Page 2 of Game On

I just look straight ahead, acting as if I meant to do that and turn into the parking spot I spied. With a press of a button, the top on my car is unfolding into place. I wait inside, hoping to hide for a little while before I have to head in. I already have my schedule. I’ve already been to this school numerous times. Even though it’s never been for educational purposes, I know my way around. It won’t take me long to orientate myself.

A guy and girl walk by my car. The girl has her hand in the back pocket of her boyfriend’s shorts. He looks over his shoulder and whistles. He’s not whistling at me. I know that because the next thing out of his mouth is, “Nice wheels.”

His girlfriend squeezes his butt and says, “Nice ass.”

He turns back around, bending over while they’re still walking to kiss her on the mouth. The intimacy of that act makes me look away, cheeks burning. PDA was strictly forbidden on academy grounds. Not that it wasn’t rampant everywhere else, but I have to remind myself that Rockport High is a whole other world than what I’m used to. With a short breath, I haul my backpack into my lap and then swing my car door open. Stepping out, I push the door closed and look in the direction of the main entrance.

A Jeep comes careening into the lot. Students have to dodge out of the way as the horn blows. The vehicle stops just in front of the main entrance and four guys jump out before it takes off again, whipping around the lot. Two of the guys who jumped out slap hands and then move toward the glass doors with the others.

I lean on the hood of my car, my hand reaching out automatically to steady myself as soon as I recognize them.There they are. I knew they’d be impossible to miss. They walk toward the school just like they walked around the grounds of camp—all ease and swag.

It’s The Rock Ballers.

I watch them walk into school, confidence wafting off them in waves. My heart tells me again that this is a terrible idea, but I ignore it anyway and take my first shaky step toward Rockport High, my new alma mater.

2

As unextraordinary as it sounds, the first few periods of the day go by without a hitch. I’m almost surprised that I skate by unnoticed. Sure, people look at me because I’m the new girl, but it’s not like it’s middle school or elementary school. None of the teachers are making me stand in front of the class telling everyone my name and where I’m from. If they didn’t recognize the name, they’d recognize Broadwell Academy and that’s all it would take to get labeled everything I don’t want.

Rockport and Broadwell are notorious arch enemies. It’s the rich looking down at the poor and the poor thinking all rich people are assholes. And that’s before we add in the rivalry aspect. Rockport and Broadwell don’t even play in the same sports divisions, but because the schools are so close to one another, we scrimmage. The basketball scrimmages? Holy shit. It’s like War of the Worlds. It’s even televised on freaking TV. Bookies take bets. It’s the real thing with businesses flashing colors of their teams, bar fights over ref calls. You name it, we’ve seen it.

Once upon a time, I was a part of it all, too.

When I pull my bookbag over my shoulder after the fourth period bell, I take my time grabbing the sheet of notes I wrote during History class while waiting for everyone else to file out of the room. By the time everyone else is gone, it’s too late to notice that the history teacher, Mr. Schaffer, is staring at me. My cheeks burn, but I stare at the ground and move toward the exit. Trying to be invisible won’t work though. “Miss Dale.”

I stop where I’m at. I was never this shy at Broadwell, but I already feel as if I don’t belong here, so there’s that. With a breath, I finally raise my head to look at him. I give him a small smile.

He smiles back. “Are you Timothy’s daughter?”

I nod, feeling a little more relaxed. At least he didn’t ask me what everyone usually does.

“I graduated with him,” he says. “Knew him before…” His voice trails off. I know where he’s going with this, but again, he doesn’t say anything directly.

I wonder why. Is what’s happening written all over my face? Can he tell by just the hour I spent in his class that things back home are a freaking mess?

I shake my head. It isn’t possible. Just like no one can tell I’m from Broadwell Academy, no one can tell just by looking at me that my parents are separating. It only feels like they can because it’s at the forefront of my every thought. “Cool,” I say finally, not knowing how else to answer.

He smiles at me again, and I take that as my cue that I can take off for lunch. By the time I leave the classroom, there’s only a smattering of people in the halls. All the way down, there’s a couple making out against the lockers. There’s also a younger boy running with a notebook in his hand. He runs right past me without giving me a second look. I take off in the opposite direction of the kissing couple even though it’s taking the long way around to the cafeteria. I’m not exactly thrilled for this part of the day anyway. Is there anything worse than trying to figure out where you’re going to eat lunch? I’d rather go outside to eat, but Rockport doesn’t let its students leave the building during school at all. I’ll have to eat at a table…or starve.

At the end of the now empty hall, I go to take a right to head toward the cafeteria, but a silver sign hanging down from the ceiling pulls me up short. My breath catches. It isn’t as if I’ve never been here before, but seeing it during the school day—while I’m a student here—is so different I almost feel as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. Before I can stop myself, I take a left toward where the sign pointed and head straight for the glass doors with the words Timothy Dale Court etched onto them. When I pull the handle toward me, it gives way freely, and suddenly, I’m walking inside. My heart pumps out an extra beat, and my palms get so sweaty that I run them down the thighs of my shorts before grabbing onto my bookbag strap with my right hand.

All the lights are on, making this room even brighter than the dingy halls and outdated classrooms. Everything about this screams new.

I walk past the concession and souvenir stands first. (Yes, I’m serious.) Then keep moving until I’m dwarfed by the stadium seats that rise up off the court like bleachers. When I get to the edge, I just sit there and stare, remembering a time similar to this a few years ago.

“Look at that, Tess,” my dad said, awe in his voice.

He points to the center sideline of the court where it clearly states, ‘Timothy Dale Court’. I can tell he’s proud. Hell, I’m proud. “Wow, Dad. That’s cool.”

But it isn’t just because my dad’s name is on the court that nerves start to assault my body. It’s because I can almost hear the thump, thump of a basketball as someone dribbles. I can hear the swish of the net as a basket’s made. I can even hear the roar of the crowd. And in Rockport, the roar is loud.

I scan the area for a ball, my limbs wanting—no, needing—to get out there. I can’t wait for the season to start. In that moment, I don’t care about the splash I’ll be making, all I care about is that I’ll get to play again. That’s what all this was for anyway.

Timothy Dale Court.I sigh, a smile coming to my lips. Ever since I saw it, I’ve wanted to play on it. But it just wasn’t possible. Rockport High doesn’t have a girls’ basketball team. For that matter, neither does Broadwell. Anymore.

A door creaks open on the far side of the court. I recognize it as coming from the locker rooms. Quickly, I duck out of the way, squatting behind the bleachers as figures move into view. There’s hearty laughter and then, “What did you think about her tongue ring? I almost lost my load too quick with that shit.”

I close my eyes. I know that voice. I move up to peek between the metal bars. The steady and familiar thump of a basketball dribbling on a court echoes through the room. Sure enough, the Rock Ballers are all there. I bite my lip and watch as they go through some passing drills and then each line up at the free throw line to take shots. Each and every one of them is shirtless with athletic shorts hanging low on their hips. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but to see it here, I can’t take my eyes away.

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