Page 14 of Game On

I lean in closer. The words ‘I suck’ are written across the right side of my forehead. And on my cheek, next to the dried tears, looks like what’s supposed to be a crudely drawn cock.

“Motherfuckers,” I say, breaths still coming out short. I lean back against the seat and stare up at the car ceiling. Tears threaten again, but I’m far too pissed to cry.

I throw the car door open and grab my bag. The front door is closed with the foyer light on. I can only hope my mother’s not right there waiting for me. I need to wash this off before she sees it. Will it even come off? It’s a fucking Sharpie.

Peeking inside, I don’t hear or see Mom, so I walk in and lock the door behind me. I start to tiptoe, but then she calls out from the kitchen, “Tess, is that you?”

I run for the stairs. “Yeah.”

“Wait a minute,” she calls out.

“Can’t!” I yell back. “Need to take a shower.”

She groans in frustration, but I barrel up the stairs, run to my room, and slam the door behind me. With shaking hands, I grab my phone and Google how to get rid of permanent marker. Out of the list of ingredients that show up, the only thing I have in my room to use is nail polish remover, so I go into my attached bath, yank out a crap ton of toilet paper, and then soak it with the nail polish remover before running it over my face. The smell makes my nose scrunch, but I rub and keep rubbing. When I’m done, the black marks are faded but not entirely gone. My skin is raw and red, but at least it looks like I’m not eating a dick anymore.

I lean my head against the cool granite of the bathroom counter.Forget my face, I think.I need to bleach away the memories of their unwanted hands on me.

9

Today’s a big day. It’s not just because it’s Sign-Up Day anymore. It’s because I need to walk into Rockport High to show Lake fucking O’Brien he doesn’t scare me.

This morning, I took the nail polish remover to my face again. My poor skin is dry as fuck, not to mention streaky red, but that’s why God invented makeup. I’ve attended Sign-Up Day every year since my dad built Timothy Dale Court. Every year I dress up, smile, and be the dutiful, doting daughter. Not this year. Oh, I’m dressing up, but I’m dressing up to slay. I’m dressing up so that when I walk up to the sign-up sheet and write my name down, they’ll not only be forced to say my name, they’ll be forced to take pictures of me, and I’m going to look as sexy as I can while they’re doing it.

Look, I said everything about Rockport High Basketball is a big deal. I wasn’t lying. Sign-Up Day is a media frenzy. The coaches, players, and my dad usually know every freshman—and the very rare upperclassmen—who want to throw their hat into the ring to join the team, but they won’t know me. The local newspaper and news stations will be there. I’d planned on wearing just what I wear to a regular day of school, but not anymore. They can eat their hearts out.

I finish applying my lip gloss and then dump my freshen-up makeup in my bookbag. Sign-Ups isn’t until after school ends, so I’ll need to retouch. I step back to look in my dresser mirror. My skirt is just on the cusp of being too short. I look classy, yet sexy. It’s exactly what I wanted to pull off. The shirt I’m wearing just grazes the top of my skirt. If I reach for something or pose in a certain way, hello stomach. After all, Lake said I had abs now. He might as well see them more often. All they are is proof that my dedication is paying off.

My bookbag clanks, the makeup containers hitting one another as I throw it over my shoulder and head downstairs. Mom’s sitting at the breakfast nook again. Steam from a pile of French toast is wafting in front of her face. When I come into view, she looks up. Her eyes widen a bit, and then she’s smiling. “Today’s Sign-Up Day, isn’t it?”

I smile wide. Despite the fact that I’m wearing this as some sort of revenge, nerves are still battling inside my tummy because of what today means. I feel like I’m outing myself to the world. “Do I look okay?”

“Oh, honey,” my mom says as she stands. She moves forward and wraps her arms around me.She’s lost weight, I think, as she squeezes.I can even feel her ribs.She stands back. “You look beautiful.”

She looks away, her smile slipping a little. This will be the first year she won’t be standing next to my dad during this particular event. Hell, there’ll be so many events this year she won’t be standing next to him at. This is just the first of many. “You can come to watch me, if you want.”

Turning toward me, she says, “I’m so proud of you, Tess. Don’t forget that. Don’t even doubt that.” She pulls away. “It’s just I don’t think I can handle that right now. But I’ll see your picture in the paper, and you can tell me all about it when you get home. Now,” she says, gesturing toward the table, “Breakfast?”

She seems so broken today, I can’t tell her no. I sit and eat as much as I can before I have to go. I already texted Dawn to tell her I’d be picking her up this morning and to wear something sexy. I’m a little scared to see what that means to her, but hey, I asked for it. For the first time since I started school at Rockport, I leave the Mustang’s top up as I go to school. I’d also curled my hair this morning and the curls have to last hours. They wouldn’t last thirty seconds in the wind.

When I pull up to Dawn’s house, she bounds down the front steps. “What’s up, girlfriend?” She’s wearing a tight tank top. The kind with the thin straps. She must have a hot pink bra on underneath, because the red strap of her tank top mixes with a hot pink strap. Her shorts are cut way too short. They must go against the school’s policy. She looks over at me. “Oh, so when you said sexy, you didn’t mean slutty?”

She laughs, and I follow suit. “You look amazing.” She does, too. Her shorts have faded, stringy holes in them, showing off even more skin. The look works for her though.

“I’ll have to hide from teachers all day, but…” She shrugs. I guess that’s why I like Dawn. She doesn’t give a fuck.

I don’t tell her about how Lake and his brother held me down and drew a dick on my face last night. The thought is tempting, but I’m embarrassed as hell about it. For some reason, I don’t want her to know it’s this bad. It’s easier to pretend that they just throw insults at me any chance they get.

I park down the street, already guessing the Ballers are near the front of the school again, just waiting to make sure I don’t try to park in the student lot. And, since I can’t park in the faculty lot either, I’ll just walk a block. I grimace over at Dawn, seeing that she’s wearing heels. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what? It’s those fucking assholes’ fault.” She’s quiet for a moment as we walk up the sidewalk. “Why didn’t you just tell Mr. Holden that you were literally barred entry into the student lot?”

I shrug. “One, he already thinks I’m entitled. Two, they look the other way when it comes to the Ballers. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, those five and that Richie Youngs kid who deals pot on school grounds that everyone else seems to know about except them.”

My eyebrows raise. “What?!”

She laughs. “You think that’s bad? At my old school, it was way worse than pot. It was the hard stuff, and guns and knives, too.”

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