Page 42 of Don't Let Go

I side-eyed a tall guy with long arms and a thin build. He was a basketball player—it was in his genes. He walked with a shuffle and didn’t dare look around. Who knew something like basketball could hold so much hope for one high school?

I rubbed my chin. “How much money?”

She shrugged. “Not sure. Something about receiving a huge grant from the state and being able to keep some of our programs going. If you haven’t noticed, this is a dying school. We don’t have much.”

The bare brick walls, crappy gym equipment, and old-ass desks already gave that away.

I grimaced. “Yeah. I never saw an overhead until I came here.”

She gave a dry chuckle and hit a locker with her fist. “Wow. We’re that behind? What did your other school have, VR for every lesson plan?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Nah. We have projectors and stream a lot of movies.”

“Sounds fun.” She ran a finger along my upper arm. “You have a tell when you’re nervous. You know that?”

I grasped my neck and squeezed. “What?”

“That.” She touched my arm. “You’re always rubbing your neck.”

I dropped my arms to my sides. “Oh. Thanks?” I didn’t know what else to say.

She giggled, taking a few steps backward as the warning bell went off. “Take it easy. I’m only messing with you.”

I nodded to Paolo coming down the hall. “I better go before someone blows their top.”

Rory looked and rolled her eyes. “As I said, there’s no rest for the wicked.”

She passed me by, playfully bumping into my shoulder.

I walked away, forcing myself not to look back and watch Rory force herself to pretend to be someone she wasn’t.

After fourth period, I was on my way to lunch when the basketball coach waved me over.

“Hey, Tyler,” he shouted.

It was strange that he cared enough to file my name in his brain. “Yeah, Coach?”

He smiled. “Grant. You can call me Coach Grant, son.”

Where is he going with this?

“Okay…?”

He took off his sunglasses. “You still interested in playin’ ball?”

I watched a bead of sweat slide down the side of his face.

Did he rush to catch me going to lunch?

“Yeah. I love the game, but I got no team.”

He looked around before leaning in closer as if he was about to spill the country’s secrets to me. His breath smelled like garlic; the dude was probably mid-lunch when he came to chase me down.

“What if you could be on another team?” he asked quietly.

I raised an eyebrow. “South Ridge’s? I didn’t think I—”

Our foreheads almost touched. You could barely fit a book between us. “The rules can be a bit gray here. You were on a basketball team and changed schools. There’s a small window where you can join the basketball team of the new school, and I’m inviting you into the fold.”

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