by RH Tucker
It's only then that my brain finally catches up. A million questions race through my head, but two keep floating to the top. His coach said 'girlfriend'. Is that what I am now? Is Carter my boyfriend? The other question I wish I can forget. What am I going to do about Baller?
Chapter 33
Carter
There’s no removing the smile from my face. Not during the bus ride to our game, in which Jeremy and others make stupid comments about me finally ‘getting some’. Not as we pull into the parking lot of Northwood High and exit the bus, with all of Northwood’s students giving us the evil eye. Not even during half-time, when we’re getting chewed out by our coach, for being down by fourteen points.
Don't get me wrong; it sucks trying to do everything we can to beat Northwood, only to keep getting knocked back down. They're stronger and faster, one of the main reasons they have already secured a place in the playoffs. And as much as I want to win, I can't get the kiss out of my head. I can't keep the way Emma's lips tasted, or her intoxicating smell off my mind. It was everything I thought it would be and more and there's no way in hell I'm letting her go now. Now all I have to do is finish the plan, finally confess I'm Baller and hope she still wants me.
"This is it!" Coach yells at us as we huddle around, only ten seconds left in the game. "We're down by four. Two possession game. It's now or never. McCormick, you post up, and we run the three." Coach circles some x's on his dry-erase board. "Mitchell, you take the shot or dump it off to Dixon. Just like we practiced, boys!" I look over at Lucas, who I know will take the shot if he needs to.
The referee whistles for us to get going and Matt throws the ball to Lucas. He dribbles around a defender and stops, about to take the shot, but a new defender jumps to block him. He throws me the ball, and I shoot it, sinking a three-pointer.
Northwood gets the ball and Matt runs over to foul them, stopping the clock. It's our last foul to give in the game, so Northwood isn't going to get a foul shot. But we need a steal and to score again, or else that's it.
They throw the ball in and try to delay the clock. With only six seconds left, we have to steal it without a foul. Matt runs to defend, but the player throws the ball to his teammate right in front of me. I dart towards the ball, my fingers making just enough contact to deflect it. Everyone scrambles as the clock ticks down to three.
Matt and Lucas run ahead, as I dribble towards the hoop. All we need is two points. A simple lay-up can get us the win. Northwood’s defenders catch up and get in front of me, blocking me from the basket. Lucas is open at the top of the key, so I throw him the ball. It barely touches his fingers before he jumps in the air and lets it go. The game clock winds down and a buzzer sounds through their gym.
Time seems to slow. Everyone in the gym—our team, their team, everyone in the stands—we all hold our breath. As the buzzer goes off, the ball floats in the air towards the hoop and hits the back of the rim. More collective gasps, as the ball bounces up, before falling back down towards the front of the hoop. It hits the front of the rim. Then it bounces away.
Northwood doesn’t need a win to celebrate, but that doesn’t stop what seems like their entire student body from running on to the floor, everyone screaming in elation. Through the commotion on the court, we carry out our obligatory handshake with the other team, before heading to the locker room.
"What the hell, Carter?" Jeremy yells.
“Shut up, Jeremy!” Matt shouts back.
“He had the shot!”
“No, he didn’t! Thirty-five was all over him.”
“Bullshit!” Jeremy gets in my face, but I’m done fighting with him. “You were right there for the layup. You too much of a pussy, you can’t score with girls that you can’t even score baskets anymore?”
Okay, maybe I'm not done fighting with him. I jump up, grabbing his jersey, and slam him into the lockers. Before anything significant can happen, the rest of the team starts shouting, getting between us.
"Enough! Enough!" Coach steps in. He turns to Jeremy, wrapping a fist around his jersey, then does the same to me. "Listen up!" His head dances around, leering at the rest of the team. "All of you! You played your best, all of you did. This is a tough loss, but you gave it all you had. McCormick hit the showers. Mitchell, Hillard? You two keep an eye on Dixon." Coach's eyes flash between Jeremy and me again. "I don't know what the hell's gotten into you two, but you need to man up. We still have one game left, and I'll be damned if we lose our last game of the season in front of our home crowd."
I keep my distance the rest of the time and after the showers. Matt and I sit in the back of the bus as we make our way back to school. Plugging my earbuds in, I turn on my music and try to forget the game, remembering what I’m going back to. I’m counting on getting back in time for the art show, and thankfully we make it back to the school thirty minutes before it ends.
"Where are you going?" Matt asks as I walk towards the gym instead of my car.
“I’m gonna check out the art show.” I motion to the gym.
“Hope it works out.”
“Thanks, me too.”
Walking into the gym, large dividers are set up all over the basketball court. The show has been open for nearly two hours, but there are still students and parents mingling, looking at different paintings. Some of the dividers are set up adjacent to one another, while others form corners. It almost resembles a tiny maze you can walk around. I don't see Emma as I come in, so I decide to walk through, looking for her while checking out the artwork.
Turning a corner, I see a painting of palm trees on a beach and find Micah's name signed at the bottom. On a neighboring divider sits another piece by him and a few other paintings.
I keep walking and see a gorgeous waterfall painting. It has vibrant blues and greens and looks like something out of a rainforest. In the corner are initials and I know they're Emma's because next to the waterfall piece is an abstract painting exactly how she described it. It's our school colors, different shades of red and gold, with triangles and circles. I know she has a third painting, but there are two more next to hers with different initials. That's when I turn around and see a six-foot painting behind me. The bottom corner has her initials on it. I stand there, gazing at the piece.
All her thoughts about paintings and how they can invoke feelings suddenly hit me. I never thought something like that would, but it does. It's a scene of sorts. Different shades of blues, grays, and dark greens. Above, sits a huge dark purple cloud with what looks like burgundy lightening in it. There's a long, dark red lightning bolt, shooting out from the cloud, towards a small flower that's growing out of a brick. I've never examined art. I never tried to interpret it or figure out what the artist is trying to say, but for some reason, this painting speaks to me. It's hurting.
The cloud is pain, and the pain is shooting out towards this delicate flower down below. And even though the background is swirling around, chaos rushing around the canvas, the small flower stands fearlessly. Preparing for whatever the storm is bringing. Then I see what I missed before with all the other paintings. A little tag on the wall, citing the artist's name and the name of the piece.
“Heartbreak,” I whisper to myself, immediately feeling horrible.
Heartbreak? Did she decide to paint this when she thought I stood her up? Is this how she felt that day? How long after did she keep feeling like this?
“Carter?”
Emma stands behind me. Her usually straight black hair has slight curls in it, and she's wearing a dark green skirt that sways around her legs, cutting off at the knees. She looks adorable and sexy at the same time. My eyes drink her in, but I can't overcome the sinking pit in my stomach.
“What are you doing here?”
"Oh." I look around. "The bus dropped us off, and I know it's your art show tonight. I thought I'd check it out."
“Really?” She beams. Her fingers fiddle with one another and a cute rosiness hits her cheeks.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to
bat down my guilt.
I remember our kiss earlier and offer my hand to her. She looks at it nervously. For a split-second, I think I dreamed what happened before. That I was off in la-la-land, only wishing that we shared that kiss. But she calms my fears, taking my hand.
“This is amazing.” I look back at the painting.
“Really? You like it?”
I nod, then motion to the tag. “Heartbreak? How come you named it that?”
I try to keep my hand from squeezing hers too tightly, as the fear builds back up. When she doesn’t answer at first, I look over to see the hesitation on her face. I know what she’s going to say before she says it.
“I decided to paint it a little bit ago. That day you saw me in the courtyard.”
“It’s so … powerful.”
"I have a confession." She looks over at me, giving me a slight smile.
“Oh yeah?”
“This piece is about you.” My eyes widen. She finally figured it out. “I mean, not totally. But a piece of it, um, you kind of inspired.” She seems calm. And she’s still holding my hand. Would she be doing that if she knew? “You see the flower?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s you.” My fears halt, replaced by curiosity. “Sorry, you’re not the flower.” She giggles. “I mean, this whole thing, it is powerful. But, um …” She looks down at our intertwined fingers, gripping my hand a little tighter. “Well, okay, the flower is me. And the gold and silver in it? That’s you.”
I look back at the painting and see all the chaos and confusion of it. Then the flower, lined with gold and silver. It reminds me of strength. Hope. Does she mean I give her hope? Me, Carter? Not Baller? I grin as my confidence returns.
"So, the flower's you?" I ask, and she nods. "And I'm the silver and gold in the flower?” I arch an eyebrow, making her cheeks blush.
“Oh my God, Carter!” She slaps my arm. “That’s so not what I meant.”
“Sorry.” I laugh. “So, I’m on the flower.”
She pulls her hand away, crossing her arms. She shoots me an angry stare, but her smile tells me she isn't really mad. "Again, not funny."
“I’m kidding.” Pulling her closer, I’m pleasantly surprised by how natural it feels. And how easy her arms wrap around me. “Seriously. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
Leaning over to kiss her, I'm not sure who is around, but I don't care. Her hands come to my face, and the skin warms where her fingers touch my cheeks. The smell from when we kissed earlier returns, and I never want to forget it. Our lips only touch for a moment before someone clears their throat behind us.
“Didn’t you two get enough of that during lunch?”
Emma breaks away, embarrassed. I grin at her shyness, before looking over at Jen. “Wait, how do you—”
“BFF,” Jen says proudly. “And not that I like interrupting my bestie playing tonsil hockey, but Ms. Hales is asking for you, Emma.”
I smirk as I watch Emma's reaction. She looks like she wants to rip Jen's hair out. They're complete opposites, but I can see why they're best friends. They even each other out.
“I guess I better go.” Emma looks up at me with a disappointed look.
“Yeah, I better get home.” I hold on to her hand, as Jen walks away. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Okay.” She smiles, and I lean over and give her one more kiss. Taking in another breath of her scent, I hope it’ll tide me over for the weekend.
Getting to my car, I gaze down at my phone. The endgame is in sight. I'm glad she didn't remember to ask for my number. Hopefully, she won't ask anyone else for it. I've won her over, and now it's time for the final stage of my plan—revealing myself as Baller. I'm just praying that once that happens, she doesn't go back to hating me.
Chapter 34
Emma
To say I'm on cloud nine would be an understatement. Maybe cloud ninety? Nine hundred? As soon as I reached the lunch table the day of the art show, I spilled my guts to everyone, not just Jen. I couldn't help it. I was bubbling over. Micah looked at me like a concerned older brother, while both Lana and Jen fawned and squealed with excitement. I kissed Carter! Carter kissed me! And if that wasn't enough, then he went out of his way to visit the art show. And we kissed again! It's insane, and I'm most shocked by the fact that I didn't act like a blubbering idiot. Probably because other than these past few weeks, I've only ever treated him like a sleaze-ball flirt, something I do feel a little bad about now because we're … I don't know. A thing!
Jen spends the night at my house after the art show, and then we hang out with Lana over the weekend, since her parents are out of town.
“I still can’t believe I missed it.” Lana groans while we lay out next to her pool. “Twice.”
“It’s not like we scheduled it to happen,” I say. “Hey, was Micah mad you weren’t at the show?”
Micah and I were both excited about the art show, and Lana was planning on going, but I guess she texted him last minute and told him she couldn't make it. He seemed upset the entire night. He even left the show early, only staying for half of it.
“Yes.” She lets out a frustrated sigh that seems more angry than apologetic.
“You guys good?” Jen asks.
“I don’t know. He’s just so … serious. Always painting or working on his graphic novel.” Lana keeps her eyes closed as Jen and I stare at each other. “I mean, I knew he was really into his art before we started dating, but he just seemed like the quiet and mysterious type, you know?"
“Not to mention, he is hot,” Jen says playfully.
“Jen,” I groan. Being friends with him since the beginning of high school, we’ve always had a brother/sister relationship.
“Oh, come on, Emma.” Jen swats my arm as she sits up and grabs her drink. “I know you always say he’s like a brother, and yeah, I do too. But now that you’ve got Carter Dixon’s tongue to play with, you can’t tell me Micah’s not hot.”
I scrunch my lips together. “Okay, he is attractive. In a totally platonic, sibling, kind of way.”
“Wow, Emma.” Jen wiggles her eyebrows. “I never knew you were into incest. You kinky girl, you.”
My brow furrows and my jaw drops because even for Jen, that's too much. Before I can say anything, Lana gets up from her seat and dives into the pool. Swimming over to the ledge, she reaches over for her sunglasses, crossing her arms over the ledge.
"Anyways, it's getting to be a little much now. We're eighteen—"
"Almost." I raise a finger.
"We're all almost eighteen. We only have a few months of high school left before we start college, but it's like he's already in college mode, and it's always work, work, work."
She lets out a sigh as Jen and I exchange another look. I don't think either of us has ever heard Lana say something negative about Micah, and we both know Micah adores her. Thankfully, she either doesn't feel the awkwardness or ignores it, and changes the subject.
"Enough about Micah. I want the gossip.” Lana looks over at me, as I lay back down on the pool chair. “So, you guys are, like, a couple now?”
“I don’t know.” I try not to sound confused, even though I am.
Yes, he kissed me. He's been honest and sweet with me, and he even made an effort to go to the art show, which I didn't know at the time, but I'm sure it couldn't have been easy. People were talking about their basketball loss on Facebook and Twitter the next day, and I found out that since they lost the game, they weren't making the playoffs. That has to suck. He could've just went home and tried to forget about it, but he didn't. He came and saw me. He told me I'm beautiful. It's all things a boyfriend would do, isn't it? But we didn't talk about what we are. We just … are.
“You got his number, right?” Lana asks, breaking me from my train of thought.
“No,” I grumble, more in disappointment at myself for not thinking of it.
“I’m telling you,” Jen laments, “let me just text one of his friends. I’ve be
en dying for a reason to get Franco’s number.”
“No!” I scold her. “I told you, I’ll just get it Monday. I don’t want to come off as clingy or needy.”
“You guys kissed. Twice. You should have his number.”
"And I will, on Monday. Which is tomorrow by the way. It's not that big of a deal."
Jen's eyes widen with anticipation. "Does this mean he's going to be sitting with us during lunch? Can you ask him to bring over some of his friends?"
I'm about to chide her again when my phone goes off. Reaching for it, I gasp as I see the notification. The only other thing that's been on my mind, other than the amazing kisses I've shared with Carter, is Baller. And not in a good way. He seems like a nice guy even if he did stand me up. But since then, he's been distant. And now with Carter, I have no idea what to tell him. But I know I have to end it. I can't keep up a secret conversation with someone I don't know if I'm going out with Carter.
BigBaller27: How’s ur weekend?
Emerald22: Good
One word answers. That's what I'll do. Just keep it short, sweet, and to the point. Hopefully, he'll get the message and just fade away. Yes, not mature at all, but I don't want to have to tell him not to text me anymore. It just seems mean.
BigBaller27: Just good? No big plans? No fun parties?
Emerald22: Nope
“Who is that?” Jen scowls at me. From her look, I know she knows.
“No one.”
“Right.”
“What? Who is it?” Lana asks.
“It’s no one.” I hold my phone tighter, hoping she gets the message.
“It’s the stand-up jerkoff.”
“You’re still texting him?” Lana asks, but it’s not as accusatory as Jen. “Would you consider that cheating?”
"What?" My eyes shoot to her. "No. Absolutely not. For one, I'm not doing anything. I don't even know him. And two, I'm trying to figure out how to end our conversations."
