CHAPTER 21

Lucy

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BEADS OF SWEAT COLLECT on my nose and drip from my hairline. My breath is labored, and my lungs burn as I work my leg muscles into a sprint. For the first time in a while it feels good to sweat and ache from something that isn’t fighting or fleeing.

The squeak of sneakers ricochets off the gym floor as my new team runs a scrimmage, practicing different plays. It’s been a week, and I’m getting my groove. I’m lucky to have come from a small school where anyone gets on the basketball team if they want in. It gave me experience, and I’m actually good. Really good.

I tuck the short sleeves of my dampened grey t-shirt into the straps of my sports bra to give me more mobility. The short stocky blonde girl I’m blocking is Riah. She doesn’t mind me pushing on her as we move toward the basket, because we’ve become pretty good friends since I joined the team. I give her a look as Heaven, the black superstar point guard, charges forward, despite the fact that I’m completely open, and misses her shot.

Riah smiles and throws the ball in from the sidelines.

I steal it, dribble in a focused rush to the hoop and make my layup.

“Nice,” Riah shouts, and we low five as she passes me.

As I go to take my position I almost bump into Heaven. Instead of moving aside to dodge the collision, she shoulder checks me.

I huff, a little surprised by the blatantly intentional hit, but let it go and glare at her back.

We practice for another thirty minutes, and I’ve completely forgotten about the shoulder check. Until, she “passes” the ball to my face when I’m two feet away. The pain is jarring because I’m not expecting it, and my nose instantly bleeds.

The girls gasp and stop the game, watching.

“Sorry,” Heaven says, faking an apology.

And it’s not the fake apology that gets me. I’m pissed, but I know the girls will give her shit. It’s the smug smile she gives me when I hear the word bitch under her breath.

I snap.

I charge at her and she doesn’t even move, doesn’t run, because she has no idea what I’m capable of. The force of my body knocks her to the ground, and I grab a fistful of the tiny tight braids that have been loosened from her ponytail. Blood from my nose drips onto her milk chocolate skin. She squirms and curses and none of the girls try and stop me. I’m sure they’ve seen a hundred of these catfights, but I’m pretty sure they’ve never seen anyone bust a person’s face open.

My fist slams into her nose, returning the favor. Once I’m over the edge, there’s no coming back. I block out the squeals of fear that surround me, and ignore the looming guilt, the shadow of regret as I hit her a few more times.

When her eyes close, the coach is on me, yanking at my back, but I’ve already woken from my rage. The girl from the park has followed me here. It’s her I see on the gym floor, lying motionless.

The coach hauls me away, and leaves me outside the propped-open gym door, not bothering to send me to the office. She tells me to stay, then rushes back in a panic, but I can already see Heaven groaning and rolling on the floor.

I sit on the cement stairs, staring at white clouds as they drift peacefully across a perfect sky, and almost start to spiral. My throat burns. Disappointment makes itself a little nest of self-hatred in my chest. Then the bell rings and swarms of students descend on the quad, sweeping by in a rush of sound and energy.

I wipe my bloody face and hands on the hem of my grey shirt, not bothering to be thorough, and walk off campus. I just need to get away from here.

Across the street is a restaurant called Taco Azteca. It’s a little yellow barn-shaped hut with a take-out window for ordering. Red barstools line the outdoor counter along its front. I head for one, needing to sit alone and unwind.

The smell of the food is overwhelming. After a few minutes, I end up at the window, staring at the menu.

“Are you in line?”

I glance back at the vague image of a girl with a high dark ponytail. “No.”

She steps up beside me, and I can feel her staring. “What?” I snap, turning to face her. My day is shit, I don’t have patience for judgers.

She laughs at me, like she’s not the least bit intimidated by the blood on my clothes. Her smile reminds me of the Grinch, stretching high into her dimpled cheeks. She’s tiny and short, but has enormous boobs.

“Want me to order for you?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I’m not getting anything.”

“You can order in English. They don’t care.” She waits for me but I ignore her. She steps up to the window and orders in Spanish.

“I got you a chicken burrito,” she says, sitting on one of the barstools to wait. “You’re welcome.”

“You didn’t have to.” I sit down next to her. “But thanks.”

“Looked like you needed it.” She raises her eyebrows at me.

They call her number, and she nods for me to follow her after grabbing the bag of food. “Come on. School just got out. This place is about to be mobbed.”

I walk with her, feeling strangely comfortable, like I’ve known her for years.

She picks a tortilla chip from the top of the bag. “I’m Dani,” she says as she crunches.

“Lucy,” I return.

“So’d you get your ass beat or what?”

She was right. Waves of students fill the space of the sidewalk. We hug the street trying to avoid them.

“No,” I answer. “Kind of the other way around. It was stupid. I lost my cool. Got kicked off the basketball team.”

“Eh. Fuck those girls anyway. They think they’re such hot shit.”

I crack a smile, and blindly follow Dani as she unknowingly leads me back down the rabbit hole.

We end up at a park. There’s a homeless man murmuring to himself, sitting below a distant tree, but nobody else. Dani heads for the swings. We sit side by side in them, and she hands me my wrapped burrito.

“So what are you going to do now that you’re off the team?” she asks as we eat.

“I don’t know. Get another class I guess.”

Her feet hardly reach the ground, but she pushes her toes against the dusty woodchips and sways. “You should take cosmetology.”

“That’s a class?” I ask through a mouthful.

“Yeah,” she laughs. “It’s ridiculous. I take it sixth period because the teacher doesn’t care if I ditch. She gives everyone A’s. It’s just a bunch of Armenians putting on lipstick.”

I laugh with her, and swing. She asks me more questions and gets the whole story of where I’m from. Never once do I feel like she’s judging me. She doesn’t mention the fight again, or the blood on my face and shirt. I forget about all of it, and we end up hanging out at that park until dark.

“So are we ditching sixth period tomorrow or what?” she asks, as we walk home. Apparently we only live three blocks away from each other, something she decides is fate telling us to be friends.

“I’ll see if I can change to your class, but I don’t know about ditching. What happens if we get caught?”

“We won’t. I’ve done it a hundred times.”