by RH Tucker
ME: You called me a jerk. A dude would’ve called me an asshole or dick, but u said jerk. Hence, girl.
Smiling, the typing prompt appears on my screen. But the longer the typing message is there, the more I begin to feel a little weird. Is it wrong to assume they’re a girl, based on a word? I mean, I have girl friends who curse all the time.
UNKNOWN: Fine, yes. I am a girl… But that must mean you're a chauvinistic waste of the male population
ME: And proud! ;)
UNKNOWN: Disgusting >:
I smile again, making my way to our locker room.
ME: So…
ME: What’s ur name?
UNKNOWN: I’m not giving u my name.
ME: Then what should I call u?
UNKNOWN: What should I call YOU?
ME: BigBaller27 ;P
I chuckle at myself as I open my locker and pull out my jersey. Maybe I’m being a little too revealing, putting my basketball number as my handle. No, first they’d have to watch our games, and even though we have a few good players, we don’t win much. Plus, twenty-seven could be anything. A day of the month. Whatever.
UNKNOWN: Didn’t need much time for that.
UNKNOWN: What r u? Some rich kid?
UNKNOWN: OMG! This isn’t Tommy Harrison, is it?
I know who Tommy is. A rich kid, but his parents live in Woodbridge, so he still goes to school with us. He has a few friends, but they all act superior to everyone else because they have money. Jeremy could be a dick at times, but at least he didn’t act like he was too good for us.
BigBaller27: Y? U got a thing for Tommy?
The bubble that shows them typing pops up, then it goes blank. It appears again, then blank again. She’s definitely trying to think of the right thing to say, in case this is Tommy. I decide to play it cool and put her mind at ease.
BigBaller27: Relax. I’m not ur crush
UNKNOWN: Ew, gross X(
The response makes me laugh again. Even though I have no idea who this person is, it also calms something that I didn't realize I'm feeling. Why am I relieved that a girl I don't know and have only talked to for one day, doesn't like a douchebag like Tommy Harrison? Putting my phone in my locker, I head out to practice.
First practices of the week are usually pretty brutal, except when we have a game the next day, which we do. After running a few drills, we go over plays that worked for us, and stuff we didn’t execute properly at our last game, which we barely won.
I'm the team captain and starting shooting guard. Jeremy plays center, Lucas is our point guard, and Matt's our backup power forward. It sucked at the beginning of the season, learning we all made the starting lineup, except Matt, but as usual with him, he rolled with the punches.
"I'm still playing." He laughed after the starters were announced.
Even though he played it cool, I could tell it bugged him. It bothered me too because he isn't even much of a basketball fan. He's been a starting wide-receiver for our varsity football team since he was a sophomore. And he's our class president. He only joined the basketball team because I asked him too.
After practice, we hit the showers and Jeremy tells us about a party happening this weekend.
“Dude, you just had a party.” I look at him, wrapping a towel around my waist, heading for my locker.
“Yeah, but this isn’t my party. It’s Tamara Winston’s.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Tamara is one of the rich kids, who lives near Jeremy. I nod, opening my locker and remember my text message because Tamara is friends with Tommy. I wonder if my texter has replied.
UNKNOWN: Emerald22
I look at the screen, confused.
BigBaller27: What’s that?
UNKNOWN: That’s what you can call me.
After putting on my clothes and locking up my locker, I edit her contact info.
BigBaller27: Okay, Dorothy :P
Emerald22: It’s not about Wizard of Oz.
BigBaller27: My bad
I slip my phone into my pocket and head out to my car in the student parking lot, for some reason with a feeling of accomplishment. I'm talking to a girl, I have no idea who she is, and don't even know what she looks like. Crazy.
There are only a few cars left in the lot. Across the way, some cheerleaders are on the football field going over routines. I don't want to linger too long since I know Sarah is probably over there somewhere, but I wonder if Emerald22 is out there. Is she a cheerleader? Is she in any of my classes?
Chapter 6
Emma
“What’s Emerald22?” Jen asks as we hang out in my room.
"Well, emerald is my birthstone."
“And your birthday is May 22nd. Clever.” She smiles as she scrolls through Instagram.
“Are you staying for dinner?”
“I don’t know.” She looks at her phone a little closer. “This might be him.”
I look over her shoulder at her screen, as we both lay on top of my bed. It’s open to the profile of a guy that kind of looks familiar. His profile says his name is Steve. Under that, it reads ‘Livin’ Large in So Cal $$$’.
“Steve?” I ask.
"Yeah, Steven Perez, I think? He hangs out with Tamara and all them."
“Hmm.” I examine the screen. “He’s kinda cute.”
She shrugs. “Meh. But if he hangs out with the richies, he’s most likely a dick.”
"Jen!" I glare at her. She returns it to me. "Yeah, you're probably right. I think Big Baller is nice though. At least, nice at heart."
“And you would know this how?”
“I don’t know,” I say, sitting up. “I mean, who asks for a homework assignment? He could’ve copied from one of his friends or something.”
She closes the app and sits up. “I guess so. Still kind of a stupid name. Big Baller? I mean, come on!”
I let out a little chuckle. I agree with her, and I said the same thing when he texted that, but it is funny. Oh God, what am I doing?
“This is stupid.” I get up from my bed. “Why am I wondering who he is? He probably won’t text again. I know I won’t.”
“You won’t?” Jen gives me a mischievous smile.
“No. I mean, I shouldn’t. It’s dumb. I don’t even know him.”
“Stop.”
I stop and look at her, suddenly realizing I’m pacing my room. “Sorry.”
“If he did text you again though, what would you say?”
I stare at her, and my mind goes blank. What would I say? I guess it depends on what he’d say. Then I shake my head again, for what feels like the millionth time today. Why am I freaking out about this so much? As if reading my mind, Jen speaks up.
“It’s cuz you like him.” She smirks.
“What?” I stare at her with a deadpan expression. “Jen, that’s insane. I don’t even know him.”
“But you’re getting to know him. Or at least, you want to. I can tell. You already made that homework comment. He’s probably smart, so that already gets you going. I know how you like the nerds.”
I hold up a finger. “First of all, that’s rude. I’m a nerd.”
“No, you’re not. You’re … eccentric.”
“Same thing. And secondly, how is texting him for one day–”
“A day and a half.”
“Whatever. How is that getting to know him?”
“You know he needed—or wanted—to do his homework. So, he’s at least somewhat smart. He’s got money or likes to think he does, with a handle like that. He teased you about liking Tommy, which kind of means he may like you to.”
“What?”
"You know, how like in grade school the boys would tease you at recess if they liked you."
“I always stayed inside during recess.”
“Of course, you did. Anyways, the most important part, you found out he’s a boy.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Don’t be gross.”
“Hey, just because you don’t date, doesn’t mean you don’t
think about those things. I know you do, Emma.”
“Hey, I date.” I scold her.
"The last date you went on was with me, last year when you pulled that glasses and tie stunt. You didn't even want to be there. I don't think that qualifies as dating."
“So, I don’t date all the time.”
“Never.”
“It’s just because I have priorities. Plus, most of the guys at school are stupid. Stupid high school boys.” I fold my arms, daring her to counter my argument.
“But–”
“No buts.”
“Oh!” She grins. “I wonder if he’s got a cute butt.”
“You’re so stupid.” I laugh, as my mom calls out that dinner’s ready.
Jen ends up staying over for my mom's dinner, which is enchiladas. She makes this amazing green sauce that's to die for. While we're eating, I glance at my phone a few times, and Jen notices it on more than one occasion. She finally bumps my leg under the table and motions to my phone, but I shake my head that I haven't received any texts.
By the time dinner's over, Jen goes home, and I hang out with my parents for a little while, as we watch TV and forget about my phone. Later, as I'm getting ready for bed, I plug it into the charger and open my text messages. The last exchange was him saying ‘my bad'. Maybe he thought I was mad when I said my name didn't have anything to do with Wizard of Oz. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, but I didn’t add any emojis or anything. Those always lighten up the conversation. Or maybe he forgot about me.
Putting my phone back on my nightstand, I stare up at the dark ceiling. Maybe it’s for the best. He may go to my school, but he could be some freak. But I don’t think he’s a freak. What kind of freak cracks jokes and asks for homework assignments. Letting out a deep breath, I try to forget everything and will myself to sleep.
As soon as I wake up, I grab my phone out of habit. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed to see I had no new text messages. Why? Why am I disappointed? After scrolling my usual social media apps, as I do every morning, I finally get up and get ready for school. Looking through my closet, my Chucks are the first thing I decide to wear today. My glorious, comfy Chucks.
When we first get to school, I find myself eyeing everyone on campus. Everyone I walk by in the student parking lot, as I get out of Jen's car. Everyone in the hallway. I even start scanning Mr. Hilton's class again, since that's the only class I know he has. But no one looks familiar. Which sounds dumb, but I thought I might be able to match up a face, just by the few texts I'd received. I know, I know. Dumb.
By the time second period comes around, I start to forget about the messages. My sound reasoning comes back, and I know it's for the best. Are we going to fall madly in love through text messages, and then reveal ourselves to each other at prom? Yeah, right. This was a stupid coincidence, and I know I should get on with life.
Pulling out my sandwich for lunch, I slide next to Jen at the table we usually sit at in the quad. The tables here are a little further out then the main lunch area tables, so it’s not as noisy.
“Hey,” I say, unwrapping my sandwich.
"Jeez, I thought your mood would be better than this morning, but it's worse."
“What?” I gape at her. “My mood is fine, thank you very much.”
“No new texts?”
“No.” Now I’m painfully aware of how grumpy I sound. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be as bummed out about it as I am. It’s stupid, right? I don’t even know him.”
I do a quick glance around, making sure I didn't say it loud enough for someone else to hear. Micah and Lana, who usually sit with us, haven't shown up yet, so I feel a little more comfortable talking about it.
“It’s not stupid,” she says before taking a drink of her Diet Coke. “It’s like when a guy asks for your number and doesn’t call. It sucks.”
“But he didn’t ask for my number, Jen.”
“No, he already has it. So, don’t feel bad. He’s being a jerk. It’s what guys do.”
Her comments should make me feel better, but they don’t. I take another bite of my sandwich, doing a quick scan of the area, checking out the guys that walk by. Any of them could be him, and I don’t have a clue. I let out a defeated huff, wishing I wasn’t thinking about this so much. Then my phone chimes.
Jen’s eyes widen at me, a smile creeping across her lips.
I try to fight off a smile. “No. It’s probably a tweet or a snap.”
As I pull out my phone, for some reason my heart flutters. I have my phone set to show I've received a text message, but it stays private until I open my messages. I try to keep calm, because who knows, maybe it's my mom asking what I want to have for dinner. Even if she's never texted me for that. Opening up my messages, I can't stop the smile that appears.
“It is!” Jen shouts.
"What is?" Micah says as he and Lana show up.
"Nothing," I mutter, glancing at Jen to not say anything.
We've exchanged enough silent conversations that she knows when I want to keep something a secret. Micah and Lana are our friends, Micah's in art too, and Lana is his girlfriend. We're close, but I don't tell them everything like I do with Jen. Maybe I will if this goes any further, but right now I still want to find out exactly what this is.
BigBaller27: Where do u sit for lunch?
Emerald22: At a table
I smile at my joke, before taking another bite of my lunch.
BigBaller27: Ha. Ha. Ha. <--- Fake laugh. Seriously…
Emerald22: Why do u want to know?
BigBaller27: Idk, maybe I want to buy you a soda ;)
Emerald22: With all that big baller money? And u should probably get a name from a girl before u go asking her out for a drink ;P
BigBaller27: Oh. Are u giving me ur name finally? And I wasn’t asking you “out for a drink”. Not unless you want me to
I feel my face go red and immediately slide my phone in my pocket. Oh my God, what am I doing? Did he just ask me if I wanted him to ask me out?
Chapter 7
Carter
By the time lunch is over, I still haven't received a reply from Emerald22. I'm starting to feel a little bad. I have no idea who she is, and I was joking around … for the most part. I was hoping she would give me the general area of where she sits for lunch, and I could walk by, scanning the faces. But then I had to make that ‘going out' comment. She didn't even know me. She could think I was some weirdo or something. And why in the hell was I joking around about asking a girl out, when I don't even know what she looks like?
Matt kept giving me weird looks throughout lunch and history class, but I told him I was nervous about the game tonight. That answer came with another odd stare from him because I never get nervous about the games. I feel bad about lying to him, but even if he's my best friend, I wasn't ready to tell him I have a … what do I have?
If you’d have asked me two days ago, I’d say a wrong number. After yesterday, I thought maybe I’d made a new friend. But after my stupid text earlier, now my mind is racing. Am I interested in this girl?
I'm glad our shoot-around practice before our home game is something that can take my mind off the messages. The court is one of the places I feel most comfortable. Setting my phone in my locker, I take one last look at it. I feel like I have to clear the air at least. It's been nearly two hours since my text, and I haven't heard anything.
BigBall27: Hey, sorry about that last message. I was just screwing around :/
I look at the phone, hoping a reply would show up fast, but it doesn't. Locking my locker, I head out to the court and miss nearly half my shots during the shootaround.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jeremy jogs over to me.
“Nothing.” I scowl at him, before seeing Matt glance at me. Whatever he’s thinking, he keeps it to himself.
“You’re shooting like shit. I know Oceanview sucks, but we ain’t bringing home any championships either.”
“I know, Jer
.”
"And we've gotten off to a good start this season. We might make the playoffs this year if we stay focused."
“I said I know.”
Lucas runs over to us and eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t say anything. He looks at Matt, silently asking him what gives, and Matt shrugs his shoulders. Jeremy and I exchange stares for a moment longer, then Coach Hallinan yells at us.
“I don’t know if you guys know this, but you actually have to play basketball. That means running, shooting, guarding. Not standing around on the court, like a bunch of asses!”
I look over at coach and wave my hand as an apology, catching up with the rest of the team. Blocking all distractions, I focus on the ball. On the net. On the defender I'm up against. Soon enough, I leave my cell phone, and my stupid text messages in the background and the game is front and center.
After the shoot-around, we head back to the lockers. I’m so annoyed with how I shot, that I quickly change and don’t even look at my phone. Jeremy makes a stupid comment about keeping our focus, making sure it’s loud enough that I hear. I’m the captain of the team, but he likes to act like he’s the leader of all of us, on and off the court. It can be annoying, but I know I run things when it’s game time. Ignoring him, I walk out to the parking lot, anxious to get home and relax before the game tonight.
“Yo, hold up,” Matt calls after me.
Opening the door, I fling my bag inside, and then scratch at the chipped paint on the roof my used Honda. It was Mom's before she surprised me by handing over the keys to me when I got my license. She'd secretly been saving up to buy herself a new car, nothing fancy, but a new one nonetheless so that I could have the Honda. Besides a few spots where the paint was chipping, it was in decent shape. And it had an AC, which is vital in Southern California.
