With the game underway, I learn the skill level of each guy. Ian is real team player, often rebounding and passing the ball rather than making the shot himself. Tommy earns ball-hog status; he tends to shoot even when he doesn’t have an open shot. This may be his nature or the fact he doesn’t want to lose the bet to Courtney. Mark, the mute guy from the movies last night, plays a decent game of defense, keeping the other team’s lead scorer outside the lane. Swoosh is not only the best player but he also runs the team, shouting calls all over the court.
We break at half, and I slide over to the bench, taking a seat next to Courtney, who is actually painting her nails at the game. I nudge her. “You watching the game at all?”
“Nope.” Then she lifts up a hand, curling her bright pink nails and blows on each digit. “You beating Tommy?”
“Only because someone,” Tommy enters our conversation, flicking his head at Swoosh, “won’t give me the ball.”
“’Cause you don’t know what to do with it,” Swoosh counters.
“You think you’re so damn good.”
“Not think…I know.”
“Yeah, then what about last season?”
Ian puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Don’t start.”
“No, go ahead,” Swoosh encourages. “Say it, Tommy.”
“I don’t have to, man. Papers said it all. It’s all right there in black and white. Stats don’t lie.” Tommy slides back onto the court and starts popping a few lay-ups.
I pretend not to be listening, not wanting to get in the middle of something that has nothing to do with me. I check my laces, still tight, then I grab my water bottle and chug it down, nearly draining it. I place it back into my duffle bag. Then Swoosh walks over, crouching down in front of me. “Good first half, girl.”
“Not good enough. We’re still down by eleven.”
“I’ll get you the ball more.”
“You don’t have to,” I return. “I can get it myself.”
“Yeah, I don’t doubt that,” he begins with a low chuckle, “but Ian told me ’bout the bet, and I wanna’ make sure you win.” He taps the outside of my thigh. “C’mon, let’s do this.” Then he stands up, and I follow him onto the court, feeling the sensation of where his hand actually touched my skin.
I crouch down as the second half begins. Swoosh gets the tip-off and passes me the ball. I rush the net for an easy deuce. We dominate the opening minutes of the second half, and the other team loses their double-digit lead. True to his word, Swoosh passes me the ball more. He sets me up for a great shot, just outside the three-point line. I eye the basket and let it go. The ball soars into the air, perfect arc, and falls right into the net. He rushes over with a smile and a hand in the air. I high-five him back. With energy flowing, we start working the court. He either finds me, or I find him. The other guys stand around like extras on a movie set as we commandeer an impressive comeback. We end up losing by two, but at least it’s not a total disgrace.
After the game, I slide back to the bench and plop next to Courtney. I lift my water bottle and drain the last few drops. Then Swoosh strolls over and hands me a full bottle of water. “Here you go.” He smiles warmly. “I always pack extras.”
“Thanks.” I chug down some cool water, feeling refreshed after a tough second half.
“So—” He steps in closer, eyeing my school’s practice jersey. “You play for Riverside?”
“Yep.” I lean over and start untying my laces. “Where do you go to school?”
“Spruce Creek.”
“You guys had a rough season, huh?”
“Yeah,” he begins, his voice weakening, “did you read about it?”
“No.” I shrug innocently. “I just overheard you and Tommy talking about it.”
“Then you don’t know what happened,” he pauses, like he has to choose his words carefully, “to our team last year?”
“Nah.” I shake my head, admitting, “I don’t read about local sports unless it’s an article about my team.”
“That’s a good policy as long as you’re having a decent season.” He pauses. “Didn’t your guys’ team go to state two years in a row? You had the Williams brothers, right? You know either of ’em?”
I smile at the ground. “Yeah, I know ’em.”
Courtney giggles. “Very, very, very well.”
“Oh, I get it. You date one of them or something?”
“No, that would be gross.” I look up. “And probably illegal in most states.”
“Huh?”
“They’re my brothers.”
“No wonder,” he starts with a deep laugh. “And don’t let this go to your head, Miss Williams, but I’ve never seen a girl hit threes like you.”
Mark places a hand on Swoosh’s shoulder. “You ready to go, man?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” he tells Mark and then faces me again. “It was nice to meet you,” he pauses to smile, “Miss Williams.”
I bite down on my lip. “You can call me Callie…by the way.”
“Okay.” He juts a hand in my direction, and I stand to receive his warm handshake. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Callie Williams.”
I pump his hand, unable to tame the smile plastered across my face. “And it was nice to meet you, uh…?”
“Ryan.”
“Ryan…uh?”
He leans in a little, chuckling softly. “Hmm, I don’t think we know each other well enough to be on a last-name basis.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head.
“So—I’ll see you around, Miss Williams,” he says as heads down the sidewalk.
“If you’re lucky,” I retort.
He offers a quick smile over his shoulder and then jogs down the sidewalk, catching up to Mark and leaving me alone with Courtney and Ian.
“Good game,” Ian says. “Tommy only sunk a few, but you scored a ton of points!”
“I knew you could do it.” Courtney smiles at me. “Which means the party will be at Tommy’s house tomorrow night!” She raises her arms in victory; her sparkly pink nails catch the sunlight and glisten.
I drop my shoes into my duffle bag and slip into some flip flops. “Yeah, well, you’re welcome, Courtney.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Courtney nudges me; then remembering something, she adds, “Oh, and guess what?”
“What?”
“I know somebody who likes you,” she taunts in a sing-songy voice.
“Who?”
“Guess?”
“Um…” I narrow my eyes at her. “You?”
“C’mon, be serious.” She leans in closer to me, playfully shoulder-nudging me. “He was asking Ian all about you.”
“Really?”
Ian confirms it with a nod, and I turn toward the parking lot and watch Ryan slip into Mark’s pick-up truck. Yesterday marked the low point of my life, but today, with meeting Ryan, things are looking up. Well, not too far, I decide. Ryan is barely over six-feet tall, but every inch of him is gor-geous.
“Yeah, and he wants to take you out,” Courtney adds.
“When?” My heart races with the thought of going on a date with him. Conceited or not, I could get lost in those green eyes...and wavy hair…and warm smile…
“Tonight.”
My heart begins to race. “Okay, but I barely know him. I mean, I barely said anything to him.” All I did was stare at him. Apparently he didn’t mind, but then I start to wonder and the pieces don’t fit together. How could he ask Ian about me when I was standing right there the whole time?
“Didn’t you talk to him for a while last night?” Courtney’s question answers my query, draining the excitement and filling me with disappointment.
“Oh, you’re talking about Doug,” I say.
“Yeah,” Ian answers. “Why? Who’d you think we were talking about?”
“Tommy,” I cover with a laugh and sling my duffle bag over my shoulder. We head toward the parking lot, and I trail behind Courtney and Ian. They hold hands and chat abo
ut their plans for the day. I slip into the convertible and hear him say, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You know that, babe?” They tongue a little, and he groans with delight and recharges her ego. Then she opens the car door, and he tosses a quick “love you.” It goes unreturned, and then I am back at prom night.
I see a flash of Mike and me, and tears prick my eyes. I turn toward the window as the penultimate segment of life’s regret reel plays in my mind. It was four months ago, and we had the after-prom party at Courtney’s beach house—complete with copious amounts of liquor and no adult supervision. Mike snuck into the front room, the one I’m staying in now, and I figured we would do it, and maybe I wanted to have sex with him, but I also wanted him to say something—something about how much he loved me. Those words, after all, could justify our actions, but he said nothing, not even after he finished. He never said anything. He just rolled over and pulled the covers with him and fell right asleep. But I stayed awake, shivering with the chill of realization, and still, at night, I cuddle with deep regret until I fall asleep.
“Are you going to answer me?” Courtney asks.
“Uh…what was the question again?”
She doesn’t repeat it; she just asks another one. “Having a Mikey moment?”
“Yeah,” I admit softly.
“He’s going to haunt you until you move on.”
“It’s not that easy, you know?”
But she doesn’t. “Doug likes you. Go out with him.”
“No, he’s a total loser. I mean, seriously, Court. The guy is old, probably in his twenties, and he’s still trolling parties for high school girls.”
She exhales loudly. “You don’t have to like him, Cal. Just let him take you out and get your mind off Mike. Off everything.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “I’d rather be alone.”
“No, you wouldn’t, Cal.” Courtney says, pulling up the driveway. We climb out of the car and then she sidles up next to me. “Being alone gives you time to think, and really, you need to stop thinking about everything. You’re at the beach. It’s the last week of summer vacation before our senior year, and we are supposed to be having fun!”
I mock her. “Woo-hoo! Yippee, skippy!”
She hits me in the head with her purse. “Go shower. You and your attitude stink!”
*****
The Secrets We Keep Page 6
