It’s him in his ultra-hotness. Zachary Murphy is in my house. As usual, he looks totally relaxed. His hands are casually tucked into his jean pockets. And his hair looks like it was ruffled just the right amount by the wind.
“Huh . . . I don’t know where she is.” My mom, looking kind of pasty, pushes the intercom button again. “Honey, Zachary is here to see you.”
She releases the button and turns her attention back to Zach, who is busy scanning the house. I crouch even lower to avoid being spotted.
“She’s probably shooting baskets with her father. They’re always doing that on the weekends.” She presses the outdoor intercom button. “Taylor? Taylor, you there?” Not surprisingly, there isn’t any answer. You know, since I’m busy hiding behind a plant.
“Hmm . . .” she says. “Maybe she just didn’t hear me. Or maybe she’s upstairs after all. Let me see if I can find her.” My mom’s heels (guessing they’re Jimmy Choo because she talks about him nonstop) tap across the ceramic-tiled floor as she makes her way to the stairs.
Uh-oh. I shrink into the wall again and begin my slide back to my room.
“Taylor Isabella Thomas, what are you doing?” My mom stands at the top of the steps with her hands on her hips. Yup, she definitely just caught the tail end of my plant maneuver.
“Shhh!” I motion for her to follow me back into my room.
“There’s a smoking hot boy waiting for you at the door. Why in the world were you hiding behind a plant?” She takes a seat at my desk chair.
“Mom, please don’t say ‘smoking hot’ ever again.”
“Whatever makes my darling daughter happy. But still, you didn’t answer my question.” She swings her feet over to one side of the chair and looks at me conspiratorially.
I stare at her. “I don’t want to see him.”
“Why? Because of your hair?”
“Thanks for pointing out the obvious.” I pat down the back of my hair. “No,” I whisper,“because he dates one of my teammates.”
“Why isn’t he with her right now?” She raises one eyebrow like it’s the end of a dramatic scene on L.A. High.
I scrunch my shoulders.
“You should at least go downstairs and talk to him. He’s such a cutie! And besides, he came all the way here just to see you.” She juts out her lower lip, four-year-old style.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Oh, you are doing this. No daughter of mine is going to turn a boy like that away without even giving him the time of day.”
“Mom . . .”
“Taylor, sweetie, if it’s that bad, then you can ask him to leave. Nicely. But at least give him a chance. For me.” She juts out her lower lip even farther.
“I guess he already knows what I look like when I’m playing, and I suppose I’m wearing the same kind of stuff. . . .”
“That’s my girl!” My mom smiles, pushes herself out of the chair, and leads me out of my room, into the hallway, and down the stairs.
Zach is still standing there, checking his iPhone. At least he didn’t bail.
“Here she is!” My mom winks at me.
Zach looks up from his phone.
“Heyyyyy, Zach,” I say, while awkwardly doing a little wave. (Ugh, who waves when they’re standing right next to someone?)
“I’ll leave you crazy kids to it, then.” My mom scampers back up the stairs, and I’m pretty sure I see Zach’s eyes follow her all the way into the master suite. (Have I mentioned my mother’s ginormous boobs and tiny waist? Yup, guess who got her looks from her dad’s side?)
I realize that the only way I’m going to salvage this visit is with a little one-on-one time on the court. “Want to go out back?” I ask. Before he can answer, I walk toward the sliding glass doors at the rear of our great room.
He shrugs and follows me outside.
We make our way past the patio and take the stoned path to the court. I snatch a ball off the ground and pass it to him. He sets up and shoots. Swish.
“Nice court, Taylor.” Zach looks around as I grab the ball.
“Thanks.” I pass the ball back to Zach and struggle to think of something else to say. When nothing comes to mind, I resort to, “So, what’s up?” Meanwhile my brain fires question after question: Why is he here? How does he know where I live? Does he really think I’m hot?
“Nothing.” Zach dribbles to the right side of the basket, sets up inside the three-point line, and shoots. Another swish. I retrieve the ball and pass it back to him.
In my mind, I’m jumping up and down, screaming: Zachary Murphy is in my backyard shooting baskets! Zachary Murphy is in my backyard shooting baskets! Over and over and over again.
On the outside, I try to remain calm. “Why’d you stop by?” I ask.
He halts mid-shot, looks at me with his giant hazel eyes, and smiles. “I just wanted to see what you’re up to.”
I grin back as Zach shoots again from behind the three-point line. This one banks off the backboard.
He shows off his single dimple.
I grab his rebound and set up right where he missed, square up and shoot. The ball swishes through the net.
“Nice shot. Actually, I’m here because—”
“Who’s up for a pick up game?” my dad shouts, interrupting our flow as he jogs toward mid-court. “Hey, Zachary Murphy, superstar boys’ center at Beachwood! How’s it going?” My dad swings his arm and catches Zach’s hand for a hard, manly handshake. The kind of handshake I’ve only seen him do with his golfing buddies.
“Hi, Mr. Thomas.”
“Call me Mike.”
No. Oh please, no.
“Uhhh . . . nice to meet you, Mike.”
Noooooo. My Zachary Murphy dream is turning into a Zachary Murphy nightmare.
fourteen
“This is perfect! Exactly what Taylor needs. The best boys’ center at Beachwood versus the best girls’ center.” My dad snatches the ball from my hands. “Okay, kiddo, you set up underneath the basket.” He tucks the ball underneath his arm and points with his other hand. “Zach you’re on D to start. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
No. Not Zach and me one-on-one in front of my dad. Could this get any worse? That means Zach and I are going to be super close, touching in front of my dad. Which is (a) gross (because my dad’s there) and (b) totally distracting. But, I really want to show Zach my skills once and for all. At least then after he confesses his deep love for all things Hannah, I already kicked his butt on the court.
I maneuver underneath the basket and my dad bounce-passes me the ball. Zach sets up behind me, and I can feel the heat from his breath on the nape of my neck. He leans in and chills run down my spine. But the mood is quickly cut short by my dad yelling, “Use your hips, Spider. Fake him out.”
I move toward the right. Then I jut to the left, jump, and hit the ball softly off the backboard. Swish.
“Nice move, Spider!” Zach says, winking at me. The sunlight reflects off his sparkling eye-sprinkles as he retrieves the ball.
“Make it, take it.” My dad snatches the ball back, completely shocking Zach.
Ohmigod. He did not just do that.
Zach and I get into position, and my dad chest passes the ball back to me. I turn around and am now face-to-face with Zach. I fake left. Drive right. And get blocked by Zach after only two dribbles. Then I set up for a jump shot, fake, and shoot. Again, no good. Zach blocks it, midair. After retrieving the deflection, he dribbles to the foul line.
“Taylor, what were you thinking?” my dad screams.
I gulp. During big games, I rise to the occasion. But, for some reason, I’m tanking in my own backyard. There’s only one explanation: Zachary Murphy.
“Taylor, you just did that move! You have to use everything you have, not rely on the same footwork. How do you expect to beat Rodriguez?” my dad rants.
Mortified, I look over at Zach, afraid to see his reaction to my dad’s lecture. I can’t believe I pushed myself to hang out with him d
espite my hideous appearance, and this is how our afternoon ends.
But, it turns out that Zach isn’t paying attention. He’s busy texting.
Zach looks up from the screen, having realized that the court has gone silent. The only remaining sound comes from his phone. For a moment, our eyes meet and I think we might just be able to get back to our game. Maybe we’ll even play a little more one-on-one. But then, my dreams are shattered by three simple words: “I gotta go.”
My stomach drops. Of course, Zach has popular people to hang out with. Who am I kidding?
Zach walks up to my dad. “Nice to meet you, Mr., uhhh, Mike.” He shakes my father’s hand and shoves his phone back in his pocket, as my dad returns to shooting hoops. Then Zach begins to make the trek back up the path toward the house. All of a sudden, he stops, as if reconsidering. He turns back around, looking at me. “Wanna come?”
WHAT??? Did Zachary Michael Murphy just ask me to go somewhere with him? After hearing my dad reprimand me? And seeing me look like I’d been run over by a truck? WHAT???
I catch my breath. “Uh. Yeah.” I force myself to make eye contact with him.
“Cool,” he replies.
We walk through the sliding glass doors into the house and make our way to the front door. As we’re about to leave, I turn to him, “Actually, would you mind waiting down here for one sec while I run upstairs?”
There’s no way I’m leaving the house without first brushing my teeth. Because if he kissed my knee, maybe my lips will be next.
fifteen
“I had fun, Spider,” Zach grins mischievously. He stays a few steps ahead of me, and I find my eyes drifting down to his perfectly shaped butt and the way that his legs seem to glide ever so effortlessly over the beach path. Guys like Zach even walk flawlessly.
“Sorry about my dad.”
“Nah, your dad’s pretty cool.”
Zach might walk amazingly, but he’s definitely losing it. “Seriously?” I lock eyes with Zach. Who would chose to hang out with my dad? Let alone call him cool.
“Yeah,” he says, showing off his adorable dimple. “He’s really into basketball.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I answer, shifting my eyes away toward the pinks and yellows being spilled by the setting sun.
We’re silent for a few seconds when Zach yells out, “Hey, watch this!” Then he jumps over the boardwalk railing, landing feet first on the sand.
I take one look at the stairs and decide that I didn’t attend all those training sessions for nothing. Mimicking Zach, I bound over the railing. “And she sticks it!” I call out.
Zach looks up from shedding his Jordans.“Oh, I missed it. Cool.”
My brief moment of bravado comes to a crashing halt. Suddenly, I remember that this is Zach I’m with, and little feats like jumping over a railing mean nothing to him. I hesitantly slide my sneaks off and sink my toes into the cool sand.
Again, I silently count, one Mississippi, two Mississippi . . . The lull in the conversation begins to bother me, and I scan my brain for something amazing to say. But, all I can seem to come up with is Kylie, Kylie, Kylie. More basketball it is.
I turn to Zach. “Friday’s Richland. If we win, we snag first place in the division for the fifth year in a row and we make the playoffs. Plus, the SoCal Suns club coaches will be in the stands.”
“Yeah.” He stares off into the distance. “This year’s huge.”
“Yup . . .” I smile, proud of my basketball skills.
“Definitely need to be prepared for Chris Garrison. He’s the best guy in the league. Heard he’s dunking two or three times a game.”
Who the heck is Chris Garrison? My toes sink deeper into the sand as we walk along the shoreline. Steeling my nerves, I hear the wind howling in the background. Oh, that explains it. He probably didn’t hear me over the breeze.
“But, Coach says I’ll get major exposure if I score big this game. I heard SI might even be there since Garrison is the number two high school recruit in the country.” He breaks out in a huge grin. Even bigger than the one usually plastered across his face when he’s hanging off the rim. “Can you imagine? Me in SI? That’s Lebron status.”
If we’re talking Lebron status, I guess I can overlook his mishearing me.
He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the surf. “Want to swim?”
“Uhhh, uhhh . . .” I look down at my white tee. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I don’t have a bathing suit. And, you know, it’s February—”
“Dude, it’s warm out. The water’s fine. And who cares about bathing suits?” Zach lifts his black Beachwood tee up over his head, revealing his extremely tan, extremely muscular chest. YUMMY. Next, he pulls his jeans down to expose his (yikes) white mesh shorts. Finally, he tosses his phone and Movado watch on top of his sneaks and dives into a wave. When he emerges, he shakes out his hair. Beads of water spray off. My mouth drops open.
“You coming in?” He grins. “It’s nice out here.” Then he plunges back underwater.
He did ask me. And I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings. . . . Plus, I’m pretty sure no girl would ever refuse a dip in the ocean with someone who has abs like Zach’s. But, there’s still the Kylie issue.
“Come on.” He smiles. My heart’s beating so fast, I swear it’s going to explode. This is my big moment. Who knows when I’ll have another opportunity like this? Kylie, please forgive me. I leave my clothes on and jump in.
Zach pops his head up out of the water, smiling roguishly. “That’s my girl.”
His girl? Melt.
We splash and giggle for a bit. Then he wraps his bulky arms around my shoulders and looks deep into my eyes as we bob up and down with the water. “Do you think we’re good together?”
I nod.
“Yeah, me too. You’re the only girl at Beachwood who can really school the competition out on the court. You’re like the girl-me.”
Totally and completely melting, I nod again.
He begins to lean toward me. This is it. The event I’ve been waiting for. The one that will take me from inexperienced, awkward Towering Taylor Thomas to Taylor Thomas: basketball superstar by day, girl-who’s-been-kissed by night. I shut my eyes.
And—bang! Instead of Zach’s full lips, a huge wave slams into me. Salt water shoots up my nose and I’m pulled underwater. I try to tread, but I’m gagging and coughing so much, I can’t make it to the surface. I wave my arms above the water, mentally pleading, Zach, help!
Finally, I feel him grab my hand and pull me to the shoreline.
Gasping for breath, I push against the sand and attempt to sit up. My knee screams. Between the salt and the sand, my cut’s a mess. That’s when I notice that Zach is doubled over laughing.
I look at him.
“You okay?” he asks, between fits of giggles.
This is so not funny. I could have died. The one time I do something for myself, and sure enough, a wave decides to topple me over. Serves me right for ever being so selfish. How on Earth am I going to make it up to Kylie?
sixteen
It’s happened. Zach’s face has officially turned pink from laughing so hard.
Meanwhile, I’ve given up on my attempts to sit up straight and have resumed my original lying-flat-on-the-wet-sand position. My coughs are now coming in spurts, but my throat and nose still burn intensely.
“Come on. Time to sit up for real.” In one full swoop, Zach pushes my shoulders up off the ground (causing me to awkwardly fall forward) and grabs his tee and Movado. He checks the time and nods to himself. Turning back to me, he asks, “How about some more one-on-one?”
I shrug my shoulders, and, using all my energy, manage to stand up. Then, I follow Zach toward the beach court. As he’s retrieving a ball that’s been deserted near the bleachers, I pull my drenched hair back into a ponytail and make a silent vow: No more Miss Nice Girl. I will show Zachary Murphy what I’m made of.
“Make it, take it.” He bounce-passes me the ball and agai
n shows off those blindingly white teeth. “Maybe today you can stay on your feet.”
“Whatever.” I dribble, switching hands, and keep his gaze. Then, I pull up and take a three.
Swish.
See, this is okay. I just took a little swim with Zach. Now we’re playing some basketball. No big deal. Kylie won’t be upset. The team’s still intact. We’re just friends. Friends hanging out shooting baskets. Completely innocent. Well, except for the fact that I’m going to kick some major Murphy butt.
“Nice shot,” Zach says, retrieving the ball. He bounce-passes it back to me and I immediately drive past him, laying the ball into the net left-handed. Turning around, I expect some serious applause. I mean, that’s the move I’m going to use to beat Rodriguez on Friday. It’s pretty unbelievable (if I do say so myself). But, something on Zach’s phone seems to have caught his attention.
“I gotta go,” he says, shoving the phone back into his back pocket.
Right, his plans. “I guess I won,” I announce, somewhat timidly. My original suspicion was correct. Of course Zach would have more exciting things to do than hang out with me. While retrieving the ball, I take a deep breath and force myself to see the good in the situation. With Zach leaving, I can go on with my life without worrying about Kylie. No hook-up. No problem.
Still, part of me wants to say something to him about the whole making-it-seem-like-he-was-inviting-me-to-go-out-with-his-friends-but-not-really thing. But, as I turn around, I see that Zach is standing directly in front of me.
He looks straight at me, and, before I realize what the heck is happening, he pulls me in and presses his warm lips against mine. Finally. My whole body tingles. He grabs my waist and lures me closer, diving deeper into my mouth.
We pull apart and I’m breathless. Wait? Did that just happen? Oh. My. God. Scratch that. Oh my Zachary Michael Murphy.
Grabbing the rest of his belongings, he says, “I’ll text you later.” And with that, he jogs toward the dunes and disappears.
What does this mean??? Besides, you know, that my cause of death has now become clear to me: murdered by Kylie Collins. I stare at the backboard. Then, I scan the court, having been suddenly overwhelmed by a serious urge to shoot baskets. That’s when my next realization hits: Zach just took the ball.
Head Games Page 6