Head Games

by Nicole Leigh Shepherd

  Hannah turns back around. “I’ll never understand the two of them. They’re clearly oil and water.” She takes another bite out of her bread. “Now, you on the other hand, I’m extremely proud of.”

  “Seriously?” I look at Hannah, disbelievingly.

  “Yeah. I mean, you’re the girl who’s nice to everyone she meets. Who comments on every single post. And to totally disregard Kylie and go after Zach? That takes some serious cojones.”

  “Are you saying that I don’t normally have cojones?”

  “You do on the court, but—”

  “But, I know, you don’t have to say it. I . . .” I lose my train of thought when I spot a school store sign advertising Matt’s fave sweatshirt. Turning back to Hannah, I decide that I need to know the truth once and for all. “Banana, I have to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly. Is Matt hooking up with Vi?”

  “Matt Moore?” Hannah grins. “Matt’s so sweet. And—” But before she can finish her answer, Zach plops down in the vacant seat next to her.

  “Heyyyy,” Hannah says, all nonchalant.

  Zach gives Hannah a little nod and then turns to me. “Hey, Taylor. What’s up?”

  Hannah juts her head forward. She doesn’t like being ignored. “My designs.”

  As they’re talking, I start trembling, just thinking about what Kylie will do to me when she finds out that Zach made his way over to my table after abandoning her at the Aquafina machine.

  Hannah gestures in my direction. “And my complicated model.”

  Zach looks at me and smiles. “I think your model is perfect.”

  At this point, I’m shuddering so wildly, I’m wondering why no one’s called the nurse.

  “Uh, thanks,” I say, rallying myself. Then I go quiet.

  Attempting to resuscitate the convo, Hannah asks, “Want to hear what my line’s called?”

  Zach tosses his Aquafina bottle in the air. Catching it, he asks, “What’s it called?”

  “Banana Fad.” Hannah smiles at me.

  “Like the fruit?” Zach squeezes his water bottle.

  “It’s a Taylor-me thing,” Hannah replies, pointing at me and then at herself as if we’re in a gang of two.

  And then my worst fears are realized. Kylie has spotted us.

  Standing at the head of the cafeteria table, she bangs and shouts, “How can you guys do this to me?” The table shakes. Plates, bottles, and other random items rattle. But Kylie doesn’t seem to care. Thrusting her head at Zach, she squeals, “She’s my teammate!”

  With those words, I begin to lose track of what Kylie and Zach are saying. The cafeteria spins, and, for a sec, all I hear is a steady buzzing of voices. How could I have been so selfish? She’s right. We are teammates. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

  “Kylie, calm down,” Zach says.

  “No, I’m not going to calm down. You guys make me sick.” She stamps her foot, forcefully.

  When will this be over? I need to find a way to fix things. I gather my strength and look at Kylie. “Listen, Kylie, I’m really sorry that I hurt you. I’ll seriously do anything to make this up to you.”

  In super slow-mo, Kylie turns to face me.“What???”

  “It’s just that I—” Looking up at Kylie, I catch a pained expression cross her face. But then, it’s gone, just as quickly as it came. Replaced by her classic venomous stare. “I—”

  “Taylor, you made out with the guy who was supposed to be my boyfriend. Or at least I thought he was. What could you ever possibly do to make up for betraying me like that?”

  “I—”

  Zach and Hannah look back and forth between me and Kylie, their eyes like saucers.

  Brrrring. Brrrring. Brrrring. Saved by the bell.

  twenty

  Usually my fave days are game days, but today I’m dragging because of the constant whispers and eye daggers from Kylie and her crew. Since the nice approach isn’t working real well, I avoid her as much as possible during the school day. But, come game time, I have no choice but to meet her face-to-face.

  So, after school I calmly approach her to try to talk everything out one-on-one, thinking that maybe we can continue the conversation we started earlier in the caf. However, whatever moment we had before is gone completely. She’s not having my apology. If anything, it seems like my efforts only make things worse. You know, because she ends up yelling “skank” (again) and turning her back to me. Turns out that tracking someone down to talk things out is not always such a great idea.

  The game starts off just as bad as I’d imagined. After only scoring two points in the first half, we’re losing to Bel Air, who totally suck, by six. It’s not my playing ability that is lacking. Nope, Kylie is barely passing me the ball. Seriously. And it’s a basic rule of basketball: Without the guard passing the center the ball, the team is screwed.

  Unfortunately, none of this seems to matter to Kylie. Who cares if I’m open? All day long. Or that with Bel Air’s tallest player being Hannah’s size, there’s no chance of anyone blocking me? Eventually, even our fans begin to notice that something’s up. Four minutes in, they start shouting, “Taylor’s open!” and “Pass the ball to Taylor!”

  Halftime comes around, and the team trails into the locker room, our heads hung low. We know that we’re in for it. Sure enough, Coach Jackson stamps inside, lets out a deep breath, and begins furiously scribbling on the large whiteboard. Coach Martie follows close behind, sits down, and runs her hands through her short, black hair. Throwing the blue marker down on the whiteboard ledge, Coach Jackson turns and slams the door shut.

  “What the heck is going on?” she screams, looking at Kylie and then at me. She tosses her blue suit jacket on a chair. “Kylie, you and Taylor are supposed to be executing plays together, and she’s obviously open, but you’re not passing her the ball!”

  Kylie stares blankly at Coach. I slide down in my seat.

  “Why would you blow the game on purpose?” Coach glares at Kylie.

  Kylie shrugs her shoulders.

  Bam.

  Coach smashes her plastic clipboard against her desk and pushes up her white dress sleeves. “And Taylor, whatever is going on between you and Kylie, you two better make it right before you get back out there on the court. If you don’t, be sure to bring your running sneakers to practice tomorrow because we won’t stop running until this mess is over. We have no time for this ridiculousness.” Coach storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Martie lingers for a bit. “Think about this for a second. No one person wins a championship. A team does.” Then, she slinks out.

  A flush of heat torpedoes through my body. I messed up. Big time.

  Finally, Tamika, our senior captain, speaks up. “Coach has a point, guys.” She looks at both of us. “We all know what happened with Zach this weekend, but Kylie, you need to put that aside for the team. Without Taylor scoring, we’re not going to win. And if Taylor doesn’t get the ball, she’s not going to score.” Tamika glares at me. “Not that I agree with what you did, Taylor; it was totally messed up.”

  My face burns with shame.

  Tamika turns to Kylie, tucking a skinny braid into her ponytail. “Can’t you put this Zach mess aside for the team?”

  “For the team, yeah.” She looks at Tamika, then at me.

  Tamika shifts her glare to me. “And Taylor, what do you have to say to Kylie?”

  “Sorry, Kylie. I really do want to make this right,” I say, even though I’ve already tried this strategy. But at this point I just don’t know what else to tell her.

  “Okay, Kylie. She said she’s sorry.” Tamika places her hands on her hips. “Now, let’s put this behind us and win this game.”

  Kylie glowers at her.

  “Come on,” Tamika pleads, “we worked too hard this season to blow it today against a team as bad as Bel Air.”

  “Whatever.” Kylie rolls her eyes.

  The buzzer sounds and we file out of the locker room tow
ard the court.

  “She’ll get over it,” Jessica whispers, as she jogs by.

  But, I don’t believe Jessica. I screwed up royally. Good-bye, three-peat. Good-bye, SoCals. Good-bye, friends. Good-bye, Zach. Hello, self-induced purgatory.

  twenty-one

  Even though we played super sloppy during the first half, when we get back out on the court, I immediately sense that this quarter is going to be different. Sure enough, Kylie begins reluctantly passing me the ball, and I easily nail nine baskets and three free throws in fifteen minutes. Maybe I can make this right.

  “Three,” Kylie shouts, dribbling the ball across half-court and holding up three fingers.

  Tamika looks at me. Then she nods, signaling the play. I run her way and she picks off my defender. Kylie passes me the ball. The defender maneuvers around Tamika, emerging in front of me. Using every square inch of my height, I square up and shoot over the defender’s outstretched arms. Swish.

  And then, I turn around and spot him. Sitting and chatting with my dad is Zach. I stop and stare, shaking my head. At first, I think maybe I’m hallucinating, but when a Bel Air jersey runs by and scores, I notice that Kylie has also stopped dead in her tracks.

  Coach Jackson goes nuts. “Get back in the game, you two!” she shouts from the bench. “Get your heads in the game!”

  I turn around and jog back to my position

  “Five,” Kylie shouts with pursed lips, glaring at me while she holds up her fingers.

  Tamika cuts to the foul line. Kylie passes her the ball. I post for position underneath the basket with my hands up. Tamika passes me the ball, I drop step and turn toward the basket, but the basket’s moving and my steps are all wrong. When I go in for my layup, the ball bounces off the backboard and ricochets right into Bel Air’s hands.

  All of a sudden, I can’t breathe. I can barely see. My heart is pounding. My mouth is dry. Am I losing it because of all this Kylie drama? I mean, it isn’t like this is my first game. What is wrong with me?

  I sprint back to a defensive position. Bel Air takes a jump shot from inside the paint. I jump up and grab the blurry orange blur. Then, I stop for a second to shake my head. And during that short second, Bel Air steals the ball and shoots. Swish.

  In the distance, I can hear my dad and Coach screaming at me. But the gym is fuzzy and everything is back to slow-mo. Stop feeling like this. It’s just Kylie. It’s just a little drama. It will pass.

  The buzzer sounds and Abby, another Beachwood freshman player, jogs my way and slaps my hand, taking my spot on the court. I stagger to the sideline and sit on a cold metal folding chair as far away from Coach Jackson as possible.

  “Taylor, get over here.” Coach points to the chair next to her.

  With my head down, I slowly amble over.

  Coach shouts directions to the team and then leans toward me. “What is going on with you out there?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, staring at my black Nikes Vis Air Elites.

  “You’re completely out of it.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you want to start? Do you want to play basketball in college?”

  I nod. The fuzziness begins to lift.

  “What?” She cups her ear and tilts towards me.

  “Yes, I do,” I answer.

  “Are you sick?”

  “I don’t think so, Coach.” I think back to how the gym went all funny.

  “Then, get yourself together. My job is to put the best girls out on the court. I need someone out there who wants to play and is going to give it one hundred percent. Not fight with teammates, gaze at the stands, give the ball away, and blow layups. I’ll bench you for the rest of the season and you can kiss basketball good-bye. Do you understand me? There are plenty of other girls waiting to take your spot. Abby, for instance.” She nods at Abby’s whirling form.

  “Okay,” I squeak. A few tears drip down my face. I’ve heard Coach lay into players before, but never me and never this bad.

  Coach shakes her head, and then, catching sight of Kylie fouling a Bel Air player, jumps out of her seat and returns to screaming directions at the team.

  Martie maneuvers over and places a hand on my shoulder. “Whatever is going on, I’m here if you need to talk.”

  I squeak a quick, “Thanks,” more mortified than ever. Then, I get up, move as far away from my coaches as possible, and grab a towel. After I wipe my face, drying the tears from my cheeks, I try to focus my eyes. That’s when I look up at the bleachers and spot my dad, shaking his head.

  A realization dawns on me. I’m not only the source of all this drama. I’m the worst daughter ever.

  twenty-two

  After the game ends, and we run ten suicides (even though we eventually won by three, Coach was not happy), I hightail it out of the locker room, wondering why I’m feeling crazy stressed. Before I can make it too far, Tamika startles me by shouting, “Everyone, in the team room. Now.”

  It’s never a good idea to irritate Tamika, so I shuffle into the team room along with the rest of my teammates. Guess I can spend time mulling over my bad game later.

  Tamika takes Coach’s spot in front of the whiteboard. “Okay. This has got to stop,” she says, crossing her arms.

  Uh-oh. I know where this conversation is going.

  “Lately we stink.” Tamika’s looks around the room, allowing the intensity of her words to sink in. “And it’s all because of guys.”

  I put my head down and stare at my hands.

  “Do you think the guys’ team is blowing games because of us? Not likely.” Tamika stares at Kylie, then Missy, and then me.

  “Missy, you’ve been playing terrible lately.”

  Missy looks up from her compact mirror and twists her lip-gloss tube closed. She clicks her mirror shut.

  “And can you honestly tell me it isn’t because of Andrew Mason?”

  Andrew Mason is a senior guard on the basketball team (too short for me by three inches but still cute) who Missy has been eyeing since last month’s beach bonfire.

  She looks down at her hands. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been distracted.”

  “Exactly.” Tamika looks at Kylie. “And Kylie. What about Saturday’s drama with Jessica?” She nods at Jessica. “And it was a total rumor. Not even true. All that fuss for nothing.”

  Kylie rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders.

  “Then, today you wouldn’t even pass Taylor the ball because of Zach again, causing us to almost lose the game. And don’t forget that last week you got in a girl’s face over Zach in the hallway after school. And then there was the Natasha incident in December. . . . We almost lost three games because of your suspension. What’s with you, Kylie?”

  Kylie crosses her arms. “Zach and I’ve been together for more than two years. It’s different.” She shoots me a look and I slide down farther in my seat.

  “That’s great, but we almost blew a game because of you and Zach. You guys broke up. It’s over.” Tamika paces. “Hey, I’m no saint. I found myself scanning the stands looking for Dwight during the first half. Believe me, I’m all for guys and having a good time. I’m just saying that I’m not giving up this season and my college dreams because of a bunch of boys.” She grabs a red marker off the white board shelf and violently pops the cap off. “Friday’s game is huge. We all know that the scouts from the SoCal Suns and a bunch of colleges will be there. It’s a must win.”

  A bunch of us start to shift in our seats. Everyone is incredibly nervous about the game.

  “Right. So, from this point forward, we need to change our attitudes, ladies.” Tamika scans the room, looking each one of us in the eye. When she reaches me, my stomach drops.

  Continuing, Tamika begins pacing back and forth. “Remember when Eva skipped a preseason practice to go to Telluride to hang out with her boyfriend? And what happened to him?” She stops and glares at Eva.

  Eva drums her fingers on the desk. “Uh. . . . We broke up.”

  “Exactly.”
Tamika perches in the front of the room, poised and confident. “And you lost your starting position. Coach Jackson always says she never regretted a moment she spent playing a sport or hanging with her teammates. She only regretted the times she chose a guy over her team.”

  Everyone nods their heads in unison. Tamika has a point.

  “That’s why I think we should try a new approach.” Tamika turns toward the whiteboard, grabs a red marker, and writes the words “No More Boys” in big letters.

  Everyone’s mouths drop wide open. Kylie and Missy freeze in their seats.

  “That’s right. No more guys until the season is over. That means no more fighting among ourselves about guys or freaking out over some dude.” Tamika turns back to the board and writes her name on the board under the heading. Then she turns back to us. “Are we all in or what? No boys until the season is over.”

  Wait. What? I finally snagged Zach and I have to give up guys? I’m all for “team bonding” and stuff, but these girls have hung out with way more guys than I ever will. They just don’t get it. This is my one chance to be with my one and only B-Dub soul mate.

  “What the heck are we going to do if there are no guys?” Missy asks.

  For once, she has a point.

  Kylie chimes in. “Oh, you know, sit home at night and knit each other little I-heart-Beachwood-Academy-even-though-everyone-screws-me-over booties.”

  “Basketball,” Tamika sternly responds. “This is serious, guys. Playoffs start a week from today. If we lose against Richland, we’re screwed.”

  Kylie rolls her eyes. “That’s so not gonna happen.”

  Tamika looks totally fed up by this point. “No, actually, it’s definitely possible. We barely beat them in December.” She takes a deep breath and calms herself down. “So, what do you guys think?”

  “Like ball instead of boys?” Eva says.

  “Sounds like a band,” Kylie snaps.

  “Ball before boys!” Missy pipes in. But then Kylie elbows her and her expression turns sheepish.