat quietly and leaned back in his chair as he waited for the rest of my explanation. When it dawned on him that it wasn’t coming, he sighed and sat back up. “Miss Royce, you are already committed to several weeks with Marlowe Junction’s Helping Hands, in addition to athletic probation. I’m not sure what else to do here to make you understand the serious nature of your behavior.”

  I stared at my feet.

  “I don’t want to expel you, Charlie.” I looked up, my eyes wide. He chuckled. “I don’t, but you have to understand that many of the underclassmen look up to you.”

  I shook my head. “No, they don’t.”

  Everyone knew the football players and cheerleaders were the top of the high school hierarchy. Next were the boys’ baseball and basketball teams. Girls’ basketball was just above girls’ softball and soccer. Then, of course, theater, band, and art were also somewhere in the mix.

  Regardless, I wasn’t anyone’s role model, and that was perfectly fine with me.

  “They do,” Mr. Richards argued. “And they see your behavior as an example. They want to be cool like Charlie Royce. I already have a clique of freshmen girls who were caught cutting the ponytails of some of the dance team. When I asked them why they did it, they said it was because of you.”