Page 24 of Game On

“You, of all fucking people,” I say. I should stop talking, but they’re the ones who’ve had everything to say so far. It’s my turn. I laugh, the sound manic to my own ears. “You should know what a picture does to some people.”

He towers over me, his hands coming up on either side of my body to cage me in. His face is contorted in anger. It’s a beautiful sort of anger. No matter how ugly anger is on him, it can’t transform him into ugly. Unfortunately. My blood pulses at my wrist as he gets a hold of himself. “Don’t ever fucking mention that again.”

I smile this time. I know I’ve hit a sore spot. About a year and a half ago, a picture came out in the tabloids of his senator father having an affair. Miraculously, his parents are still together, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s not all roses at the Ivy house. How could it be? The car at my back is cold. His chest rises and lowers with the force of his breathing. He’s only millimeters away from me. “You of all people should know about public humiliation, Sloan. That’s all I’m saying. Maybe you guys should fight fair.”

“I didn’t take the fucking picture.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s the first you saw of it, too.” I place my hands on his chest and shove him back. Surprisingly, he moves. “This is about basketball; it always has been. Maybe that’s what we should keep it to still. No more bullying. No more bullshit.” I slide my hands down my dress and prepare to get back in the car. “If you can’t do that, maybe I’m a bigger threat to you than I even thought.”

“You’re nothing,” Sloan growls.

I shrug, showing more bravado than I have at the moment, but I think I’ve actually hit on something. Why can’t we just have this out with basketball? The fact that they haven’t up until this point makes me think they don’t believe they can beat me. “Let tryouts speak for themselves,” I say, one foot in my car. “If I don’t make the team, if I can’t hack it, what will you guys have lost? Nothing. You already think I won’t make it, so what’s the problem, Ivy?”

I give him one last look and try to shut the door, but he moves forward again, catching it. “I was serious, Recruit. Trials start now. Grab your shit and head out to the outdoor courts.”

With that, he turns on his heel and walks away, shoulders bunched.

I place a hand over my chest as it hammers against it. I’m not going to let any of those guys take this away from me. I can beat them. I know I can. I don’t even have to beat all of them, I technically only have to beat the third stringer. My whole future depends on it.

I’m not sure if Sloan is messing with me on the tryouts trials thing, so I swing by the athletic fields on my way home, and sure enough, there are cars there, figures already on the court. “Son of a bitch,” I mutter.

I pull in, get out, and go right to my trunk. I know I have clothes in there to change into, but there’s also no fucking changing rooms right here, and I’m not about to change in my car with the Ballers and their cell phones nearby.

“Ten seconds, Dale!” a voice shouts. It’s Ryan’s.

I grab my gym bag and my shoes and sprint to the court before dropping my shit onto the grass next to the pavement. There are two field lights, one behind one hoop, the other behind the one on the far side of the court.

“You’re late,” Ryan says. He has one hand casually around the ball while the other is perched on his hip. It’s a sexy pose, not going to lie. And he also pulls it off so well.What the fuck am I thinking? He’s not sexy, he’s an asshole.

“I apologize,” I say, my voice terse. “This was the first I’ve heard of…whatever this is, and I was dealing with something else.”

Lake snickers. I want to run right over there and punch him in the nose. That’s probably exactly what the Rock Ballers want though. I don’t know exactly the rules they have here, but I’m sure fighting one of your own teammates is frowned upon, no matter how much he deserves it.

“Five suicides for tardiness,” Ryan says. “While you’re running, I’ll tell you what the trials are.”

I kick off my homecoming dance shoes, just a pair of flats, but I’m not running suicides in freaking flats. My feet would be fucked the next day.

I start to pull on socks and then sneakers when Sloan says, “Today, Dale.”

As soon as I lace up my sneakers, I head to the edge of the court. Ryan raises an eyebrow at me, but I’m still sticking with the not changing in front of them thing. There will not be half naked pictures of me around school like there’ll inevitably be “I suck” pictures around from now on.

I start, my dress billowing out behind me. I try to be careful when I bend over to touch the lines on the court, so I don’t show off my panties, but I also want to run these hard. I want to show them I can keep up with them even though I have breasts and am wearing a dress.

“Trials are a thing the Ballers initiated,” Ryan starts. I hear him over the steady thumping of my heart and my concentration on the court lines in front of me. “Think of it as a pre-tryout. You know the importance of teamwork. Teammates are a family. If we don’t think you fit in before tryouts, we tell Coach, and believe me, it weighs in his decision making when picking the team.”

Well, fuck me. They’re already going to tell Coach they don’t want me on the team. That means I’m going to have to try extra hard during regular tryouts, and whatever bullshit the Ballers are pulling here. Not that I think I can sway their minds, but maybe they’ll see that I’m not messing around.

“For the next two weeks, you’re ours. You’ll show up when we tell you to. You’ll do what we tell you to. We’ll assess you ourselves based on your performances and willingness to work.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Matt and Shawn standing on the edge of the court with their arms crossed. I have only one more line to run. When I finish, I stand right next to Shawn who shifts a little away from me. A bead of sweat drips down my back, followed by more. The dress wasn’t actually all that bad to run in, but I’m going to have to throw it away when I get home. I’m going to be a sweaty mess.

When we’re all there in front of them and Ryan is done telling us that we’re basically their bitches for the next two weeks, Hayes steps forward. His nickname of Ice Man is on point tonight. He towers over us all, his deep blue eyes assessing. “I think you all missed a key point in what Ryan just said. You all are a team. Why did none of you run those lines with Dale? If one of you is late, you’re all late. Five more.”

I bare down on my jaw. I wish he hadn’t done that, but I have more than enough suicides left in me, so I’m not worried. What I am worried about is that Matt and Shawn will hate me now no matter what I do. “Sorry, guys,” I mutter as we all line up.

“Go,” Hayes says, his eyes on me. I can feel the burn of his stare the entire time I run the lines. It makes it hard to concentrate on keeping up with Matt and Shawn. I’m not worried about my endurance. Working out has been a part of my daily activities for so long, but I also want to make sure they know it too. I sprint the very last line and end up coming in second behind Shawn but beating Matt out to the edge.

By the time I’m done, I’m sucking in air and the nicely curled hair I did for the dance is a complete mess. I would kill for a hair tie right now. I’m sure there’s one in my bag, but I’m not about to dig through it without their say so. I know the deal when it comes to shit like this. It’s all about having power. All I have to do is toe the line and don’t do a single thing they don’t tell me to. Even if it seems stupid like not getting a drink when I’m thirsty. When they want us to take a break, they’ll tell us.

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