by K. Webster
“Well, it’s not the best pay by any means, just ask Cal. But it’s a decent salary that comes with health insurance.”
Garrett has paid for every damn one of my medical bills. I thought he’d back out of that once we discovered it wasn’t Charlotte driving, but he continued on, never mentioning it. When I saw him yesterday at the clinic, the lady at the front desk said the visit fee had been waived. As much as I was relieved not to be drowning in hospital bill debt, I don’t feel right about continuing to take from this man. Having health insurance could be a good thing.
And if the girl is mine…
It’s time to man the fuck up.
“Do I gotta teach history or some shit?” I ask, frowning.
“Cal mentioned your trouble with computers because of your head injury,” she says, her voice soft. “I’ve written into your contract that no classroom instruction is necessary to your employment. However, if later you decide this is something you want to do, we can find a good fit for you. We’ve recently lost an English teacher. Don’t act like I didn’t see your SAT scores. You may have given me trouble and skimmed along in high school, but you got your degree at OSU and your SAT scores, especially in reading, were exceptional. If it’s something you want to pursue, I can guide you in the right direction.”
Coaching.
Basketball has always been important to me. Cal and I both played for OSU and enjoyed it. Where most of the guys wanted to go pro, I wasn’t interested. I knew I wanted to go back to Hood River and be with my boys. Before the accident, Cal and I wanted to work together or go into business together. This would be a step back in the direction of what I had planned for my future. It would feel great to feel normal again.
“Where do I need to sign?” I ask, leaning forward as excitement trickles through me. “I think I can do this.”
Karen sets a packet of employment papers in front of me. “Honey, I know you can. Welcome to the team.”
Cal playfully punches my shoulder and I grin.
Holy shit. I’m going to do this. I’m really going to do this.
For the first time since I woke up, I feel empowered. Like my life is my own and I am the one in control.
I’m getting my life back.
Fucking finally.
Penny
They’re noisy.
Always so noisy.
People, that is. All of them. My family. Tierra. The Hoodlums. Sebban. It’s like they live life to make sounds. Laughter and growls and words. So many damn words.
It’s irritating.
I’ve learned to tune it out, though.
I had to.
When I mentioned it as a kid, Dad got that weird “I’m going to diagnose you now” look on his face. I may have been young, but I was sharp enough to realize it wasn’t normal and that telling people only brings attention to it.
So, like any person who doesn’t want to stand out, I learned to cope with the maddening onslaught that whips at me every damn day.
I learned to shut it all out.
All that chaos that seems to echo inside my head, louder and louder with each passing second had to be muted. Ignored. Forgotten. If not, it was going to drive me insane.
The first time I learned to shut it all out was through an app on my tablet. A silly game that required constant movement of colored items, arranging them in an order to make them disappear, earning points for larger, more complicated strings of them. It’s like the task was so intense, it numbed the other parts of me, not allowing sounds to overwhelm me.
Mom tried to limit my screen time, stating I was turning into a zombie. Little did she know, the games were helping me cope. Her solution to my obsession was basketball. Hollis played basketball and loved it. Charlotte had cheerleading. Mom thought I needed comradery and fresh air.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The first time I’d sat in the gym at the YMCA, waiting to start my first basketball practice, I’d wanted to scream in frustration at all the noise and chaos. But, my coach spoke to us while dribbling his ball. There was something calming in the repetitious sound, soothing my trembling soul. I fixated on it. Became obsessed with it. The moment he handed me the ball, it’s like I was once again on my tablet game, performing tasks and running through exercises that drowned out the disorder suffocating me. It gave my mind purpose and another mechanism to cope.
Giggles drag me from my inner thoughts, piercing the safe haven I’ve erected around my mind when I’m on the basketball court.
Liv Johnson.
The girl who wishes she were a cheerleader, but has a talent for playing ball. Prissy as fuck. Wears fucking mascara to every practice and game. Loud and annoying.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I dribble past where she stands and is pointing toward the bleachers while whispering to her friends. Tierra shows up out of nowhere, challenge gleaming in her brown eyes. I fake right and then dribble around her left. She gets her windmill arms going in front of me, but I’ve practiced with this girl enough to know her style. I fake right, knowing she’ll expect me to go left, and then I just shoot the ball from the three-point line.
Swoosh.
Another sound I like.
Someone whistles. It’s jarring and each one of my nerve endings quivers in disgust. Shrieking, shrill sounds are the worst.
I swivel around, scowling at the offender.
Fucking Cal.
“Bring it in, wannabe ballers,” Cal calls out. “We're going to see who can actually play. Then you can get back home to your mommies.”
Tierra nudges my shoulder with hers as we walk over to where Cal is waiting with Terrence. I don’t know what the hell those knuckleheads are doing here, but I’m intrigued.
“You know about this?” I ask, arching a brow at her.
“Nope, but I can tell by the shit-eating grin on Cal’s face, we aren’t gonna like it.” She smirks at me. “That smile promises trouble.”
All the players crowd around them. Several girls are red-faced and it has nothing to do with practicing before tryouts. They’re giddy over these guys.
That, I’ll never understand.
I shift on my feet, hating that oily feeling that slicks over my skin whenever I think about hooking up with someone. Anyone for that matter. The idea of them in my face, slobbering all over me—breathing on me—makes me shudder. Imagining them naked and sweating, rubbing against me is even more disgusting.
The kissing…
Slurping and smacking.
My blood pressure spikes, sending a surge of anger blazing through my system. Cal is talking, but I’m fixated on the way Liv cracks her knuckles.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
I want to snap her.
My fingers find the hem of my shirt, seeking out the tag just inside. I rub the tag with my finger and thumb, letting the soothing sensation calm and distract me. After seconds of the motion that has saved me on more than one occasion, Cal’s voice cuts through the disgusted haze swirling around me.
“…and that being said, I’m happy to introduce you to your new coach. That is if you make the cut. T, buddy, take it from here.” He clasps Terrence’s shoulder. “Show ’em who’s the boss.”
I shoot Tierra a confused look. Her brows are furled, clearly not in the loop either.
Terrence clears his throat and drags his gaze along the girls standing in front of him. His left eye is drooping more than usual, which means he’s tired. I notice it happens when he’s overwhelmed. I notice everything.
“Your old coach isn’t coming back,” Terrence states. “Just because you were on the team last year doesn’t mean you’ll be on it again this year. I expect all of you to get out there and impress me. I may have had my head bashed in, but I know who sucks and who doesn’t. Now’s your chance to prove you’re one of the ones who don’t suck.” His eyes—even the droopy one—lock on me. “And I don’t play favorites.” This time, his eyes flick over to Tierra.
“Puhleeease,” she mutters under her breath t
o me. “He’s gonna think he’s God of Hood River now.”
I let out a snort that has both Cal and Terrence looking my way. Liv has switched from cracking her knuckles to running her fingernail over the ball in her hands. It makes an annoying fuzzy scraping sound.
“Are we going to sit around talking like it’s teatime with the Queen of England or are we gonna shoot some hoops, ugly?” I ask, unable to keep my lip from curling up from the incessant scraping Liv is doing. “I’m bored to death.”
Cal rolls his eyes, but Terrence’s jaw tightens.
“Everyone grab a ball,” Terrence grinds out. “I want half of you on one end of the court and the other half at the other end. We’re going to do some full court dribbling and finishing. I need to see if you can make any uncontested layups.”
I push away from the excited chatter of the girls to grab the nearest ball. As soon as I’m dribbling and other players fall into line behind me, the jitter inside me fades as a calm settles over me. I’m focused as I start a line at one end. Tierra follows after me. She’s the layup queen whereas I’m the one who can essentially make a shot from anywhere. We’ve been practicing together for months, gearing up for tryouts, and I’ve already learned she and I will play well together.
No if…when.
We’ll both make the team easily.
It’s girls like Ericka and Cat who need to watch it. They’re sloppy and lazy when it comes to ball handling. Sure, they’re aggressive and good at stealing the ball, but they tend to lose possession of the ball easier than most.
Cal whistles again, making me cringe. “Go!”
I dribble at full speed, driving the ball down the court, the thumping of the balls keeping me focused. In no time at all, I’ve shot a layup that I make and rebound the ball before getting in the opposite line I came from. We run through a few rounds of this before Terrence is telling us what we’re to do next.
Over and over, he runs us through drills as he carefully assesses our skills. I know I have it in the bag based on the way his eyes keep flickering my way. He sees how good I am. It’s hard to miss.
“Last drill. This one is a little different,” Terrence says. “Three on two. Full court. No dribble.”
No dribble?
I tense up as everyone holds their balls, waiting for Terrence to separate us into groups. Of course he pairs me with Liv and not Tierra like I want.
“The purpose of this drill is to see if you can pass the ball, pivot, and make good decisions,” Terrence explains. “You two,” he says, pointing to Ericka and a girl named Vera. “I want you with Tierra playing defense.”
Cal whistles again, making me shudder. “And go!”
Tierra is up in my face, trying to slap at my ball. I pivot left and then right. Then right again, waiting for Liv to open up. Ericka and Vera are on her ass. I want to dribble away, but I can’t.
“Gonna stand there all day, English?” Terrence barks out. “Pass the ball.”
But she’s not open.
I fake like I’m going to bounce pass, even though Liv isn’t open. The second Tierra darts that way, I wait for Liv to open up. Nothing. Fuck this.
Launching the ball, I shoot for the basket near the three-point line, waiting for that soothing swoosh. As soon as it slips through the net, I smirk at Tierra.
“Nope,” Terrence snaps, popping the P to make an obnoxious sound. “Start from the top. I didn’t say shi—nothing about shooting.”
Irritation burns in my gut, but I don’t let it bother me outwardly. I take the ball Tierra tosses back at me. My girl is all in my face the second Cal whistles again. I’m rattled by the screeching sound that seems to bounce around inside my skull.
This is stupid.
It’s basketball.
We should be able to dribble. It feels unnatural not to.
Tierra’s breathing is loud and labored, the sound crawling under my skin like ants. It has anger surging up inside me, chasing away the festering sensation. I try to focus on Liv giving me an opening, but Tierra won’t stop fucking breathing.
How did I never notice her breathing before?
Because the ball grounds me.
And I can’t fucking ground myself.
I pivot, shoving my elbow at Tierra, knocking the breath right out of her. Liv still isn’t open, pissing me off. Terrence yells at me, distracting the other two girls. I chest pass the ball hard, right at Liv. The ball smacks her in her stupid boobs and she lands hard on her ass.
Oops.
“Bench, English,” Terrence snarls, his looming presence now inches from touching me. “Now.”
His eye doesn’t seem so droopy now since the other one is narrowed, both brown eyes blazing with fury.
“What the hell did I do?” I gripe. “She should have been paying attention!”
“Go.” He cracks his neck, the popping of his bones setting me off.
I shove past him, storming over to the bleachers, focusing on the slapping of my shoes on the gym floor. Walking right over to my bag, I yank out my phone and AirPods. Ignoring everyone, I stick to my task.
Drown it all out.
I turn on Spotify and find my white noise playlist. The even hissing sound squelches all the rage and disgust burning inside of me. I close my eyes and try my damnedest to decompress.
Don’t breathe.
Don’t move.
Find your center, Penny.
I remain seated, eyes clamped shut, thinking of nothing but the silent way snow falls late at night. Cold and refreshing. Blissfully quiet. Peaceful. It isn’t until someone plucks an AirPod out of my ear and all the maddening sounds assault me again that I’m brought back to reality. I glower at the offender.
Fucking Cal.
“Cool it, kid,” he says, frowning at me. “What’s with the bitch act out there?”
The white noise from my other AirPod soothes me and fights for dominance in my head.
“I’m a bitch,” I utter, giving him my bitchiest glare. “What can I say?”
“No, you snapped just then. What happened?” Cal asks. “Come on. You’re practically my sister now. Tell me, sis.”
I punch his stupid thigh. “I’m not your sis.”
“But you will be,” he grumbles, rubbing the spot on his leg. “So fucking tell me.”
“I don’t see the point in us not dribbling,” I snap back in irritation.
His green eyes probe me for longer than necessary, but at least he keeps his big mouth shut for a bit. “The point is, it’s what your coach asked you to do. Teamwork, Penny. I know it’s a foreign concept, but it’s something you have to learn. You have to trust in your coach’s instruction. You have to trust your teammates, not hurt them.”
“Not my fault Liv’s boobs catch more balls than she does.”
We both laugh at the innuendo.
“Fine,” he says, “she deserved that one, but was it necessary to elbow the shit out of my cuz?”
Guilt clouds around me. I probably bruised my best friend—my only friend—because I lost my shit.
I lost my shit.
I lost my shit.
I’d been doing so well, but ever since my sister was kidnapped and raped by those monsters, I’ve been on edge. Spiraling. Unfocused and angrier than usual. All my normal coping mechanisms seem to have been forgotten.
It makes me angry, erratic, and impulsive.
Which means Dad will sniff it out, wanting to drag me into his office and shove pills down my throat.
“Tierra’s cool,” I assure him. And she is. I’ll have to apologize later, but she’ll understand. Amazingly, Tierra seems to get the words I never speak. Sure, she’s kind of loud sometimes and talks a lot, but she seems to understand some of the insanity that plagues me.
“Get your ass back out there,” Cal says, punching my thigh, though not as hard as I hit him. “They’re dribbling now, so you can stop your baby fit.”
I flip him off, but I’m thankful for the pep talk.
Breathe, Pen. Br
eathe.
You’ve got this.
Terrence
Too much time has passed.
I need to eat. I need to take meds. I need to sleep.
I’m slipping into that familiar cave of despair. Pain curling around my skull, crushing it inside its sadistic fist. Bile rises up my throat as I clench my eyes closed.
This was a bad idea.
By the time we reach the cabin, I stumble out of the truck, making a beeline for the toilet. I puke my fucking guts up as the headache intensifies. The light in the bathroom goes out and then someone is crouching beside me, their soft touch comforting me.
“Eat this,” Charlotte says, handing me a sandwich. “After you get that in you, I have some water and your meds.”
Shakily, I take the sandwich from her and chew it down. I hurt too badly to taste any of it. Once the cool water chases down the food, I take the offered meds. She stands, turns on the sink, and then turns it back off. A cool rag is settled on the back of my neck.
She leaves me in the bathroom, checking on me every so often. Cal and her whisper quietly—thank God—before she comes back for a millionth time.
“Why don’t you go rest?” she suggests. “Dad said it’ll take a bit for the medicine to kick in.”
I slowly rise to my feet and make my way back to the room. The windows have been covered by a blanket that’s been tacked to the wall. I want to hug her and thank her, but the pain drags me into bed instead. The moment the throbbing slows its murderous torture, I pass the fuck out.
Buzz.
It’s dark by the time I wake. I squint at the bright light of my phone that now sits on the nightstand, plugged in. I’m not sure how it got there, but I accept the fact it must have been Charlotte or Cal.
I reach over to fetch my phone to see I’ve missed some texts.
Roan: We’re having a small get-together for New Year’s. You coming?
Me: Sure.
Roan: Cool. Bring a date if you want.
Me: Is your dad available?
He sends me fifty or so middle finger emojis, making me chuckle.
