Page 31 of My High School Rebel Boyfriend
“Can you put some up from across the net?” she asked. We gathered the balls and she told me where to place the ball. She wanted to aim for specific targets onthe court.
I threw up a test ball and she nodded. The first one hit the mark with pinpoint precision.
“Whoa! Perfect,” I said.
Her smile was restrained, but I sensed a degree of pride. That was something I had noticed about Harper, she didn’t need attention or validation from others, any success was done for herself, like those pushups. She’d never boasted when she did ten, and then twelve. Never did it to prove a point to me.
Well, why would she? She knew I was a jerk.
After a few more balls she indicated she’d aim in the other direction. Again, she put away each shot.
“Okay, last one, Dent,” I said, holding up the ball as a challenge, “try and get it past me.”
She grinned, a genuine smile and for a moment we connected, her eyes bright and twinkling, animosity forgotten.
I tossed up the ball and in one splendid stride she leapt into the air. I was half watching her magnificent body in motion, half watching the ball, and as I tracked it I dove to my left, arms extended in an attempt to stop it from landing. Hey, I’m a basketball player, not a volleyballer, okay?
Yeah, I went crashing down, arms flailing, t-shirt flapping—a heap on the floor.
“Sorrysorrysorry,” Harper was saying, hands covering her mouth as she ducked under the net across to me.
“I’m okay,” I said, strangely not embarrassed. “You got me, Dent.” I was about to use one of my breakdance moves to jump myself onto my feet, but Harper had crouched beside me, her eyes focused not on me, but on my exposed belly. In a split second I could see my t-shirt had flown up and I got my first glimpse of the dark purple bruises that had been an unabating source of pain. With a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kick up, I was back to standing.
Harper mouthed my name, but no sound came out. Her brows drew in together, but I didn’t wait around for more. I scooted away to gather up the balls, taking my time in the far end of the room. I had to come up with an excuse—would she believe that I'd been knocked over in basketball? What if I said I’d collided with a kid in PE class? Or that I’d braked suddenly in my car when I wasn’t wearing my seat belt?
A few of the girls came in then, saving me from having to tell any lie. Harper was swept away by them, all celebrating the win and anxious for the next game. If they won it, they’d be in the final.
I was able to stay out of her way, and on Coach Barber’s request Titan and I went to scope out our potential opponents for the final, if we made it. We watched a set, taking notes, though I was pretty sure Coach had done her homework and knew every player’s stats. She was very methodical like that.
The win over St Mary’s had the supporters in an uproar, Mr. Christopher leading the other parents in a chant. They looked like they were an awesome bunch of people, all young, fun and mobile. I know it wasn’t Mom’s fault that she was classified as having a disability and walked like an eighty year-old with her walking frame, but a streak of envy raced through me, that these moms and dads were supporting their kids and sharing food and coffees and joking around. Could I imagine Wade ever mixing with the basketball parents? No, the only time he did he caused a scene complaining as to why I was on the benchso much back in freshman year.
As if I’d want him there anyway.
The girls went on to win the final and afterward I was pleased to see Harper and Mrs. Dent talking to several scouts, as were Bella and Maddie and their parents. The bus ride back was a constant excitable chatter of possible contracts and scholarships. I sat in the back corner, purposely avoiding Harper, fearful that she’d comment about my bruises in front of everyone. I planned on going with the seatbelt story, if necessary.
We drove to Peter’s Ice Cream Shoppe, apparently it was a team tradition that Coach Barber treated everyone to ice cream after a winning performance. I’d let Coach Cairns know he needed to lift his game. Peter’s supplied the premium Whittakers Ice Cream for which River Valley was famous for, a factory I’d end up working in if I didn’t get a basketball scholarship.
The van load of parents arrived first and reserved a section for the team. Some of the girls only ordered cones, but Coach said we could have anything. Titan and I both ordered Triple Chocolate sundaes—well, why wouldn’t we? We’re growing boys with large appetites. The tables naturally divided into parents, juniors, seniors and the three freshmen sat with Coach Barber. Titan had positioned himself between the twins on an already crowded table, so I sat next to Coach, even though a seat was available next to Tanchia. I was still avoiding Harper like the plague. And besides, I liked Coach Barber—I could talk stats with her all day long. Even volleyball stats—who knew?
The ice cream was going down smoothly and we were analyzing the season’s hitting percentages while huddled over the screen, when Harper appeared behind us. Well, her shadow did and somehow I sensed it was her, don’t ask me how.
“So, how did my stats turn out?” she asked.
I let Coach Barber give a rundown of her numbers while I continued to eat my sundae, but I couldn’t stop myself from interjecting when she told her Maddie had the top hitting percentage.
“Even though Maddie’s hitting percentage is higher than yours, you had more kills, but you also had a few more errors,” I explained.
“I had the most kills?”
“Over the season, yeah,” I said.
“Cool,” she said. “By the way, thanks for helping with the warm ups, it really helped.”
I didn’t say anything, taking another spoon of ice cream, trying to calm my uncontrollable racing heart.
“Here, Mitch will explain all the numbers,” Coach Barber said, horrifying me by getting up and giving Harper her chair. She’d taken out her braid and her glorious hair fell in waves down her back. I think I preferred it like that. She’d obviously finished her cone, yes I’d noticed she’d only had a small one.
“Did you talk to scouts?” I asked quickly, scared she might probe about the bruises.
