Page 8 of Trash Talk

Chapter 5

Ruby- 19 years old

I’ve successfully avoided a certain someone for two years now and seeing as we live next door to each other for a third of the year, that’s really saying something. The past couple summers (when we could’ve bumped into each other but didn’t) I was busy working and travelling. I really didn’t have time to hang out with anyone besides my girls and family. And since we don’t go to the same school and we’re both busy with sports and social lives there, we haven’t had a chance to connect. Regardless, I don’t even think about him anymore. Our friendship meant nothing. Poútsa. He played me. He lied. He’s dead to me. Toolbox Teller who?

I actually have a tiny bit of anxiety about our game at Clemson. I legit think I have an ulcer. Like he’d even bother to come watch me play or try to see me after. He didn’t last year. Let’s hope that streak continues. He’s at least stopped trying to contact me. Well, I think he has; I don’t actually know. I blocked his number a long time ago. But he didn’t knock on my door once the past two summers and the last time I saw him (he didn’t see me, thank God). Brit was sitting pretty in the middle of his truck’s front seat. They were pulling into a space on Azalea Square in Downtown, in front of La Mesa (which sucks because I was about to grab tacos, but then I had to drive all the way across town to get dinner at the other place that doesn’t even have guac or chorizo, and I was craving both a whole day later). Guess they’re back on again. Who even cares?

I hate that I see him on tv all the time. Playing with more talent and grace than he deserves. I always turn the channel. I hate that every time mom calls, she has to mention his stats and how well he’s doing. Apparently, he’s some super star athlete or some shit. I bet I could still beat him. I hate that every weekend I’m home, his Gramps tells me how much Knox misses me. I guess he never told him about our little falling out. Honestly, I really like Mr. Teller, and I want him to keep liking me, so I say I miss him too. And it’s a lie. Mostly.

I hate that I have to constantly be reminded of him. Like he’s there, every time I turn around. Like I’ll never truly be rid of him. I wish someone had been there that summer to shake some sense into me. And say something like, “Hey! You, naïve idiot. Don’t ever have sex with your best friend that is also your next-door neighbor—it always ends badly.” Technically, Knox did warn me, but he also hurt me. So bad. I cared about him. Really cared about him. He was one of my favorite people in the world and he destroyed me.

Not that I’m scarred for life or have remained celibate or anything. There’ve been guys. I dated a boy in high school for a few months, but he just didn’t understand that Em, Pop and HK were my first loves. Basketball was a close second. And whatever free time I had after that was elected for my boyfriend. Justin really was a needy bastard. I ended things after he complained too many times, that I spent too much time practicing. Knox would never have done that. He was always pushing me to practice more, try harder. Ugh! I’m done comparing him to every guy I’ve been with that didn’t measure up. I honestly think I’ve built it up in my head now. No one’s first time is that good. Most girls have literal sob stories. I guess I was one of the lucky ones. Although not so lucky as it turns out. Great sex comes at a high price. So high, in fact, that given the chance at a do-over, I’m not sure I would. I hate that I still miss him.

Sighing, I flop over on my tiny dorm bed. The one I share with Em, she graciously let me have the bottom bunk. It’s our last week together. Apparently, the agriculture program (or rather just the viticulture and enology classes) here isn’t profitable enough to keep, so they’re discontinuing it. Emma has two choices— she can change majors, or transfer schools. The first option isn’t even a choice. She’ll be a Clemson Tiger come January (It had been our first choice. We were both accepted and hell-bent on attending school together but when my only scholarship came from Coastal Carolina, we decided it was the school for us). To say I’ll miss her is an understatement. We’ve grown so much closer over the past couple of years. I’m going to feel so alone. We’ve made friends here, but no one I could fully trust or count on like Em. My teammates are great, I’ll actually be sharing an off-campus apartment with one next year. And even though the thought of not living in the dorms anymore makes me happy, I can’t help but wish it were with Em.

She’s leaving for good in a few days, and I won’t even get to see her again until Spring Break. I’m not going home for the holidays until the day before Christmas Eve. Even then, I can only stay three days. My classes and game schedule have been brutal. I’m not as excited about the end of the semester as I should be. I’m in a funk. One I need to get out of. Step one: get off the bed, shower and put on actual clothes. I live in loungewear these days, and while it’s comfortable, it’s not the most flattering. You can’t exactly hit up a frat party in leggings and a sports bra. Well, you could, but I’m not going to.

I slap Em on the butt. “I hope you’re done studying; we’re going out tonight.”

“Umm, don’t you have a final in the morning?”

“Yeah, but it’s for my pace class at ten. All I have to do is run a 5k in under 30. Piece of cake. I can do it in my sleep.”

“Well, I hope you can do it hungover. ‘Cause that’s gonna be the real test,” she laughs at me. But she’s already at her closet pulling outfits for us. We’re about the same size, she’s an inch taller and her chest is a little bigger. I finally grew into a full B, though, so— yay me! Em wears a lot of blues and greens; she says they’re complementary. Her golden red hair and gorgeous freckled skin pop against the colors that deepen her sea glass green eyes. She’s easily the most beautiful person I know. All she needs to look model-perfect is chap stick and mascara. And she’s smart too. She has big plans for her family’s winery when she’s done with school. If you couldn’t tell, I’m super proud to call her my bestie.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve totally got this.”

“Famous last words,” I hear her cackle as I turn on the shower. I hope I’ve got this. Maybe I’ll meet someone tonight that blows my mind and the memory of Knox right out of the water. Someone with a larger than average penis that also knows how to use it. Fat chance, but a girl can dream. I need something to keep my thoughts from venturing into the past. I can’t change it, no matter how much I wish I could, but a distraction from remembering my own stupid actions would be nice.

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