Head Games

by Nicole Leigh Shepherd

  I look around the office to find a tissue or something to wipe the sweat off my face.

  “I still can’t believe Zachary would want to hook up with a horse.” Kylie snickers. “Forget what I said about you being an ugly duckling. You’re not a duckling. You’re just plain ugly. Inside and out.”

  What? No. I never want anyone to think of me like that. Even Kylie. I pride myself on being pretty on the inside. Though I guess I have been talking back to people a lot lately . . . Ever since stuff with Zach took a turn.

  Is that what happened to Kylie? Her relationship with Zach? She never used to be like this. She used to be nice and calm and sweet. Three years ago, she even took Charlotte Rosenberg, a guard from our AAU team, to a Taylor Swift concert after Charlotte’s father died. And that was the kind of thing she did all the time. Well, not all the time. But, a lot. It’s like Zach brings out this raging beast inside her. I mean, she’s always been super aggressive on the court, and especially on the softball diamond, but everyone is a beast when they’re playing their sport. I just don’t get it. What changed?

  Finally, Coach Jackson returns. Only this time, Zach trails behind her. I try to look at Coach directly, but she’s fuzzy. I rub my eyes. Tiny black dots float across the room.

  “I think Zach can settle this once and for all. Hopefully, we can then all move on, and maybe, just maybe, salvage the last twenty-four hours before our biggest game of the season.” She points to an empty cherry wood chair in front of me and motions for Zach to sit.

  Again, I tug at my collar (not only is it making me extra hot, but it seems to be constricting my breathing) and look up at the spinning ceiling.

  “Since this mess involves you, Zach, we were hoping you could shed some light on it for us. So, tell me, Zach, what is going on?” Coach leans toward Zach.

  “Uh . . .” Zach diverts his eyes from Coach’s steely gaze. “Nothing?”

  Bam. This time my slippery hand pushes a pile of books off the top of the bookshelf. Coach shoots me a death stare. “Sorry,” I mutter and bend down to pick up the books, wishing I could squeeze into a hiding spot behind the bookcase.

  Coach clears her throat. “Whatever is going on seems to be more than ‘nothing.’ ”

  “You broke up with me for one of my teammates!” Kylie points to Zach. “That’s the worst thing in the world. I would never do that to you.”

  “What?” Zach faces Kylie.

  “You went over to her house and hung out. Then, you broke up with me. For her. And just so you could score points for some stupid list.” Kylie crosses her arms in front of her chest. Then she turns her attention to Coach. “Yeah, in case you were curious, the boys’ basketball team and a couple other guys are making a list of all the girls they scored with, and whoever sucks face with the most girls wins.”

  “I don’t think you want to do this here.” Zach lowers his voice and hunches over like he wants to disappear.

  “Yes, we are going to do this here.” Kylie snaps her head in my direction. “Did you hook up with Zachary?”

  I don’t know what to say to that. My hand starts to shake again, and I tap my finger on my knee to make it look like I’m drumming.

  “Uh . . .” I finally say.

  Zach’s gaze lingers on me.

  Coach throws up her arms. “For god’s sake.”

  Kylie uncrosses her arms and slides to the front of her chair. “I told you, Coach. She may look and act all innocent, but she’s full of it.”

  Coach raises her eyebrows.

  I stare at the locker room door.

  “How do you think we can make this right?” Coach asks, staring at Kylie.

  Kylie looks around the room. “Honestly, I don’t know if we can. And because of that, we as a team propose that Taylor is kicked off the Wildcats for violating a team rule.”

  I can’t breathe. I’m dying.

  A knock interrupts my demise.

  Hannah pokes her head in. “Can I see Taylor for a moment? She’s helping me out in tonight’s fashion show.”

  Coach glares at me, and I sheepishly turn around to face Hannah. “Uh, I’m kind of busy right now. I’ll meet up with you soon.”

  Hannah takes in the severity of the scene in front of her and gives me one last pleading glance before leaving.

  As soon as Hannah closes the door behind her, Coach picks up right where she left off. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

  This is it. The end of my basketball career.

  But instead of incinerating me on the spot, Coach glares at Zach. “You, Romeo, can go. But you should know that I’m going to have to have a talk with your coach about all the extracurricular activities besides basketball your team is participating in.”

  Without a second glance, Zach dashes out of the room, clearly ecstatic to be free.

  Coach shakes her head as he leaves. “I have a low tolerance for social lives interfering with our goals. Until the two of you stop placing your own needs in front of the team’s, you’re both done until further notice.” She lets out a deep breath. “Okay, Kylie, you may go. Taylor, don’t move a muscle.” Coach vacates the room again.

  As Kylie runs out the door behind Coach, she turns back to me for one final pronouncement: “You and Zachary have ruined my life.”

  fifty-five

  A minute later, Coach returns. She sits down in front of me, looking just like she was informed that the Beachwood Academy higher ups cut the girls’ basketball program indefinitely. “I have to say I’m very disappointed in you, Taylor. I never pegged you as the type to get involved in Beachwood drama.”

  I stare at my hands. She’s right.

  “I expect more out of you. In fact, I was hoping you would take on more of a leadership role this year.”

  I wipe my damp hands on my shorts.

  “I realize that you’re the most dedicated player out there. However, when we watched you play for Beachwood Middle, we didn’t just notice your playing ability. We also recognized your leadership potential. But, to tell you the truth, I haven’t seen you realize that potential since joining us at the high school level.”

  I look up at Coach. Her lips are pursed. “I’m sorry,” I say. Between missing out on the Suns opportunity and being a part of all this boy drama, I feel like I just keeping letting people down. “I promise this won’t happen again.”

  “Consider this a lesson learned. You have too much to lose. Very soon, these Beachwood boys are going to seem like ancient history. I would hate to see inconsequential issues get in the way of your very bright future.” Coach stands up. “I want you to stay in here for a few more minutes and think about what you could have done to avoid this situation. Meanwhile, I’m going to meet with your teammates to determine the proper punishment for both you and Kylie.” She walks out the door.

  I spend the next ten minutes thinking hard and looking at pictures of past championship teams. Quickly, I resolve that I will be like those girls. I will be part of a championship team. I will be a leader. I will make the SoCal Suns. I will play basketball in college. And I won’t let anything get in my way. Ever again.

  I’m about to leave when Tamika walks into the office.

  Oh, no. She must be here to deliver my punishment. My stomach flips.

  Tamika sits down in Kylie’s seat. “As you know, Coach just met with the team. She’s giving us some time to decide what should happen to you and Kylie.”

  I slump back down in the chair. “I’m so sorry, Tamika. I should have put the team first. I’ll do anything to make it up to you guys.”

  “Actually after thinking through everything, we as a team have decided to ask Coach to keep you and to kick Kylie off the team.”

  “What?” I look up at Tamika, totally stunned.

  “Let’s be honest, Kylie’s main sport is softball. And anyway, she’s the one who started all the drama.” Tamika crosses her arms.

  “Well, there was more to it than—”

  “Taylor, that’s very nice of you to try
to defend her, and don’t think that you’re totally off the hook, but let’s look at all the facts. One, she and Zach were broken up; two, it’s not the first time she’s done this; and three, we originally based your being kicked off the team on information Kylie gave us. And how do we know she was even telling the truth?” Tamika uncrosses her arms and places her hands on her hips. “Plus, tomorrow’s game against Richland is do or die. And we need you to win more than we need her.”

  Although their offer is tempting, I think about what Coach said about not being selfish.

  “We’re going to tell Coach in a few minutes, but I wanted to let you know before the hysterics start.” Tamika turns around to walk out the door.

  “Wait,” I say, standing up. “You can’t do that.”

  Tamika stops. “What? I thought you’d be happy. No more Kylie. No more drama.”

  “We’re a team, Tamika. We can’t just turn our backs on a teammate.”

  Tamika’s mouth hangs open. “Seriously?”

  “Kylie and I can work together. I just know that when the time comes, we can put this stuff aside for the sake of the team.”

  “You sure you’re not just being nice?” Tamika eyes me suspiciously. “Because this is about making the playoffs. Not about being nice.”

  “Positive.” I stand up straighter. “This is the way it has to be.”

  fifty-six

  After barely keeping my spot on the team, I’m totally beat. Even though I’ve begun to “relish the awesomeness of my inner fashionista” (to quote Hannah’s fashion show mantra), the absolute last thing I want to do is hang out in heels with Missy, Violet, and the rest of the Beachwood babes. But, even after the basketball fiasco, I have no choice but to strap on my big girl heels and fashion show it up. I did promise poor, hobbling Hannah after all.

  Backstage at the fashion show, things are crazy. Between the designers frantically running around and the models receiving last minute touch ups to their hair and makeup, it’s an absolute madhouse. Not wanting to get in anyone’s way, I stay in the back corner and wait for Hannah to come find me.

  “There you are!” Hannah calls out, noticing me from across the room. She slowly makes her way through the throngs of girls, leaning on her right crutch and pushing along a clothing rack holding a garment bag with her left. “I thought you left.”

  “Nope. Still here.” I let out a deep breath.

  Hannah unzips the hanging garment bag to reveal the vest, paint-splattered T-shirt, and mini. Then she opens up another cover to expose the ivory silk dress. The looks may be way different, but only one word comes to mind: amazing .

  “So, are you ready?” Hannah asks, her eyes wide. She’s totally in her element.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” And I am. I’m so proud to be Hannah’s model.

  “Good.” She adjusts the fur vest on the hanger. “So. What are you going to do now that you discovered your two main guys are three-B players?”

  “What are you talking about ‘two guys’?”

  “Matt and Zach.”

  “Matt isn’t my main guy.” I still can’t believe I opened up to him on our beach walk after I knew he was participating in the three-B list. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  “Are you sure about that? You looked pretty freaked out after his fight. That’s all you talked about all day.”

  “We’re friends.”

  “Friends with benies.” Hannah winks. “And if you guys are so-called friends, then, why is he here?”

  What?!? I turn around and am face-to-face with a Beachwood Lacrosse hat.

  “Taylor.” Matt stands there, holding a bundle of white daisies. “I just wanted to wish you good luck.”

  Huh? Flowers? Really? Is that the best he can do? How about apologizing for the three-B list? I want to believe that he’s genuine. Really, I do. But first Zach, now Matt? Why does every guy on the list think I’m just going to forget everything and let them take advantage of me? Do I have “dumb” stamped across my forehead? This is just some last minute ploy for more points.

  But I’m not going to fall for it. Once and for all, I’ll show Hannah that I too can put up boundaries.

  I grab the daisies off Matt and dump them in the garbage can behind me. Well, at least what I thought was a garbage can. Turns out it was really some sort of suitcase. Philippe, the hairdresser, shoots me a dirty look. I pick up the flowers, say a quick sorry, and toss them on the floor to make sure that the full effect is not lost on Matt. Then, I turn my back to him, making sure I don’t allow the perfect curvature of his cute butt to change my mind.

  fifty-seven

  “Stay still,” Philippe says a few minutes later, as he fluffs a brown mop of my curls. Turns out a curling iron plus my natural frizz does not equal the très merveilleux look he was going for.

  “Ten minutes till showtime.” Mrs. Sealer sashays through the crowd.

  “Flip,” Philippe says.

  “Huh?” I watch Missy, who is getting fake eyelashes pasted on in the seat next to mine, glare at me through my reflection in the mirror.

  “Yur head. Flip eet upside down,” he says with a French accent.

  I lean forward.

  “Perrrrfek.” He moves a few pieces of hair around and finishes with a spray.

  “Violet, take your spot!” Mrs. Sealer shouts above the din.

  “Come on, Tay.” Hannah yanks me off the seat. I grab my ruby heels as she shuffles me along. Despite her injury, Hannah is remarkably strong when she wants to be.

  “Here. Put this on,” she instructs.

  “In front of everyone?” The idea of all these people watching me change is utterly horrifying.

  “This is backstage at a fashion show. Of course, you’re changing in front of everyone! Now put this on. You’re up in one minute. No time to lose!”

  I sigh and maneuver Hannah directly in front of me in a last ditch attempt to salvage my dignity. Even though she barely covers me, I turn around, slide off my practice clothes, and slip into the ivory dress.

  Hannah swiftly makes a few last-minute adjustments. Then, she swings backward on her crutches to admire her handiwork. “Perfect! You look stunning, Tay!” She wipes away a tear. “Seriously, you look gorgeous. Come here. You need to see this,” she says, pointing to a mirror.

  Ohmigod. Kylie was right. I’m a swan. While gazing at myself in the mirror, I spin around just like they do in the movies, noticing how my eyes pop just like Selena Gomez’s. Then, I finger the silk of the dress and am wowed by how perfectly it falls against my body. I tousle my light brown hair, which has somehow miraculously ceased being frizzy, and am struck by how it falls in soft waves below my shoulders. I kind of actually resemble a model. Is this really me?

  “Gorgeous!” Philipe stops in front of me, gasps, and clasps his hand in front of his mouth.

  “Next up, Taylor Thomas for Banana Fad,” Helen Tierra, a local fashion designer with her own reality show, announces from her perch in the auditorium.

  Hannah nudges me forward, and I step out past the hanging curtains onto the red-carpeted catwalk. Surrounded by white lights and an enormous crowd, and fueled by the soft beat of some unnamed techno song, I jut my hips out and sashay just like I’ve been practicing.

  “Hannah Montgomery of Banana Fad has been designing for five years. She’s a premier skateboarder who loves to mix punk, alternative, and high fashion. This is her first appearance at the Beachwood Spring Fashion Show,” Helen Tierra continues. Hannah must be freaking out that one of her design idols is announcing her line. “Taylor Thomas is modeling Banana Fad’s designs this evening. Taylor is the star center on the basketball court and, from the looks of it, a natural model.”

  Did Helen Tierra just call me a natural model? My heels wobble a bit, but I play it off just like the models I’ve been studying on America’s Next Top Model.

  As I’m about to reach the end of the runway and do my turn, hip thrust, turn, hip thrust, I spot Zach in the crowd. He winks at me and nods his he
ad. Standing next to him is another senior, Matthew Connelly, a forward on the basketball team and football stud known to club with Violet on occasion.

  Ohmigod.

  Matt Connelly. I had the wrong Matt. Matt Connelly is the “Matt” on the three-B list.

  I lose my breath, forget to turn, and step right off the edge of the runway.

  fifty-eight

  “Taylor, your blood work is normal. And I’m not seeing anything unusual on the CAT Scan,” says Dr. Nelson, a brunette emergency room doctor who looks like the fourth Kardashian sister. She maneuvers her hand underneath my gray gown and unhooks the probes stuck to my flat chest.

  She glances at my dad, who has just removed his yellow L.A. Sparks hat and is now wiping his forehead. “Just keep an eye on Taylor this evening,” she instructs. “She’s still a bit banged up from the fall.” She scribbles something on a clipboard. As she moves around the curtained-off patient room, I catch sight of her three-inch coal sling-backs, and admire how effortlessly she walks. No ruby-red heel wobbles for her.

  “Taylor has an important basketball game coming up tomorrow. Do you think she’ll be able to play?” my dad asks, moving to the edge of his seat.

  “I don’t see why not. The tachycardia noted in the ambulance was caused from stress. And everything else looks normal.” Dr. Nelson glances at me. “But I have to ask, have you been under a lot of stress lately, Taylor?”

  I think back over the last couple of weeks—the homework, the tutoring, Hannah, the fashion show, three-B, basketball, my teammates, the Suns, Zach, Matt . . . “Uh. Yeah,” I say. I’m tempted to tell her that “a lot of stress” is a major understatement.

  Dr. Nelson shakes her head, knowingly. “I have some great literature on how to deal with stress. I’ll include it with your discharge instructions.”

  “Thanks,” I say, just wanting to leave the ER and get on with my life.