Head Games

by Nicole Leigh Shepherd

  “Two days. Then, the honor board will reinstate me after they read my essay about self-control.” He glances behind him. “It doesn’t matter.” He turns back around and walks a few steps.

  “Wait.” I grab his arm. His school-store-bought sweatshirt has that worn-in, soft and comfy feeling, like a warm blanket on a cool beach night. “I thought it was really great what you did.”

  “I gotta go.” He walks away. And this time, he doesn’t turn back around.

  As I’m heading back to English, a hand reaches out, grabs my arm, and pulls me into the empty janitor’s closet. Zach. His warm breath hits my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Guess it’s time to finish up where we left off last night.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, still unwilling to be a three-B violator or a notch on the boys’ three-B list. Even if Zach was pressured into doing it.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you.” His lips inch toward mine. Reluctantly, I nudge him away.

  “Zach, I can’t.”

  “But, it’s just me and you. No one will know.”

  I feel the cool doorknob.

  I turn around and peck Zach on the cheek. “Thanks for thinking of me, but I have a basketball game to prep for.” Then, I twist the knob, take a deep breath, and walk back to English.

  fifty

  Later, after practice, I rush home to shoot some hoops with my dad. I open the gate to my backyard, and as I close it behind me, I hear a soft and gravelly voice.

  “Hey, Taylor.” Zach smiles at me.

  “Huh?” my legs feel as if they’re stuck in mud. Zachary Murphy is here? In my backyard? Again? Guess that little peck I gave him meant more than I thought.

  “Zach said he would help you with your press break, left-handed drives, and fade-away jump shots before Saturday’s game against Richland.” My dad comes up behind Zach, smacking his hand on his shoulder like they’re old buds. “Wasn’t it nice of Zach to stay after our workout to help you out?”

  Zach’s eye-sprinkles sparkle under the outside lights. “Since you need to prep and everything,” he says.

  My dad immediately takes control of the situation. “Okay.” He bounces the ball to me. “Taylor, I’m going to pass the ball to you like it’s the press break. Stand at the foul line. And Zach, stay on Taylor like glue. Real tight.”

  “Uh,” I say, not sure what to do. I do need the practice, and Dad and Zach went out of their way to do something nice for me. Plus, Zach’s guidance would definitely help me prep for Saturday’s game. The least I can do is smile and say thank you.

  Zach feels for my waist and Dad snaps the ball into my palms. I think for a second: What side I should fake? Should I go for a fade-away jump shot?

  I’m so caught up in the practice that I do not notice the car pull up to my house or the five girls that step out.

  “Taylor, we’re going to dinner and . . .” Kylie, Missy, Jessica, Tamika, and Eva stop dead at my wrought-iron gate. All at once, their faces change from relaxed smiles to twisted disgust. Meanwhile, Zach’s hand pushes against the small of my back. I turn around to look for my dad, so that he can help me explain what’s going on, but he’s behind a bush and completely out of their line of vision.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Kylie screeches.

  My stomach twists and turns. My palms go sweaty.

  “That’s messed up, Taylor,” Tamika says, shaking her head.

  One by one, my teammates glare at me, turn around, and storm away.

  For a second, I’m so horrified, I can’t move. But then I realize, I need to stop this. NOW. “Wait!” I yell and take off after them. But, it’s too late. Missy’s car backs up. Her headlights stream across my face as she makes the turn down my street.

  My life is officially over.

  fifty-one

  This sucks. Big time. In the two hours since the girls caught me practicing with Zach, I’ve been defriended by thirty-nine people. First, Kylie, then Missy, and now Tamika. Followed by bunch of others who aren’t even on the team.

  I click on Jessica’s page. Kylie wrote, “What should we do about Taylor?” The question has turned into a major thread.

  People have posted things like: “She’s gotta go”; “She broke the rules”; “Rules are rules”; “You’re going to lose on Sat if Tay doesn’t play”; “Taylor’s hot”; “Taylor rocks”; and “Taylor’s the best b-ball player at BW.” This is horrible. How am I going to show my face in school tomorrow morning?

  As I read each comment, a flush crawls up my back. What am I going to do? I’m going to have to switch schools. Find another team to play for. But, what about Saturday? Our chance at a three-peat? What about the state playoffs?

  I shut my laptop, snatch a basketball off my bedroom floor, fall back on my bed, and spin the ball in the air over and over and over and over. . . .

  “Tay?”

  Hannah catches me totally by surprise. I almost fall off my bed.

  “Finally!” She lets out a deep breath and tosses a long, plastic garment bag on my pale blue comforter. “Where have you been? I’ve been texting you all day, and then I read that you’re being kicked off the basketball team or something. What happened?” Hannah plops down next to me on my bed.

  I take a deep breath. “My teammates caught me playing basketball with Zach.”

  “So what?” she says.

  “No, Banana, you don’t understand. They caught me in the backyard with Zach a couple hours ago.”

  “Ohmigod. I forgot. The three-B thing.”

  “Right.”

  “Did you hook up?”

  “No.” I lay back on my pillows and the plastic clothes protector crinkles underneath me. “He was helping me out with basketball.”

  “So, let me get this straight. The team thought you were hooking up with Zach again and you were just playing basketball?” Hannah wiggles her designs out from under me.

  “Yup.”

  “Well, that’s an easy fix.”

  “What do you mean it’s easy? They want to kick me off the team. I mean, did you read everyone’s posts tonight?”

  “Just drop the nicey nice and explain what happened.” Hannah pulls a super-short white silk dress out of the bag.

  “What if they don’t believe me?” I look up at her as she pulls out another design, this time a faux-fur vest with a caramel mini and a tiny, white “Skateboarding is Life” tee.

  “This is what I was talking about the other day, Tay. Too nice. Walk right into school tomorrow and tell your teammates they completely overreacted.”

  “Yeah, that should go over well. Oh, and by the way, I’m tanking English.”

  “Why?” Hannah scrunches her nose.

  “Because I’ve been so busy helping out with the fashion show, walking the runway, tutoring, worrying about guys, counseling friends, and playing basketball that I didn’t have time for homework.”

  She looks at me. “Because you’re too freaking nice. You really need to work on boundaries. They work wonders.” She holds out the dress. “Now try this on so I can see if it needs any alterations.”

  I grab the dress and head toward my closet to change. I may have one remaining friend, a C-minus in English, a series of guys who are fawning over me only so that they can add my name to some stupid list, and a potentially permanent benching, but at least I can look pretty.

  fifty-two

  The next morning, I duck into the locker room for a breather before the first bell. All this stress is causing me to sweat so much that I’ve decided to start bringing extra shirts to school for non-fashion related purposes. But, popping into the locker room to change turns out to be far from my best decision.

  “You slutbag!” Kylie shouts, lunging at me as soon as I step inside. Tamika grabs her from behind and pulls her onto a bench. “You screwed up three-B. You selfish skank!” she adds.

  I swallow a lump the size of a basketball and freeze. Then, I take a deep breath and try to calm my trembling hands. Once I’m composed eno
ugh to speak, I opt for one-on-one defense. “Tamika,” I say, hoping to appeal to her logical side.

  She swivels around on the bench, turning her back to me. “We were just having a meeting, Taylor. One that you were not invited to.”

  Clearly, one-on-one didn’t work, so instead I attempt a zone. “Look guys, I’m sorry.” I scan my teammates. “My dad thought Zach could help me practice for Saturday’s game. I didn’t even know he was going to be there until I got home.”

  Missy crosses her arms. “Sure, we believe you.” She rolls her eyes.

  “You, of all people, should be the last one breaking the three-B rule considering you’re the reason why we started all of this in the first place,” Tamika finally speaks.

  “But, I didn’t do anything. I swear.”

  “So you want us to believe that you just happened to go home and Zach just happened to be in your backyard. Then, Kylie just happened to walk up when Zach was making out with you?” Missy says.

  “Making out? We were practicing the press break play.”

  “Uh-huh.” Kylie rolls her eyes. “I saw you making out with Zach seconds before the other girls walked up.”

  “Even I’m having a hard time believing you, Taylor,” Jessica adds, crossing her arms.

  “I’m serious. Look, you can ask my dad.” I look at Kylie. By this time, my heart is pounding and my shirt is drenched with sweat. I take another deep breath. “As soon as you guys left, I went up to my room. Then, Zach left. I swear. Really, ask my dad. Or even Zach. I spent the rest of the night in my room, practicing for the fashion show.” I swallow. “Look, I was wrong about Zach before. And I’m so sorry about that.”

  Tamika glances down at a paper in her hands and places it on the bench next to her. “Look, Taylor. This is difficult to say, but the team voted and we’re going to Coach today to recommend that you get kicked off for lying to us and violating three-B.”

  “I’m sorry.” A tear wells up in the corner of my eye, and I speedily wipe it away. This is basketball. I can’t afford to be weak. I will not let them see me cry.

  “How could you do this to the team the day before our biggest game of the year?” Tamika reprimands me.

  “I, uh, I—” I shake my head and meander toward the door. I might as well be walking the plank.

  fifty-three

  “Mom,” I whisper into my phone, wiping away a new set of tears with my free hand. I’m tucked away in a gymnasium closet outside the locker room.

  “Honey, is everything all right?” she asks.

  “No.” the tears fall down my cheeks and my hands shake. “I need to talk to you.”

  Ambulance sirens sing in the background. “Mom, where are you?”

  “I can’t hear you. You’re breaking up. What happened?” Mom answers.

  “My teammates just kicked me off the basketball team.”

  “What, your roommates kicked you off the what?”

  “My teammates want me off the basketball team, and they’re going to tell Coach and my life is completely ruined.”

  Silence.

  “Mom? Mom?” I shut my phone and attempt to dial again, but her phone goes right to voicemail. Great, even my mom has abandoned me. Probably because she’s off having some crazy hospital procedure that she doesn’t want to tell me about, but still . . .

  I pull my legs to my chest and cry my heart out. My life is over. All my dreams. All the practices. All the hard work. I ruined the team. I ruined our chances at a three-peat. I ruined my big shot with the SoCal Suns. I ruined my life. Everything is ruined because I let a little guy-attention take over my entire existence.

  A few minutes later, the door rips open, and I’m face-to-face with Christopher Phillips holding Brooke Lauder’s hand and grinning ear-to-ear.

  “Taylor.” Chris’s eyes light up.

  I crawl out of the closet. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t know you’d be . . . .” I slink forward, looking down.

  “You can join us if you want.” Chris winks.

  I’m tempted to just get out of there, as fast as my legs will carry me, and leave Chris and Brooke to it (especially because she’s horrible), but then I think about what Hannah said about me being a major People Pleaser. Pretend you’re driving to the basket. I look back at Chris. “Why? So you can earn double points?”

  Brooke looks at Chris than me, with a totally confused expression on her face. “What is she talking about?”

  Chris shrugs and tugs her toward the closet.

  I intervene. “I’m talking about the three-B game the guys are playing. It’s all around school. The guys’ basketball team and a couple other guys are racking up points based on how many girls they hook up with.”

  “Is this true?” Brooke rips her hand from Chris’s.

  “Uh . . . Uh . . .” Chris’s face turns crimson.

  “You. You. You’re disgusting.” Brooke’s heeled boots tap across the gym floor.

  Chris takes off after Brooke.

  I’m pretty sure this day will go down in history as the day that Taylor Thomas got kicked off the basketball team and told off one of the most popular guys in school, thus transforming her reputation from “sweet, if insecure, basketball superstar” to “the kissless closet blocker.” But I don’t care. It felt good.

  fifty-four

  After securing the gym closet for myself (thereby costing Chris Phillips some serious points), I hang out in there for another period. Then I spend the rest of the afternoon ducking my teammates. Once the school day ends, I tiptoe toward the locker room, hoping the girls have found a way to forgive me. Zach waits outside the door, clad in his Beachwood warm-ups.

  “Hey. Are you staying for my game?” he asks me. “Maybe we can go out afterward.”

  Before I can give Zach an “Are you kidding me?!?” I hear the sound of a basketball slamming into a wall. I turn to see Kylie charging toward us like an angry bull. The ball she threw ricochets off the wall and skims the top of Coach Jackson’s head, who just happens to be walking out of the team room when all of this is going on. Uh-oh.

  Coach Jackson’s tired brown eyes dart from Kylie to me and then finally settle on Zach. “Kylie and Taylor, in my office, right now.” Coach Jackson points behind her. “And you, Mister Murphy.” She glares at Zach. “Don’t go anywhere.” Turning to the other team members, she announces, “The rest of you run until I return.”

  Groans echo throughout the gym.

  “Thanks once again, Taylor,” Tamika says, looking at me with disgust. “Come on girls.”

  My stomach is in knots as I trek toward our meeting. Kylie storms ahead of me. I mentally prepare myself for a major lashing from Coach.

  When we arrive at her office, Coach Jackson pulls the wooden door open, and Kylie and I shuffle inside. Kylie parks herself in a chair in front of Coach’s desk. Wanting to be as far away from this brouhaha as possible, I opt to stand by the door.

  As I’m waiting for Coach to begin a (well-deserved) lecture, I stare at a poster of a hiker holding another guy by the arm. The two men stand on a copper cliff, and the word Achievement is written out in capital letters underneath. I concentrate on the poster and imagine myself standing there along with those guys. The image in my head shifts to playing basketball on the beach court. Then, I imagine being at home with my parents. Anywhere, but in this tiny office with crazy Kylie and a coach who is about to give me the tongue-lashing of the century.

  Coach sits behind the desk and folds her hands in front of her. She looks at me. “Taylor, why don’t you have a seat?” She points to the chair next to Kylie.

  “I’m okay,” I squeak, feeling a warm drip of sweat roll down my back.

  “No, I don’t think you are okay. In fact, I don’t think either of you are okay. Whatever is going on has got to stop. We are not leaving this room until everything is sorted out.” Coach clenches her thin lips together. “You two should be ashamed of yourselves. You let your own selfish problems get in the way of the team and our goals. At least now I
know why we’re playing like garbage.” She mumbles something under her breath.

  Chills shoot through my body. Coach is right. I’m not being a team player. Even if I don’t mean to be selfish.

  “All right. Taylor, let’s start with you. What seems to be the problem?” Coach stares at me.

  I shrug my shoulders.

  Kylie swivels herself around to glare at me. “You don’t know what’s wrong! You hooked up with my boyfriend, pretended to be my friend, then broke the team rules. That’s what’s wrong.”

  The room is spinning, so I shut my eyes for a moment and grab the black metal bookshelf. A Guide to Motivational Coaching smacks on the floor. I bend down to pick up the book, trying to steady myself as my hand shakes, and end up bumping my head on the shelf in the process.

  “This is all over a boy?” Coach leans back on her beige chair and looks at the ceiling. “For god’s sake.”

  “Yes.” Kylie lets out a dramatic breath. “Unfortunately, Taylor doesn’t know what the definition of a teammate is.” She glares at me.

  “What does Kylie mean by that statement, Taylor?” Coach asks. “I would hope that with the playoffs looming, we wouldn’t be going out of our way to create problems.” Her eyes narrow to tiny slits.

  The tiny office begins to close in on me.

  Kylie scrunches her miniscule, Jennifer Aniston nose and looks at Coach. “Then, when the team made a rule that we had to stay away from guys”—she pauses—“Taylor continued to hook up with Zachary behind our backs.”

  It’s so hot in here. I clutch the front of my blue BMS tee, pulling at the collar. “That’s not true,” I squeak. “And you purposely wouldn’t pass me the ball.”

  “Boys are not worth a teammate or a season, ladies. In fact, my old college coach used to say guys are like busses. Stand at the bus stop long enough and another one will show up. But your teammates are with you forever.” Coach stands up, pushing away her chair. “I think there is only one way to solve this.” Abruptly, she vacates the room.