Varsity Tiebreaker

by Ginger Scott

  “You’re looking at Jordan Shotcraft’s surprise teenaged daughter in his next rom com.” June’s screaming before I get the last word out, and within a blink, she’s wrapped her arms around me, practically sitting in my lap.

  My eyes tear with happiness. I squealed when I got the news, but seeing my friend’s reaction just makes things so incredibly real.

  June’s reaction draws Lucas and Hayden back to our seats, so once everyone gathers around and June leaves my lap, I feed them the details.

  “It was down to me and another unknown actress, and I guess they liked my attitude.”

  Tory snorts a laugh, so I shoot him a glare.

  “You’re hardly unknown,” June says. “You’re the face of Allensville Yogurt!”

  “This stuff is great!” Lucas pipes in, pumping his arm just like I do in my biggest commercial deal to date. The yogurt company ad paid me the most of any job I’ve ever landed, even more than the modeling spreads that have been in major magazines. This movie deal, though . . . it’s a game changer.

  “Filming starts in early March,” I say, leading to a noticeable hush from everyone.

  “Wow,” June says, shaking her head while keeping the smile plastered on her face. I knew this would be the hard part. We had plans, she and I.

  “I know. Prom . . . and maybe graduation, but—”

  My best friend grabs my hands and gives them a little shake.

  “No buts. This is huge. Massive! We’ll have our own celebrations, and you deserve this.” Her boost to my doubts does the trick, and for the first time since I was offered the contract, I feel one-hundred percent ready to take this leap.

  “I’m going to need to run a lot of lines over the next couple months,” I say through nervous laughter.

  “Okay.” My friend nods, tears forming at the sides of her eyes from what I can tell is genuine pride. “No kissing scenes for me, though.”

  “Damn,” Lucas adds, drawing a laugh from all of us.

  “That’s what Hayden’s for,” I say, turning my attention to the guy who probably deserved to get this news from me one-on-one. He doesn’t seem upset, though. In fact, he stands and holds one hand to his chest, his other out in front of him.

  “Romeo, Oh Romeo . . .” he starts, clearly showcasing his insincere acting skills.

  I kick at him and he grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet and hugging me.

  “I’m actually really bad at that stuff, but I’ll do whatever I can,” he assures.

  “You sure you don’t mind me taking over your weekends for a while?” I ask, already knowing my mom will be too busy working. When I feel the sway of his embrace pause, I peel back to look him in the eyes.

  “Weekends, huh?” His mouth falls into a regretful grimace.

  “Your new job,” I respond, piecing it together. I guess I knew he’d have to work weekends a lot. Basketball practice and the season are pretty intense, so weekends are really his only chance to pick up hours.

  “Hey, but Tory can fill in. Actually, of the two of us, he’s the actor.” Hayden moves to my side, his arm slung over my shoulder, and a sudden tightness grips my chest at his suggestion. Tory seems equally surprised by the suggestion, popping his head up fast and flitting his attention between me and his brother.

  “Me?” He points to himself. “I mean, nah, I’m not the best to practice with.”

  “He’s being modest. Yo, check it.” Hayden drops his arm from around me and pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his videos and pictures while I awkwardly smile at Tory and he awkwardly smiles back. “Yeah, here it is. Look.”

  Hayden holds his phone out for me to watch his screen, and a tall, skinny near-exact version of his younger self is standing at the center of a stage under a spotlight.

  “If music be the food of love, play on.” Tory is probably in seventh or eighth grade in this video, and the fact it’s on his brother’s phone still baffles me almost as much as that I’m watching him recite a monologue from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Knight.

  “Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Tory says, swiping the phone from his brother’s hand and closing the video.

  “Dude, you were good. He was good,” Hayden says, glancing around at all of us. I wonder if the dent between my brows is as deep as the ones on Lucas and June’s foreheads.

  “You did theater?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I mean nah. Not really.” Tory leans against the bar top near our seating area and exhales heavily. “I auditioned for a bunch of things one summer. I thought maybe I’d try acting, but ya know . . .”

  He holds out two open palms.

  I tilt my head to the side.

  “He always got in trouble for being a smart ass,” Hayden blurts out, slapping his brother’s chest. He takes his phone back and points at his brother. “Doesn’t mean you weren’t good, though.”

  Tory shrugs.

  “So, will you?” I ask. I already regret it, but the panic of not being ready with my lines down by the time filming starts overrides the epic bad idea this is.

  Tory’s face wrinkles in hesitation as he takes a long breath.

  “I don’t know. I mean . . .” He glances to his brother first, then to June, almost as if he’s taking a vote or eliciting permission. He doesn’t bother to look to Lucas, making his own mind up instead.

  “Fine, yeah. We can run lines. But don’t make fun of me when I’m not that good.” He stands straight and dives his hands into his pockets while he rigidly scrunches his shoulders.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure there are plenty of other things I can make fun of you for,” I say, falling into my more familiar role with this D’Angelo. A sharp laugh leaves his chest.

  “No doubt,” he says. He smiles at me with tightly closed lips, then pivots, pausing when June stands up in front of him. “No doubt,” he repeats, for some reason speaking directly to her.

  What a fucking weird day. I bowled a forty-one. I have a boyfriend. Tory D’Angelo has acting chops. And I just made plans to spend every free weekend in the books with him. Lord help me if I get a call to star in the reboot of the Twilight Zone.

  3

  Tory

  It’s amazing how many different ways June found to tell me that agreeing to read lines with Abby is a bad idea.

  “It’s sort of your fault I’m in this predicament, you know,” I say, tossing her the ball at the end of my driveway. Hayden left to take Abby home and Lucas fell asleep on our couch while playing video games.

  “How is this my fault?” She bounces the ball at her feet then lifts it overhead, jumping and pushing it toward the hoop on our garage. It falls several feet short, and I catch it, bouncing it to her to try again.

  “You could have agreed to do the kissing scenes with her,” I say, letting my imagination toy with the idea of those two making out in front of me. Can’t lie; I’ve visualized it a few times since June made the joke.

  She holds the ball against her hip and sneers at me.

  “There probably aren’t even any kissing scenes,” she says, holding her glare on me for a beat before palming the ball with both hands and throwing it hard at the ground. It bounces toward me in a high arc, but I step back and catch it with one hand. I dribble out toward her, then spin and take a short jump shot, sinking it without touching the rim.

  “I have to work a lot too. You know that. I’m saving for college, and as good as business is going for my mom, it’s not booming so much that I can slack off.”

  June is trying to save enough that she’s able to swing state school instead of junior college. With Lucas going to MIT after we graduate, I think she’s a little worried about the long distance relationship thing. Even though she’s focused on going somewhere affordable in Indiana, I wouldn’t be surprised if she eventually ended up in Boston.

  If I’m being honest with myself, I actually wanted to get trapped into helping Abby. I know it deep down. Even now, as I try to convince myself that it’s not really about spending time with her. It
is. It’s all about spending time with her. I sure as hell won’t say that out loud to anyone, though. Not even June.

  “You know, you really don’t have anything to worry about. I’m over it,” I lie. I’m an excellent liar. I do it for my brother all the time, pretending I’m handling this divorce situation and public embarrassment over our mom’s affair with my best friend’s dad. It’s easier for Hayden if I have my shit together. He’s always been the worrier and the fixer, and he’s got his head and hands full right now fixing our family. He doesn’t need to add me to his list. As far as he knows, I’m handling it all just fine.

  “Really?” June grabs the ball from my hands while I’m lost in thought.

  “Really, what?” I take the ball back from her and toss it from one hand to the other. When she lunges for it again, I grip it hard and step back.

  “You’re over it,” she says. She levels me with a stare that threatens to call me on my bullshit. I play it off with a cocky smile, dribbling the ball through my legs a few times before driving it toward our hoop, palming it with my right hand, and dunking it with enough force that the entire backboard rattles where it’s bolted to the eave of our house.

  “That’s right,” I say when my feet land on the ground. I brush my hands off and reach for June with an open palm to shake on it. She takes my hand in hers and squeezes tight. Holy decent grip, Batman!

  “Bullshit,” she says.

  “Pfft, whatever. I shook on it,” I say, letting go of her hand and turning around as I stretch my fingers wide. Yeah, it’s bullshit, but what am I going to do? Tell Abby no? Tell her I’m not comfortable spending time with her because all I do is think about kissing her, which is super sketch since she’s my brother’s girl now? Yeah, I’m not saying all that. I’m tucking that shit deep into the pit of my soul and pretending it’s all a dream.

  June walks out to the street where the ball has rolled and stops it with her foot.

  “Hayden’s back!” she shouts, seconds before the Subaru I share with my brother roars into the driveway. June picks up the ball and bounces it near the sidewalk, clearly giving me and my brother space. She’s anticipating Hayden to ask me questions about my behavior all day, but she doesn’t know Hayden like I do. He’s all about avoidance and pretending.

  My brother pulls the car into our garage, into the gaping space left from the spot where our dad’s SUV is usually parked.

  “You wanna get in some one-on-one?” Hayden asks me, leaving the car door open so the stereo can blast Drake’s latest drop into our garage. Mom hates it when we do this. Her bedroom is above the garage, and she’s been sleeping a lot more than she’s been working as a substitute at the nearby grade school. She doesn’t dare yell at us about it, though. She kinda lost her authority, what with the daily hookups and all.

  “Sure,” I say, holding my hands open toward June, signaling for the ball. I glance at her in time to catch the warning look on her face. I roll my eyes and eventually she tosses me the ball.

  “First to eleven cuz I’m hungry, yo,” I say as I dribble out to the center of our vacant driveway.

  June lingers inside our garage for a while, but she gives up after the first few possessions result in off-the-rim shots by both Hayden and myself. I think she was sticking around to make sure I didn’t let my edge slip again. I got a little alpha in our bowling match.

  “Dude, you talk to Coach yet about Thursday?” Hayden always talks through our games. It’s fuckin’ annoying.

  “Yeah, I did Friday. He said to keep him posted when we have therapy. I mean, what’s he gonna do, bench us?” I tip the ball out of Hayden’s hands when he lets his guard down, and laugh.

  “Damn it!” He’s on me fast, trying to right his wrong. He’s not nearly as aggressive as I am, but he’s agile. Swift. He’s always been faster, and his shots are prettier. Mine are a lot more effective, though.

  “You figure out what you’re gonna say?” he asks. His hands are stretched out and his footwork matches mine. I lower my shoulder and fake a drive, pulling back instead for a jump shot. Finally, one of us sinks something.

  “One-oh, key it up,” Hayden says.

  I jog to the ball and bring it back to the top of our imaginary three-point line.

  “I figure this lady, she’ll ask us a bunch of questions. I’ll just answer whatever I’m feeling at the time,” I say.

  I send a deep three up spontaneously since Hayden’s distracted. It bangs off the rim. He hates that I don’t have a plan. I’d bet he has a notebook full of bullet points he’ll memorize before our session so he knows exactly what to say. I’m not sure that’s the best way for therapy to go, though . . . planned out and shit.

  “You think Dad really wants to go to these?” Hayden asks, dribbling out and faking a drive only to pull back and hit a fade-away shot. It’s pretty, floating through the air without rotation and landing in the hoop with the grace of a butterfly.

  Quiet. Agile. Pretty.

  I lunge for the ball and push it into his chest, my competitive beast awakening.

  “Simmer down, now,” he teases, loving the fact that he knows how to push my buttons on the court.

  “Shut up and set up,” I grumble, only making him laugh harder.

  We play the next few points without serious talk, climbing the score to five to six, his lead. Hayden can’t stand leaving questions unanswered though, so when he calls for a water break and tosses the ball into the dry grass alongside our driveway, he brings up his question about our dad again. I chew on it while he heads toward the old fridge that keeps the water, beer and soda cold. He tosses me a water, but I waggle my finger to throw me a beer instead. He does, but takes a water for himself, making me look like the failing youth. Whatever. I want a beer.

  “I think Dad’s probably pretty hurt, so . . . no. I don’t think he wants anything to do with Mom or therapy or talking about his feelings right now. Fuck, I don’t want any of this. Do you?” I pop the cap off my beer and take a swig. The cool touch of the liquid on my tongue makes me go in for more. This is why people shouldn’t drink beer when they’re thirsty; half is gone before Hayden answers my question.

  “I just want it all to go back to how it was. I wish we were all still oblivious, ya know?” He tips his water back and eyes me for my response. My face sours.

  “Hayd . . . we ain’t ever going back to what it was. Our old holiday card, picturesque fake-ass family? That was a lie. There’s no putting the shit that came out back in the bottle, and I don’t need a therapist to tell me I need to come to terms with that.” My harsh words dent his fragile ego, and I feel a touch of guilt. I quickly drown that with more beer.

  “Let’s go,” I say, setting my two-thirds empty bottle on a ledge in the garage before jogging out to the ball.

  I turn back to the garage, expecting to see Hayden walking toward me, ready to ball, but he hasn’t budged. He’s caught in his feelings. I’m in insensitive dick mode. This isn’t going to work. I sigh and prop the ball on my hip, no longer in the mood to play. I just want to drain our hot water in the shower and turn my skin lobster pink. I’m starting to feel the chill in the air.

  “Look, man. This sucks for all of us. Probably sucks for Mom, too. And maybe things were broken that we didn’t see. Either way, you and I are going to have to stick through this raw end of the deal. It’s our senior year, Hayd. Senior fucking year. I’m not going to let them ruin that for me.”

  I move back into the garage and drop the ball at my feet, stopping its bounce with my foot and nudging it into the corner. I pick up my beer and hold it out to my brother on my way inside the house.

  “You shouldn’t let any of this ruin your happiness either, man.” I take one more drink to toast my worthless wise words. Hayden’s eyes stay on me the entire time, full of skepticism. I turn my back and head toward the garage door into our mudroom. When I pull the door wide, Hayden hits me with one more of the thoughts he just can’t stop processing in his head. This one is super fucking unex
pected.

  “You’re cool with me and Abby, right?”

  I grip the door knob hard enough that my veins define in my forearm and grind my back teeth together.

  “Yeah. I mean, if you’re into her. Whatever, dude. Good for you, pff.” I speak over my shoulder so I only have to pretend with half my face.

  He doesn’t respond, but I’m looking his way enough to catch the smile and nod. I leave it at that, letting the door fall shut behind me. I give June and Lucas a quick nod good-bye as they get ready to leave, and I keep my truth contained all the way upstairs, not letting it go until I step into the shower and practically drown myself in the spray of water falling from the nozzle. I let it fill my mouth over and over again, and I growl through it a few times while I know Hayden’s still outside. Eventually, his music kicks on in his room on the other side of our shared bathroom, so I keep my show of frustration to the quiet kind, resting my palms flat on the wall and bending my head down low enough that the water cascades around my neck and face, blurring away any expression that remotely resembles jealousy. It takes me forty minutes to wash my feelings down the drain, about how long as it takes to run this house out of hot water.

  4

  Abby

  There are a lot of reasons why December is my least favorite month.

  One: It’s my birthday month. The fifteenth. Right smack in the middle of the Christmas countdown, and usually in the middle of Hanukkah, which means I’ve never really had a birthday party with friends, and my presents from my relatives have become lump sums of cash that encompass both Christmas and birthday gifts in one.

  Two: I hate being cold, and December in Indiana is gross. It’s also often wet. My hair takes work to turn haphazard corkscrews into soft waves. December makes it all a moot point. December is for ponytails and buns.