by E. M. Moore
At the end of the now empty hall, I go to take a right to head toward the cafeteria, but a silver sign hanging down from the ceiling pulls me up short. My breath catches. It isn’t as if I’ve never been here before, but seeing it during the school day—while I’m a student here—is so different I almost feel as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. Before I can stop myself, I take a left toward where the sign pointed and head straight for the glass doors with the words Timothy Dale Court etched onto them. When I pull the handle toward me, it gives way freely, and suddenly, I’m walking inside. My heart pumps out an extra beat, and my palms get so sweaty that I run them down the thighs of my shorts before grabbing onto my bookbag strap with my right hand.
All the lights are on, making this room even brighter than the dingy halls and outdated classrooms. Everything about this screams new.
I walk past the concession and souvenir stands first. (Yes, I’m serious.) Then keep moving until I’m dwarfed by the stadium seats that rise up off the court like bleachers. When I get to the edge, I just sit there and stare, remembering a time similar to this a few years ago.
“Look at that, Tess,” my dad said, awe in his voice.
He points to the center sideline of the court where it clearly states, ‘Timothy Dale Court’. I can tell he’s proud. Hell, I’m proud. “Wow, Dad. That’s cool.”
But it isn’t just because my dad’s name is on the court that nerves start to assault my body. It’s because I can almost hear the thump, thump of a basketball as someone dribbles. I can hear the swish of the net as a basket’s made. I can even hear the roar of the crowd. And in Rockport, the roar is loud.
I scan the area for a ball, my limbs wanting—no, needing—to get out there. I can’t wait for the season to start. In that moment, I don’t care about the splash I’ll be making, all I care about is that I’ll get to play again. That’s what all this was for anyway.
Timothy Dale Court. I sigh, a smile coming to my lips. Ever since I saw it, I’ve wanted to play on it. But it just wasn’t possible. Rockport High doesn’t have a girls’ basketball team. For that matter, neither does Broadwell. Anymore.
A door creaks open on the far side of the court. I recognize it as coming from the locker rooms. Quickly, I duck out of the way, squatting behind the bleachers as figures move into view. There’s hearty laughter and then, “What did you think about her tongue ring? I almost lost my load too quick with that shit.”
I close my eyes. I know that voice. I move up to peek between the metal bars. The steady and familiar thump of a basketball dribbling on a court echoes through the room. Sure enough, the Rock Ballers are all there. I bite my lip and watch as they go through some passing drills and then each line up at the free throw line to take shots. Each and every one of them is shirtless with athletic shorts hanging low on their hips. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but to see it here, I can’t take my eyes away.
When Ryan steps up to the line, my teeth clench so hard I hear them squeak against one another. His back muscles flex easily as he jumps, letting the basketball go, until it arcs beautifully in the air and straight into the center of the hoop. Swish.
Of course it did.
“Fuck off,” Lake growls and shoves him out of the way. He runs his hand through his dark hair, slicking it back from his face before receiving a pass from Sloan. He dribbles once, twice, then jumps. When he lets the ball go, I can tell right away it’s not going in. So can he. He shakes his head and moves on with the drill not bothering to see the ball clank against the rim. When he turns, I can see the scowl on his face. It makes me smile. Lake can’t shoot free throws for shit. Never could. If he wasn’t such an asshole, I might try to help him, but let him fucking suffer.
I watch for a little while, my hands itching the entire time. Part of me wonders what their reactions would be if I just walked right out onto the court. It wouldn’t be a question of whether or not they would recognize me, it’s the question of what they’ll do when they recognize me. Their reputation at Rockport followed them to camp, mostly because they acted the same way. They were untouchable. The five of them—Ryan, Sloan, Hayes, Alec, and Lake—ruled camp just like they rule the halls of this school. I’ve seen enough and heard enough to know it’s true. Hell, I’ve sat courtside so many times I know what it must be like for them. Even in this small little world of Rockport High, they’re gods.
They won’t like what I have planned. But that’s tough shit. The thing is, these gods need to realize that it’s not always about them.
I stand and turn, needing to get some food before I entirely miss out on lunch.
“Who’s that?” one of the guys ask.
I almost freeze, but then run ahead. The last thing I want is to get caught ogling the Ballers. I’ll never live it down.
“Maybe it’s Aimee looking for another round,” I hear Sloan joke.
I shake my head as I push the glass doors open. Some shit never ends. They’re still too full of themselves for words.
Not everyone wants to get in their pants.
I swallow as the pinprick of the lie starts to bloom. Honestly, it doesn’t matter if I do—did. As in not currently. It doesn’t matter how hot they are, they’re evil, and that’s a good enough reason not to get involved with them as any.
3
I can’t say that Broadwell Academy and Rockport High are created equal when it comes to school lunches. I look down at the pizza that just got handed to me, grease pooling over it, and wince. Maybe I’ll have to bring my lunch. This just isn’t worth it. It looks like food poisoning waiting to happen.
I scan the cafeteria which is in full swing. I can tell right away which one the jock table is with five suspiciously vacant seats. The popular girls’ table is right next to it. The shiny lips and hair glinting off the fluorescent lights gives it away. It’s hard to tell the other tables from one another, so I move through the room slowly, going in the opposite direction of the jock table. “Hey,” a soft voice says. I look up and into the eyes of another girl who looks vaguely familiar. She has curly brown hair. Not the manufactured curls the popular girls seem to do with ease, but naturally curly with a teensy bit of frizz added in. “You’re new, right?” she asks.
I nod.
She pats the table next to an empty spot across from her, and I gladly sit down. There are empty seats around her and then a whole other section of kids on the other side of the table, but it’s obvious they’re not intermingling. “I’m Dawn,” she says.
“Tessa,” I tell her with an awkward wave. When I look across the table to study her more, I notice she has a half-eaten salad in front of her. “Where did you get that?” I ask.
She smirks. “You have to get here early to get one of these.” She checks her watch. “Like within the first five minutes, not halfway through the period.”
My face colors, but she isn’t saying it to be mean. She’s actually laughing a little. “Yeah, I got caught up.”
“First day cafeteria jitters? They’re the freaking worst.” She looks around. “The way I see it. I chose perfectly. I’m far enough away from the cool kids’ table that I don’t have to worry, but I also have a direct line of sight in case drama goes down.” She lowers her voice and nods toward the opposite end of her table. “Plus, those guys down there aren’t all that talkative, so win-win.”
“You’re new too?”
“Started the beginning of this year. My dad wanted to get us out of the city.”
I look around the cafeteria, taking in her assumptions about her choice of table. “Looks like you’ve got everything situated.” When I turn back around, I recognize the math assignment I got earlier that day half-completed in front of her.
She shrugs. “I figure the less homework I have to take home, the better. I don’t mind eating in peace.” Her face freezes for a second. “Not that you can’t sit here tomorrow. You know, if we get along. I’m just saying I don’t mind not having anyone to talk to.”
I shake her cover-
up off. The pizza still looks so unappetizing, but my stomach growling tells me I need to at least try it. I pick it up to let the grease run off, and then take a bite of the tip. Surprisingly, it’s not half bad. It’s not the kind I’m used to, but it’s not terrible.
Dawn stares at me as I scarf it down. Her eyes go wide when I lick my fingers. “Okay, what’s your deal?” She glances at the cut of my shirt and then the part of my arms that are showing. “You look like you don’t eat at all, but you just housed that like nothing.”
I laugh, her words catching me off guard. Wiping my face with a napkin, I hold up a finger. When I finish chewing, I tell her. “Looks are deceiving. I actually eat a ton. Not pizza usually though.” I grimace down at the remaining slice of pizza on the plate. My mind is telling me not to eat the grease-infested slice, but it was actually good.
She looks me over. “Where do you put it?”
“I work out,” I tell her. It isn’t until after I see the surprise on her face that I feel like I should clarify. “I’m an athlete,” I tell her. “If I don’t eat, I can’t fuel my workouts. I…” I trail off after her eyes glaze over. I’m used to this kind of talk in my house, but I know I’m an exception, not the rule. Workouts, drills, exercise, food logs. Those are all part of the game plan at Casa Dale. “Never mind,” I finish, waving off whatever I was going to say. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll probably bring my lunch tomorrow.”
She looks away, as do I. I knew it was going to be difficult starting a new school, but honestly, the only true part I worried about was the Ballers. I didn’t take into account the other students that go here or that I might like to have some friends here since I won’t be able to see my Broadwell friends until the weekend.
“Sorry,” Dawn says. “I know I have a big mouth, and it’s like the rudest thing in the world to talk about what someone else is eating.”
I shake my head. It really doesn’t matter to me. “It’s cool,” I say instead. I open the little plastic tub of applesauce and eat that quickly before twisting the cap on my water and gulping it down. A quick check of the clock tells me that the bell will ring in about ten minutes.
“What classes do you have next?”
I don’t need to look at my schedule to tell her. I’ve memorized the paper already, so I could recite it off hand if needed. I also didn’t want to be the fumbling new girl looking lost as I walk down the halls. That would be like having a target taped to my back. I tell her I have a class called Life Studies, and then Gym to end the day. I could have squealed when I saw that. I like gym class, but I like it even more that I can leave after I get all sweaty and won’t have to venture to the dreaded locker room showers. Do adults even understand the awkwardness they put us through with this shit?
“We have gym together,” she says. “I’m no athlete, though. Just to warn you.”
I shrug. “I only have one specialty.” It’s the truth, too. My athletic abilities can take me a long way, but I don’t pretend to care or like other sports. I only have one love.
A chorus of cheers draws my attention. I peek over my shoulder. My stomach bottoms out when I see that the Ballers have joined the jock table. They’re all sweaty from their meet-up at the court, but they don’t try to hide it like I would.
A girl bounces toward Ryan and throws her hands around his waist. I look away, unable to help the tingle of jealousy that shoots through my limbs. There’s no way I should feel that for him though. I should be feeling disgust. Even hatred.
“The Rock Ballers,” Dawn says slowly. “Fucking hot.”
“Fucking assholes,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Duh.” Tearing her gaze away and back to me, she says, “You know what I heard? I heard they don’t date. Like at all.”
“Maybe someone should tell that girl with her hands all over Ryan then?”
Dawn laughs. “I didn’t say they don’t fuck.”
Dawn’s brash words cause the guys at the other end of the table to look at us. I smile warmly at them, my face heating and then look back at her. She hasn’t noticed she’s caught the attention of others. “Meaning?” I ask, my voice lower, hoping she’ll catch on.
She does. She leans forward conspiratorially. “Meaning…sure, they ‘date’ girls, if dating means anything other than being serious. I heard they’ll never have exclusive girlfriends. They don’t mind sewing their wild oats or whatever, but they’re not getting tied down. Like they all have a shot at the NSA or something.”
“NBA,” I correct her.
She waves a hand dismissively. “Whatever.”
I chance another look at them. The girl is now in Ryan’s lap as he tries to eat a salad. I grip the side of the table. How the hell did he get that? I quickly check the other trays, and all but Hayes has a salad. Hayes is slumming it with pizza, like me. Except, he has three slices on his plate. Something tells me these guys get exactly what they want.
My eyes immediately go to Ryan again. The girl is whispering something in his ear. My hackles raise. I tell myself it’s because I feel bad for the girl. She must not know the level of asshole she’s got herself plastered against. At the same time, I know it’s a lie. He runs his hand up her back, and my own tingles.
I look away again, tugging my hair around my ear. Dawn is looking dreamily over at the jock table, but when she notices my reaction, her eyes narrow. “You alright?”
“Of course.”
She smiles knowingly. “Girl, I’d give up my V-card for a piece of Alec Christopoulos. Just one night. I wouldn’t even be mad.”
I gape at her, but when she starts laughing, I do too. “And that’s exactly the reason those fuckers get away with it,” I say.
She laughs even harder. “I didn’t say I had sense.”
I watch her hair tumble over her face. I think Dawn and I are going to get along pretty well, actually.
She checks the clock. “Shit. We better go.” She throws everything on her tray and stands. “If we don’t beat the bell, we’re going to get trampled.”
I rise with her, throwing everything on my tray as well. She takes off toward the garbage and tray return at the front of the cafeteria, and I follow her, my backpack once again slung over my shoulder.
She pauses at the tray return to wait for me, her face messed up into a frown. “Okay, you’re headed…that way,” she points toward the correct hallway. “I’m going in the opposite direction, but I guess I’ll see you in gym?”
I start to nod, but an imposing figure comes up on our right. I step out of the way, but it’s too late. Ryan fucking Linc has locked eyes with me. His mouth opens, and he stops right where he’s at. We just stare at one another for a moment as he takes in my bookbag. He pushes forward, throwing his tray down on the metallic surface and then comes right at me. I back away until my shoulders hit the solid cement wall. He leans over me, his gray eyes latching onto mine with a hold I’d almost forgotten. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. I glance behind him and see that Dawn is slack-jawed and staring at me with wide eyes. When I turn back to him, the intensity in his gaze isn’t faded. In fact, it’s possible it’s even more sharp like the point of a knife. I hike my bookbag up and try to stand straighter, but don’t get anywhere because he’s not backing down. “I go here.” I curse at myself. Could I sound even more tame? How about, This is my fucking school now, too. Deal with it.
“You go here?” he asks, his lips thin. “Since when?”
I do stand up then. He’s not going to move back at first, except our lips are precariously close together, so he steps aside, but still manages to loom over me. I run my hand down my arm. “Since this morning.”
His eyebrows draw together. The cafeteria has gone quiet. I don’t need to look around to know that we probably have the attention of the whole school. If they only knew this would be the first of many times. “What happened to your fucking private school, Dale?”
Alec and Sloan come up behind Ryan then. Th
ey see me there, and Alec says, “Oh, shit.”
Oh shit is right, I want to say. “None of your business,” I tell him.
“This is Rockport. Everything’s my fucking business.”
My body heat dials up a few thousand notches. It’s not just because we’re standing so close together, it’s because I can also feel the heat of a hundred pairs of eyes on me. It’s unnerving. I only feel comfortable when I’m holding a basketball when I have this much attention. Or so it seems. “I guess you can consider everything but me your fucking business then.”
He shakes his head, a slow smile coming to his face. “This is—” He cuts off and laughs. The sound is dangerous on his lips. I tell myself not to look, but I do. My whole body flushes for another reason. It remembers what his lips felt like on mine, but that was all just a mistake. A terrible mistake. He steps back, his arms going out wide. “Look at this, Rockport High.”
I feel sick to my stomach. I was right. Everyone is looking at us. They’ve surrounded us, and the people who don’t have front row seats are standing on chairs to see what’s going on. Ryan has exactly what he always wants—an audience.
“A rich little snob from Broadwell coming to slum it with us.”
I swallow. The only friendly face I can immediately see right now is Dawn’s, although she’s looking on in horror. Lake has pushed in front of her, so I’m surrounded by The Rock Ballers. My heart beats painfully in my chest. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen when I left home this morning.