Page 3 of We Shouldn't Be Together
Taking the bait, Camila shoots a glance over her shoulder. Her shoulders jiggle and she snorts at her next victim. “Hello Rochelle, nice hairstyle. Where can we learn how to do that? Do we need a trip to Home Depot?”
Rochelle and the other two girls look at each other, telepathically agreeing extended time in the locker room is no longer a safe bet.
Bronte clears her throat, cupping a hand around her left ear. “Oh, shoot. I hear Coach Oliver screaming her lungs out. We'd better book it.”
Tanya rushes tying her shoelace, which thirty-seconds ago was taking her an eternity, and she scrams with the other two girls.
Dang it. That didn’t last nearly long enough.
Ever since Cammy’s dad moved out of their house, she’s been harder and harder to deal with. In the past, we could laugh things off. We were in sync. I never imagined not being friends with her. Now, I feel like I’m drowning. Nothing is ever good enough. The only solace I get is in pointing out the flaws of other girls, hoping Cammy will praise me for it.
I’m not proud of it. Deep down, I don’t want to be insulting my peers. But what choice do I have? If not them, it’s me.
Heck, when no one else is around, it is me.
I shudder at the thought.
It’s so much worse when no one else is around.
Nope, I’m getting my reprieve. Someone else is taking the bullet so I can breathe.
Maybe if I continue to describe Rochelle’s styling disaster, it’ll fuel Camila enough to forget about me and my so-called back-stabbing for the next forty minutes in the gym.
After we get changed and enter the gym, our class bunches around Coach Oliver as she drones on about the drills we’ll practice today. Two jock girls are dragging over a large netted bag of basketballs, and I immediately check my still-perfect manicure. Ugh. This is one way to ruin my day.
Camila huffs beside me, grimacing at our teacher.
Okay, a chipped fingernail is on a long list of ways to ruin my day.
Across from us in this sea of gym uniforms, Tanya, Bronte, and Rochelle bunch together for safety. An unsettling ripple jostles my stomach as I weigh up my targets against me and my friends. Three-on-three are not great odds. Maybe, if we stray Rochelle from the herd, I’d have a better shot at dodging Camila’s wrath. My only hope is Coach Oliver dividing us into teams and splitting up these girls.
Heck, I’d settle for if she divided me from my friends.
But we’re not divided into halves. Coach Oliver has us break into small groups. I wish she’d take Mrs. Field’s lead and separate friends from each other, but she doesn’t. She has us decide our groups of five. Ugh. I’m stuck with both of my friends.
My targets are quick to link up with two other girls. There’s still a chance. Maybe our groups will practice side by side. I can still use them to distract Camila and save my sanity. In the meantime, I distract myself while CoachOliver yammers on. I check my manicure, dreading the idea of picking up a basketball and chipping the pale pink polish.
“Umm, Earth to doofus,” Camila’s voice brings me out of my trance.
I look up, hoping she’s found her new target on her own, but no such luck. She’s full-on grimacing at me.
She throws her hands up as if I’ve forgotten something important and also ruined her life. “Why haven’t you moved yet?”
“Move?” I question.
Yvie rolls her eyes beside Cammy, who stomps her foot when gesturing behind me. “How can you be this moronic? Get a freaking ball!”
I recoil as her spittle lands on my face. “Oh, umm…”
Oh, crap. Is thatactuallysteam coming out of her ears?
“Go!” Cammy snaps.
I turn in my tennis shoes and hurry to where the other girls are collecting basketballs out of the large netted bag. I didn’t hear Coach Oliver call my name, but considering girls from different groups are collecting basketballs, I’m guessing she wasn’t specific and Camila didn’t want to exert herself. Unless her exertion came in the form of ordering me around.
As I return to my friends, I scan the room for Rochelle. Her group is on the opposite end of the court. They hightailed it over there when our group—of course—didn’t budge an inch from where we stood.
Smart girls.
