Page 8 of Game On

I shake my head. “Rockport’s got the best basketball team in the state. I’m better off there.”

“Assuming they let you on the team,” she says, her voice quiet.

I’ve already thought this all through. Unlike Broadwell, who has a board that determines everything, Rockport’s a public school. They have to agree to take me on the team. As long as I can prove I belong. “I’ll make it.”

“But—”

I lean up on my elbows. “We’ve talked about this already, Mom. They let that girl wrestler on the boys’ team a couple years ago. There’s nothing in their by-laws that state a girl can’t be on the team. Theonlything I have to do is make the team. They can’t tell me no. Not like Broadwell.” According to their ancient board of directors, it’s just not proper to have a female playing for the male team. I’ve got a middle finger to give them the next time I see any one of their old, wrinkly asses.

“I just want you to be happy,” my mom says. “One of us deserves to be.”

My heart rips down the middle. I wish she’d stop saying shit like that. “You’ll be happy again.”

“Your father—” She stops herself from complaining any further. For the most part, they’ve tried to keep me out of it. It definitely hasn’t happened, but they’ve tried.

“How did Dad know I started at Rockport anyway?”

She scoffs. “One of the administrators probably called him. Who knows? You know they all love him there.” She looks away wistfully. I understand the look on her face. It’s a whirlwind being caught up in Timothy Dale’s shadow. You almost feel like you’re great yourself. Almost. But then everyone who’s cheering and smiling leaves with him. “I tried to get him to pledge the money again, but he won’t. He tells me it should come out of the split assets.”

My mom isn’t leaving the marriage a pauper, believe me. She’ll make out well, if that’s what she’s interested in. It’s not. She loves my dad. That’s why she’s so broken up about it. The whole Broadwell thing is just a sticking point for the both of them. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’m going to Rockport now. No harm done.”

She squeezes my leg. “I’ll do it, Tess. I’ll make the donation if you want me to. They’ll reinstate the team. You can be captain again.”

I sit all the way up. “Honestly, Mom. It’s better this way. No one will be interested in coming to see the Lady Knights play. But, Rockport’s a whole other story.”

“Don’t I know it,” she says.

The Rockport Warriors are a legacy team my father started. Yes, he was just that good in high school, too. The five championship rings and the building of the Timothy Dale Court at his alma mater came later though. If I want name recognition for me, this is how I’m going to get it.

She pats my leg, and then stands. “I’ll go figure out something for dinner.”

The mounds of grease I’ve had today are already not sitting well with me. “I don’t think I can eat,” I tell her truthfully. “I met a friend, and we went somewhere after school.”

Her face brightens, and I at least feel good that I’m able to give her a little relief about me changing schools.

My phone buzzes in my backpack. She stares down at it, then steps toward the door. “That’s probably your dad.”

She walks away, and I crawl forward to grab my phone out. I’m actually hoping it’s not my dad. I hope it’s Tiff. The number I see on the screen doesn’t ring a bell with me though. I open the text message up, and glare down at the screen in shock.

You sure you really want to do this, Dale? Rockport’s my domain.

That motherfucker got ahold of my cell number. I changed it after that summer at camp. Hell, he probably asked the school secretary and she gladly handed it over to him.

I type out my reply with a smile.Get fucked, Linc.I add the middle finger emoji just for shits and giggles.

You’ve been warned.

Instead of being afraid, my body heats, a wild emotion spiraling out from my core.

I honestly don’t know what to do with that. When it comes to the Ballers, my body’s always been a traitor.

6

My mother isn’t awake yet when I get ready for school the next morning. I even wake up early enough to swim a few laps in the pool and then work on my perimeter shots on the court. On my way down the winding roads to Rockport High, I feel as if I’m on a high. It was nice to stretch my muscles and fall into the familiar routine of basketball, whether my dad’s there or not. My phone buzzes in my backpack on the seat next to me right as I enter town, but I can’t look over at it, so I keep going.

Until I have to stop. Literally.

I try to make a right into the student parking lot at the school, but all five Ballers are there, their arms crossed over their chests as they stare me down. I start to laugh, but then don’t. Instead, I narrow my eyes and pull ahead. They don’t move. I’m only a foot away from them. If I come forward any more, I’m risking hitting one of them. Not that part of me wouldn’t be happy to do so.

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