Head Games

by Nicole Leigh Shepherd

  “Yeah,” Jessica adds. “I like ball before boys!”

  “How about three-B for a three-peat?” Eva lights up.

  “Perfect!” Tamika spins around and erases “No More Boys” with her hand and writes “3B 4 a 3Peat.” Turning back to us, she calls for the moment of truth, “Okay, so who’s in?”

  One by one, my teammates saunter up to the board and sign their names underneath. I hang back for a second.

  Kylie walks up to the board and grins. “Whatever. I’m done with Zach.”

  Missy giggles. “Weren’t you just canoodling in the corner of the gym with him?”

  Urgh. Did she just say canoodling?

  “We were, uh . . . saying good-bye.” Kylie quickly scribbles her name.

  “What about Valentine’s Day? It’s like two weeks away.” Missy asks before snatching the marker from Kylie. “Can that be a bye-day?”

  Tamika puts her hands on her hips. “Winning is about sacrifice. Are you in or are you out?”

  Missy looks at Eva, then at me, and lets out a deep breath. “Fine.” She hurriedly signs and snaps the cap back on in a huff.

  Jessica grabs the marker, and I slink behind her. If the rest of my teammates are signing, I guess I am too. No way I’m drawing extra attention to myself.

  The signing frenzy is interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. Nick pokes his head into the classroom. “You guys hanging at the courts tonight?”

  Tamika looks at us, then Nick. “Nope. We’re busy.”

  Nick’s face twists in disgust. “What?”

  “Yeah. We’re busy,” Kylie says, holding three flawlessly manicured fingers in front of her mouth.

  “Three-B,” Tamika says.

  “What the heck is three-B?” Nick asks.

  “Secret.” Jessica giggles.

  “Your loss.” Nick shuts the door.

  “Nope, I think you’re the loser,” Tamika says.

  We all break out into more giggles.

  “I know. They totally are the losers. We always have a better record than them.” Eva smiles, crosses her arms, and moves her head side-to-side in “no you didn’t” style. “E-v-e-r-y season.”

  “Exactly!” Tamika purses her lips.

  “Anyone up for some sushi to celebrate our unstoppable season?” Jessica asks. “I know this great place.”

  “Well, I guess I’m not doing anything tonight if we’re doing this three-B thing.” Kylie rolls her eyes. “So I’m in, but I need something more than sushi. Sushi tastes like air.”

  “I like sushi,” Missy adds, taking a step away from Kylie for fear of punishment.

  “Sushi it is. Are you coming, Taylor?”Tamika looks at me.

  All eyes are on me. I pull my sleeves over my hands and cringe. I should really see Hannah. She’s completely freaking out about the fashion show and needs me for fittings. On the other hand, I should be happy they’re including me after everything I did. Still, I can’t ignore my best friend duties. “You know I’d love to, but I have to go over Hannah’s. . . .”

  Kylie raises one eyebrow. “Yeah, right.”

  “I mean, I could come for a minute or two, but I promised Han—”

  “And you always have to do what Hannah wants?” Kylie interjects.

  “Back off, Kylie. We all signed the three-B contract,” Tamika comes to my defense. “Remember three-B for a three-peat.” She holds up three fingers.

  “True dat.” Eva smiles and signals a three like a rapper.

  “Who’s in?” Tamika stands up by the desk and we all gather around her, placing our hands in the middle.

  “On three. Three-B!”

  twenty-three

  “Taylor, what the heck happened during the game today?” my dad demands, resting his arm on the steering wheel as he drives me home after the 3B meeting.

  My stomach twists. “I don’t know.”

  “And what is going on with you and Mike Tyson?”

  “Kylie,” I whisper.

  He yanks the steering wheel. “Do you know what would have happened to my career if I spent my time socializing and fighting with my teammates?”

  You would have missed your spot with the NBA? No wait, that’s my fault. “What?” I play along.

  “I would have never played professionally in Europe. You have to play your game despite distractions. If you want to make it to the highest level, you have to focus.”

  I lean my head against the car window and stare out at the moving beach. I hate myself right now. I mean, the least I can do is show up. Tamika is right. No more boys. If I wasn’t out with Zach, I would have played better today and my team wouldn’t have fallen apart.

  I pick my head up and face my dad. “I’m sorry.”

  “How about five miles before school tomorrow?” He looks at me again, then back at the road.

  “Sounds good,” I say. And I mean it.

  “You play the way you prep.”

  “Yup.”

  He lets out a deep breath. “Taylor, you have talent. An enormous amount of basketball talent. And I just don’t want to watch you throw it away and end up like . . .” He pauses.

  I wish he would just say it. I wish he would just say “like me.”

  twenty-four

  After telling me that he needs to run an errand at Walgreens, my dad drops me of at home. I run up the stairs and call out to my mom.

  “Honey, I’m in the bathroom!” she yells in response.

  “Are you feeling okay?” I ask.

  “I’m fine,” she shouts back.

  I yell out, “Okay, glad to hear it!” and make a beeline for my room.

  Once I’m sitting safely on my bed, I look up “fuzziness” and “rapid heartbeat” on my computer, in the hope of finding any reason—other than I’m dying from drama—that I could have been feeling all funky during today’s game. Pretty soon all the medical mumbo jumbo starts to freak me out, so I decide to log in to see what’s happening at Beachwood. Immediately, my screen is bombarded with buzz about 3B. Most of my teammates have listed it as their status, and tons of people have commented. Plus, Eva even made us a little logo that a bunch of people posted as their profile pic. Looks like the guys’ basketball team also took our logo and is claiming to have their “own” 3B. Lots of drama. I make a quick pic switch with the logo, spend a half hour commenting, and click over to Zach’s page.

  Sure enough, his status is back to “In a Relationship.” (For a few moments there, I could swear that he had no relationship status listed.) But his wall posts are bare except for one from Kylie telling him to shove it. It’s signed, 3B.

  Oh, snap!

  I’m about to sign off when I get a message from Hannah.

  HANNAH MONTGOMERY: Where r u?

  TAYLOR THOMAS: What?

  HANNAH MONTGOMERY: Fittings?

  TAYLOR THOMAS: Comin over in a sec. Lots of drama.

  HANNAH MONTGOMERY: ???

  TAYLOR THOMAS: Zach’s back in a rela?

  HANNAH MONTGOMERY: checking page

  HANNAH MONTGOMERY: It’s u!!!!!

  TAYLOR THOMAS: No way.

  HANNAH MONTGOMERY: Whaz 3B?

  TAYLOR THOMAS: Tell u later.

  HANNAH MONTGOMERY: Urgh. . . . Well then tell me about

  Zach’s tongue. LOL.

  TAYLOR THOMAS: ☺

  HANNAH MONTGOMERY: Putting finishing touches on ur

  wardrobe. ur going to look fab.

  Come over ASAP.

  TAYLOR THOMAS: Leaving now.

  I shut my Mac and run back down the stairs.

  twenty-five

  “Don’t move,” Hannah says, adding extra silk fabric to the back of an ivory dress. Make that a miniscule nightgown only my mom—in her L.A. High days—would wear.

  “It doesn’t fit,” I say, sucking in my stomach.

  “It will. It just needs some adjustments.” Hannah pins extra fabric to the back.

  “If by ‘adjustments’ you mean at least ten more inches of material.”
I look down to see where the dress falls. Answer: right at my butt cheeks.

  “I’m not done with it. The dress is way too girly still. It needs some punk!”

  “How about some pants?” I look down at the hem.

  “You think this is bad. You should see the mini. Anyway, your legs always look amazing in shorts, even in those ugly mesh basketball ones.”

  “Mini?” I swallow a lump.

  “Yeah. Remember I showed you the shearling piece that I stole from my sister’s UGG bag at lunch?” Hannah pulls the dress a little tighter and digs a pin in.

  “That tiny thing?”

  “It’s part of the mini design.” Hannah snaps her fingers, in mock sorority style, and bobs her head side-to-side. “My best design ever.”

  For a minute, I picture that tiny piece of fabric. A mini? That’s not enough fabric for a headband, let alone a mini.

  Hannah finally releases me. “Break time!” She rolls me out of the dress, making me feel like a mummy being unraveled. “Okay. So, now, that I’ve given you some time. You need to tell me what three-B means. . . .”

  I take a deep breath and pull my warm ups on. “It’s really no big deal. Just a contract with my teammates.”

  “Like a ‘you won’t mess around with Zach’ contract?” Hannah plops on her bed, sprawling the dress across her lap.

  “Sort of.”

  I grab Hannah’s MacBook and boot up. As I sit down on my bed, I notice her shaking her head. “What?” I ask.

  “Kylie’s such a brat. She made the team sign some lame contract because she’s pissed Zach likes you?”

  “Kylie’s not a brat.” I scan through the posts.

  “Whatever. You’re probably leaving Kylie a comment right now. Even after she carved ‘skank’ on your locker.” Hannah pulls out a pin from the silk fabric and violently digs it back into the dress.

  My face flushes. That’s when I notice Vi’s status update: “Hitting the Kogi BBQ truck with Matt. Craving kimchi quesadillas.”

  For some strange reason, my stomach does a little flip. The two of them sure are hanging out a lot together lately. Curious to see what Matt has to say about the ever-desirable Vi, I type his name into the search box. And . . . over twenty Matt Moore’s in the Los Angeles area. I scan the results.

  I look up at Hannah, who is busy threading her needle. “Did you know Matt Moore doesn’t have a page?”

  Hannah subconsciously moves the skateboard at the side of her bed back and forth with her feet. “Vi told me he doesn’t even have a cell phone.”

  “Really?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “Didn’t you know that? I mean, he’s your partner.” She pauses and looks at the computer screen, which is now filled with my comments under people’s posts. “Wow, Tay, that’s crazy. You have a severe case of P.P.”

  “What’s P.P.?”

  “People Pleasing. You need rehab or something.”

  “What are you talking about? Other people comment on mine too. It’s totally normal.” I lay back under the canopy.

  “No, Tay, commenting sometimes when the mood strikes is normal. Commenting on everyone’s posts? All the time? No matter what? That’s just compulsive.” Hannah lays the material down next to her. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re bipolar.”

  “What?!?” I sit up.

  “I mean, obviously you’re not. But you have to admit that you are a doormat at school and a total beast on the court. What’s the deal?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t sit around and analyze myself.” I flip open the laptop again and am surprised to see that Nick left a post on my wall, “Wanna play bball at the courts?” Under him, Chris Phillips (the Chris Phillips), left another wall post: “Whatcha doing?” Two other guys from the basketball team, who I swear didn’t even know my name before, sent me friend requests. And I got hearts from both Chris and Zach. What the???

  Hannah catches my expression and thinks it’s our conversation that’s freaking me out. “Listen, Tay, I’m not saying you should analyze yourself. I just hate seeing girls like Kylie walk all over—”

  “No, Banana, it’s not that.” I shut her laptop and my breathing starts to race. Again.

  “What’s up?”

  I roll my shoulders back and calm my breathing. “It’s just so strange. I got friend requests from two random guys from the basketball team. And Nick and Chris Phillips both want to hang out all of a sudden.”

  Hannah grins.

  “What?” I ask, putting my hands on either side of me to steady myself.

  “Your stock went up.”

  “What?”

  “You hooked up with Zach and your stock went up.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, wondering if maybe they just want to play one-on-one with the tallest female center in the history of creation.

  “Zach brought up your B-Dub stock. They want to hook up with you, Tay!” Hannah pulls a piece of thread tighter. “You know what? Zach is probably bragging about how amazing you are. And so they can’t resist finding out for themselves!”

  I look at her, my mouth agape.

  “You have to admit, it makes sense,” she insists.

  “Well, if you’re right, there’s no way I’m jinxing it by putting an end to my People Pleaser-ness.” I reopen her laptop and spend the next hour fulfilling my various “pay it forward” duties. Hannah can call me a P.P. all she wants. My pay-it-forward strategy is finally working—the last thing I should do right now is stop.

  twenty-six

  A few days later, I’m dragging after too many early morning runs, practices with my dad, Hannah fittings, and Zach-avoidance maneuvers. Considering our big game against Richland is tonight, this isn’t good. How am I ever going to face Rodriguez and impress the scouts?

  “Taylor.”

  I jump, grabbing the shoulder of the person who just talked to me. Fortunately, it turns out to be Hannah.

  “Guess what?” Hannah pushes me up, helping me find my balance.

  “Banana, you scared me!”

  “Sorry about that, but the gossip I have is too good to worry about little things like scaring you.”

  I do another little jump. This time out of excitement.

  “Zach and Kylie definitely broke up for good. It’s all over school.” Hannah grabs my hands and joins in on my jumping.

  “Okay, but that doesn’t mean anything. Does it?”

  “No, it does. I’m telling you he’s ‘in a relationship’ with you.”

  “Still, how do you know for sure?” I ask, realizing that there’s no way Hannah is right about this one.

  “Here, check it out.” Hannah thrusts her iPhone at me.

  I type in my username and password. As I closely watch the progress bar, my heart does some more of its new favorite activity—racing. Finally, my homepage appears, and I see the message I’ve been waiting for: “Please confirm that you’re in a relationship with Zachary Murphy.” I stare at the screen, dumbfounded. Oh. My. God.

  “Let me see! Let me see!” Hannah calls out.

  I pass her the phone, not saying a word.

  Hannah takes one quick glance. “I was right! I knew it.” She turns to me and adopts the Miss Congeniality sing-song voice, “You’re in a relationship. With Zachary Murphy—”

  “Banana, cut it out! Someone will hear you.” I grab the phone back from her, log off, and put the screen on sleep mode. By “someone,” I obviously mean Kylie.

  “Who cares if they hear me? Let them! Because . . . you’re in a relationship. with Zachary Murphy.” Continuing the Miss Congeniality voice, Hannah does a little dance.

  “Hannah!”

  “Okay, okay,” Hannah says. Then she eyes my outfit. “What has gotten into you lately? You get visited by the magical clothes fairy?”

  “What are you talking about? I’m wearing sneakers like always.”

  I look down at my outfit. Along with my sneakers, which I’m only wearing because my feet still hurt from my recent heels escapade
, I’m sporting skinny jeans and an oversized red sweater, a vintage piece from my mom’s L.A. High wardrobe.

  Hannah shakes her head. “Don’t tell me you expected me not to notice your outfit is totally different from what you normally wear.”

  “I—”

  “But, if you’re going to try to reinvent your style, you should definitely keep me in the loop.”

  Reinvent my style? I just thought that this was the type of thing other people wear.

  “I mean, I’m totally digging the eighties vibe.” She looks me up and down again. “But you need to commit to one look.”

  “What?”

  “Just go with either ‘I just came back from the gym’ or ‘I’m so sexy in my heels.’ Don’t mesh.” She shakes her head. “But, anyway, are you going to accept Zach’s request?” She violently shakes my arm like she’s trying to remove my shoulder from its socket.

  On cue, Zach, Nick, and a few other guys from the basketball team walk by. “Hey, Taylor,” they say in unison. Time seems to freeze as Zach grins at me like he’s Lucas Till from Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me” video.

  Hannah and I dumbly wave at them as they pass us. I’m not sure which one of us is more in shock. Once they’re out of earshot, Hannah lets out an “Ohmigod” in a single breath. Her eyes bug. “Now, you have to accept his request.”

  “Hannah!” Violet aggressively struts toward us, her minions trailing close behind. “Where are my black Manolos?” she screeches.

  “I don’t have your Manolos.” Hannah flips her pale blond hair over her shoulder, turning her back to her sister.

  Violet steps in between Hannah and me, placing her hands on her hips. “I know you have them.”

  “I don’t have your stupid shoes.”

  “Hannah. . .” Violet whines. Behind her, her entourage fans out, surrounding us. “You are completely ruining my day.” Violet huffs and continues to argue with Hannah.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around. By habit I look down, but instead of looking at the top of someone’s head (people should really pay attention to dandruff issues—tall people have front row access), I’m staring at the green alligator on Zach’s black Lacoste shirt.

  “Hey. I was wondering . . .” Zach says, scratching the tip of his square chin.