by M. F. Lorson
Mackey frowned, causing the near dimples in his cheeks to disappear. “No offense but what happened to the last guy?”
That was a good question. In truth, I hadn’t given any thought to who covered basketball last year. Just exactly how much shifting had Elliot done to make sure the new girl got her chosen story?
“I have no idea. I was just looking at your record from last year,” I said, running a finger down the stat line on the right-hand side of the page.
Mackey whistled through his teeth. “Yeah, about that–last year was rough, but this year has potential.”
My interest piqued. “How so?”
Mackey pulled up a chair, taking a seat directly across from my desk. “We’ve got four guys who spent all last year working together. Usually, we lose several seniors and have to start over with new guys. This year that isn’t the case and one of our shooters is pretty good. If we could get the ball in his hands more–”
I knew what he was saying was important. However, I was finding it challenging to focus while looking directly at that Chris Pratt replica of a jawline. Not to mention he smelled like pine trees and cinnamon made a baby. I was supposed to be thinking basketball, basketball, basketball, but I was stuck thinking what lovely blue eyes he had.
“New talent isn’t a good thing?” I asked, attempting to get myself back on track. I was not going to be one of those girls who couldn’t sit across from a jock without swooning. Cardigans, I reminded myself. You are attracted to cardigans!
Mackey grinned. “Yeah like, in the NBA draft but not when you are a senior, and this is your last season. I mean think about it, LeBron James is obviously the best in the NBA. You think him going to the Lakers is going to assure them an easy ride?”
I had no idea the answer to that. One night of internet research and a brand new Twitter account hardly made me a basketball expert.
Mackey raised one judgemental eyebrow, “Let me answer that for you. No. It won’t be a slam dunk for them.” I nearly gagged at the cliche. “The team needs time to gel. We aren’t the Lakers. We already gel.”
“So you think you’ll go to state then?” I asked, thinking how far a turn around season would go toward my goal of getting national recognition with a sports article.
Mackey laughed, “That’s a little optimistic even for me. I think we will be competitive this year. That’s about as high as I dare to dream.”
I let out an audible sigh. There went my underdog story. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
“Will it really be that tragic if you have to write about a mediocre team?” Asked Mackey picking up on my disappointment. He leaned forward so intimately I had to physically restrain myself from scooting my desk backward. This was probably the real reason I had never kissed a boy. My pulse started racing every time one got anywhere near me. It didn’t matter if it was Elliot whom I was actually low key stalking or Mackey who I’d met five minutes ago my level of freak out was just about the same.
“It’s not that,” I replied, leaning back in my chair just a touch. “I’m just in need of an angle, and a turn around season would have given me a lot to work with.”
“You’re really taking this assignment seriously,” said Mackey, his face lighting up “I’m glad. We could use the good PR even if you obviously don’t know much about basketball.”
I glared at him. “I take all assignments seriously and what makes you so sure it will be good PR?”
Mackey laughed. “I will assume you don’t plan to write an expose on our faults. But do explain to me how serious you were last year when you penned Keep room for Jesus between you at the prom. Or how about, Homeschool student pretty sure public school just an excuse to give Mom free time? Those were hilarious by the way.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, shocked by the fact that he not only skimmed the article but remembered the headline.
Mackey looked down at the time on his cell. “I’ll see you at tryouts then?” he asked, rising to go.
“Tryouts...right...should go to those.”
Mackey grinned, “If you want to see who gets the fifth spot in the starting lineup then you should go. They start Monday and run through Wednesday. You could just come Wednesday if you want to hear coach announce our new shooting guard.”
“I’ll be there,” I said, a small smile turning up the corners of my mouth. “And I’ll know what a shooting guard is too!”
Mackey shook his head, “Heaven help us if you don’t. I’m gonna go now,” said Mackey leaning down to my level and lowering his voice. “Before your colleagues come in and catch you fraternizing with the enemy.”
A tingling began working its way up the back of my neck and across my face as I watched him leave the classroom. How was it I’d never paid attention to Hunter Mackey before?
Chapter Four
Two weeks ago, if anyone had asked me how I was going to spend my Wednesday afternoon, watching high school basketball tryouts would not have made the list. Yet there I was, seated on Rosemark’s wooden bleachers prepared to observe.
I had expected the gym to be absent of spectators, but within two minutes of my arrival, Andie was bopping through the door frame waving passionately in my direction. Smiling politely, I rifled through my backpack trying to look too busy to approach. It wasn’t her fault that Elliot thought she was a majestic land mermaid, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be friends with her. What if she turned out to like him back, and the three of us got caught in some overly dramatic love triangle?
It didn’t seem to matter how busy I attempted to look. In mere seconds she was sharing my bleacher, and I had to stop pretending to search through my bag and actually retrieve something, so it wasn’t obvious I was just being a jerk. There was a moment of awkward silence before Andie broke the ice.
“I hope you don’t mind if I sit here.”
I did mind but seeing as how saying that wasn’t an option I responded like a socially challenged human instead.
“You like the sports?”
Andie smirked, “Yes, I like ‘the’ sports.”
I nodded politely, giving her a tight-lipped smile that I hoped wasn’t too encouraging.
“Basketball in particular,” she continued, either oblivious to my lack of engagement or unwilling to give up. “It was kind of my Dad and I’s thing. We went to a lot of Blazer games back when we lived in Portland.”
Was…back when... immediately picked up on the past tense. I knew I should ask about her Dad. But that would give the impression that I wanted to know more and that kind of incentive was just cruel. We weren’t going to be friends even if our bathroom chemistry had been top notch.
“I’m surprised you didn’t want the sports beat then,” I said, steering the conversation away from the personal. “It seems like this would be perfect for you.”
Andie hesitated, looking down at her adorable brown suede flats, “About that, I know you wanted more of the news stuff. I swear I wasn’t trying to take your spot or bash your article.”
“Yeah,” I replied, unable to help myself. “But that’s kinda what happened.”
Andie grimaced. “It wasn’t personal. I hope you know that. It was just my opinion on one article. I didn’t realize Elliot would automatically agree, or that it meant I would get assigned to that beat.”
I rolled my eyes. Did girls that pretty really not realize the impact they had?
“I haven’t been part of a school paper before, but I thought that’s how pitch day worked.”
Ugh, she may have been a little dense when it came to the opposite sex, but she had a point. That was exactly how pitch day worked. How many times had I shot down one of Veronica’s ideas or told Bianca the whole issue needed a rework?
“It’s cool. You’re right, that’s how it works. It just sucks sometimes.”
Andie let out a deep sigh, “Thanks if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you just let me know. I want to start off on the right foot here.”
An idea crept
into my head. Maybe I could usurp Elliot's rule just this once. “If you really want to make it up to me, we could always swap assignments. You cover basketball I handle the news stuff?”
The corners of Andie’s mouth turned down in a frown, “I would but…”
“But?”
She pointed to a kid at the far corner of the gym. I recognized him as an incoming junior and definitely someone in the background of last year’s team photo.
“That’s my cousin Ryan. We live together so I’m pretty sure it would be a conflict of interest.” Conflict of interest my butt. This was a high school newspaper, not the Washington Post.
“Gotcha. Well, no offense but I need to focus on tryouts for my article so…”
“No problem. I totally get it,” said Andie. “My lips are sealed,” she said drawing an invisible zipper across her mouth.
Only her lips weren’t sealed because rather obnoxiously she spent most of the hour shouting instructions to Ryan. “Force them left,” “That’s not your shot! Wait for your shot!” and about five other things that went completely over my head but turned Ryan’s face bright red every time she opened her mouth. I did my best to tune her out, instead focusing on the atmosphere. Good articles were more than just the lede, those first three lines where you told readers what to expect. Good articles were wrought with details, a picture painted with words. I’d been in the gym for many assemblies and pep rallies, but I’d never really taken the place in before. Without the mass of students, it was hard to miss the fact that the rafters were pretty barren when it came to championship banners. There were a few from the football team in the late nineties, but basketball? Basketball was one lone championship in 2008. They’d been bad for a long time. Mackey was right not to get his hopes too high.
I couldn’t shape my first article around tryouts. That would be ideal of course, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think I knew enough about the game to describe each player’s skill set without embarrassing myself. I thought about what Mackey said in the newsroom, how learning who became the new shooting guard was probably a good start.
Shooting Guard, I had learned, was basically the dude who was best at shooting the ball. I watched the scrimmage on the court to see who stood out. The fifth spot was highly sought after and whoever got it was going to shake things up. There were of course juniors vying for the spot, feeling like they earned it after a year or two on JV, but it was new kids and incoming freshman I was most interested in. I crossed my fingers that some hotshot would burst onto the scene and steal the show. A little bit of drama would go a long way toward making my assignment more interesting. Especially since according to Veronica, the current four starters weren’t exactly solid.
Veronica was nosy and annoying, yes, but she was also the best off-the-record source in Marlowe Junction. If you wanted to know something about someone she was who you asked. I’d sucked up my pride and asked her for a recap over lunch. Not surprisingly she knew plenty about the Mountaineer’s starters.
First, there was the point guard and resident douchebag, Anderson Webb. I had never actually interacted with Anderson before, but you would be hard pressed to find someone willing to say nice things about him. And he was currently embroiled in massive team drama, having cheated on Charlie Royce after six months of dating. Why was that team drama? Because her brother Preston was also a starter. Rumor had it Anderson’s mysterious split lip earlier this month was not the random mall fight he claimed it was. And Preston himself had major drama. When the small forward wasn’t permanently affixed to the mouth of his girlfriend, he was obsessing over beating Pineridge. Which according to Veronica “is like, duh, our rival.” I didn’t even know schools with bad sports teams had rivals. I mean, wasn’t everyone our rival? Nearly everyone had beat us. What made Pinebrook so special?
I was right when I determined that there was no G.O.A.T. on the Mountaineers, but both Preston and Jeremiah were decent. Veronica was betting on one to oust the other for a scholarship, and from what I could tell, Jeremiah had a slight edge.
And then there was Mackey, the team's center and a total mystery to Veronica other than that she could see he was the biggest kid on the court. His primary purpose appeared to be to get in the way, honestly. He was either setting screens as his teammates slithered around him or boxing out the opposition by throwing his massive butt into his opponents knocking them away from the backboard so he could secure the rebound when they missed.
He was good on the court, from what I could tell, but what he contributed to the team came more from what he offered after the whistle blew. When a guy missed a shot, he had only positive feedback, and when the coach was stern with a player, he was the first to clap him on the back and offer reassurance. He was captain encouragement, and everyone seemed to feed off his good vibes—even Anderson. Personality wise, he was the angel on your shoulder to Anderson’s devil, yet somehow the two of them had perfect chemistry on the court. I’d been looking for an insider on the team, and Mackey was looking a lot like my guy.
Beside me, Andie was practically bouncing up and down in her seat, clutching her purse as if a tidal wave would come any moment and sweep it away. The way she was acting you would have thought she was the one trying out and not her cousin.
“Nervous much?” I asked.
Andie eased up on her purse, “It’s not going to be a fun time in my household if Ryan doesn’t make it off the bench. He’s been part of the second unit since he was a Freshman. I’m pretty sure his ego can’t take another rejection.”
I nodded, remembering my first year on the newspaper staff. It hadn’t been fun being the girl who wrote articles buried on page 8. Suddenly, without even knowing the guy I was silently rooting for him.
“It should be in the bag,” said Andie. “But Coach Cornell can be unpredictable sometimes.”
The clock hit 4:30 and Coach Cornell blew the final whistle gathering the guys to center court. It was hard to hear exactly what he was saying from where we sat, but the body language of the players let us know that this was the big moment. Both Andie and I let out the breath we’d been holding when Coach tossed a green and orange mountaineer’s uniform in Ryan’s hands.
“This,” cried Andie excitedly, “is the difference between going out to eat tonight and Easy Mac with a side of everyone has a bad attitude.”
I couldn’t help but giggle. For a girl I was destined to hate she was downright likable.
With tryouts over, the team grabbed their gear from the sidelines and headed to the locker room.
“Walk you out?” asked Andie, rising to go.
“Sure,” I shrugged, slinging my bag over my shoulder and making my way down to the gym floor.
Mackey was still stuffing his duffle bag at the sideline. There was absolutely no reason for me to look in his direction. But I’d never been that great at impulse control. I slowed my walk just a little to check out the boy in uniform. Usually, when I thought of guys over the six-foot mark, I pictured the gangly type–not Mackey. Mackey had a solid athletic build. It’s what made him so good at defense. When a smaller guy bumped into Mackey on the court, they bounced off while he stayed planted. And even though he didn’t shoot as much as the other guys on his team, he had the arms of a guy who did, lean, sculpted, currently a little glistening... Andie nudged me in the ribs.
“Ahem, you might want to look away before you start drooling.” Yikes, I guess my discreet glance wasn’t so discreet after all. I just knew a big fat blush was on its way.
“Oh no, I—” I stammered “I wasn’t...that’s not—”
Andie laughed. “You don’t have to defend yourself to me. Besides, don’t look now but it uh, appears to be mutual,” she whispered.
Saying “don’t look now” is like saying “don’t pick up that twenty-dollar bill on the sidewalk.” You’re always going to do it regardless of the consequences. I couldn’t help myself. I stopped walking and turned to face him.
Mackey lifted his chin just a little, a sm
all smile playing across his lips as he shook the hair out of his eyes, sweat still clinging to the strands. It was a good look for him, less buttoned-up than he appeared at school. Coach Cornell required all the guys to dress nice for game day, but Mackey took it to the next level. He pretty much dressed like he was on his way to church every day of basketball season.
Our eyes locked from across the gym. I liked the sweaty, sporty version of him. It was the opposite of—I stopped myself right there. I was dangerously close to a line of thinking that was only going to cause trouble. I gave a friendly wave before quickly scurrying out of the gym. Andie didn’t say anything as we parted ways, but the conspiratorial smirk on her face told me she had a pretty good idea what I was thinking.
My head was buzzing with questions on the scooter ride home. Primarily, what the heck was wrong with me? I was totally and completely in love with Elliot. Mackey wasn’t my type. I wasn’t his type. So why was I still thinking about the way his hair looked falling into his eyes?
Chapter Five
I squeezed the irrational thoughts about Mackey out of my brain. One crush was enough of a distraction for me. Two would be an overload. With a little over a week until the first edition of the Gazette some of the staffers already had rough drafts to turn it. Me, not so much.
I was prepared to give a long explanation for why shifting gears from news to sports was taking a little longer than I anticipated, but when I opened my mouth to talk all that came out was, “Things are going great. Looking forward to covering the first game!”
I knew I didn’t sound very convincing, but in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter how I sounded. No one was paying attention.
In the back of the room, Veronica and our ads manager were fighting over how much space girls basketball and dance team would get while Eric from Science and Technology struggled with our chief graphic designer over whether or not scholarship announcements belonged on the back page or front side column. Today was basically a free period. If I were smart, I would hunker down and work on my article, but instead, I was glowering toward the front of the room where Andie and Elliot stood pouring over a seriously disheveled pile of papers.