Page 5 of Off the Rim
Guess who holds the number one spot?
Having Marcus' shockingly blue eyes locked on me is a bit unnerving, no matter how much I crave his attention. I admit to being perhaps a touch obnoxious to catch his notice. Mostly all he's done is roll eyes and ignored me. Luckily, my friends have helped me get his attention by being outright assholes. Every time one of them throws food at him or sneaks up behind him to flick the back of his ears, he turns around and glares at me. What can I expect? I haven't tried very hard to make them stop. And part of me likes the competition.
"Wanna shoot some hoops?" I ask, nodding towards the outdoor courts.
"What?"
I repeat myself slowly, like I'm talking to a small child. "You know,bas-ket-ball? The whole reason we're here?"
"I got that part, dickwad," he says with exaggerated annoyance. "What I'm trying to figure out is why you're asking me? You have plenty of friends, as we've established."
"Yes, and as we’ve also established, they're all douchebags. Besides," I say with a casual shrug, hoping my eagerness to be near him isn't too obvious. "You're the only one here good enough to make it a game."
His ears turn red, and I like it a lot more than I should. It might be the cutest thing I've seen in my life, which is the most ridiculous thought I've ever had. Puppies are cute. Caterpillars are cute. Girls who wear high ponytails and giggle when you smile at them are cute. This boy—this teenage boy, nearly a man, who is almost as tall as I am and is starting to show signs of facial hair—is notcute.
"Are you sure they're not all letting you win, so you'll let them keep kissing your ass?"
"Do you want to find out, or do you just want to talk shit?"
Marcus shrugs. "I can do both."
He walks confidently down the path that leads to the outdoor courts. My shoes scuff on the sidewalk as I shuffle to follow him, hoping against hope that he doesn't look back to see my entire face turn three times redder than his ears just did.
When the outdoor courts come into view, I jog ahead to guide us toward the farthest one. The way they're lit with a single floodlight at the end of each court makes it feel like we're in our own little bubble.
The sound of the ball bouncing off the pavement echoes in the night, and I look up to see Marcus dribbling with a glimmer of challenge in his blue eyes. That.That right there.
That look makes my insides feel weird. I finally understand why they call it getting butterflies, because I feel like a flock of them is flying around inside me, fluttering around my heart and lungs. It's a little hard to pull in a full breath.
Blinking to orient myself, I accept the ball he passes to me. We play in relative silence, taking shots and passing the ball back and forth, getting warmed up for a game of HORSE.
"I'm, uh, sorry they're such jerks to you."
"Uh-huh," he says dismissively, then lines up a perfect three pointer that makes a whoosh right through the net.
"Why do you say it like that?" I ask, taking possession of the ball and lining up my own shot. It goes through, but not as cleanly.
When Marcus gets the ball again, he dribbles slowly for a minute, then moves towards me with a nod.You ready?He asks without words. I tense, understanding that the game is officially on.
Lunging for the ball in a flash of movement I don't expect him to be ready for, I nearly fall on my face. He easily skirts around me, side stepping and passing the ball between my legs. I can't stop looking at the cocky grin on his face, one side of his lips turned up and his eyebrow raised. Despite kicking almost everyone's ass on the daily since camp started, he’s rarely so sure of himself. I like that he seems to be coming out of his shell with me.
"First of all, I can handle myself," he says flatly.
“I know you can, tough guy.”
Marcus dribbles towards me, faking left before crossing to his right, shooting, and drawing an imaginary H in the air when the ball sinks through the net.
"I don't need your sorries. But it's not like you tell them to stop. They listen to you, practically bow when you walk into a room, but you just watch them act a fool and never call them on it."
He's right. I might not join in on my friend's jeering or bullying, but I don't do anything to stop it, either. I've mentioned here and there that it's getting old and we should focus on the game, but I haven't done anything to back it up. And, yeah, most of their dads are connected to my family in some capacity. Kent's granddad is my dad's lawyer. Liam's dad is a board member of my dad's company. Victor's mom is my mom's best friend, and his dad is a shareholder and plays golf with my dad. My dad holds power over their families, if only for the sheer wealth he holds and lords over everyone. It's pretty gross, actually. Everyone treats my dad like royalty, all but bowing when he enters a room. I don't think I ever realized how similarly my friends treat me, and I don’t like it.
I've wanted to stand up for him, wanted to tell them to leave him alone. More than that, I've wanted to give them all a strong middle finger salute and go join whatever he's doing. My friends think I'm scowling at Marcus because he's my biggest competition here, but really, I just can't look away. I'minterestedin him. I want to know more about him, about his home life, how he feels about high school, what he wants to do after. Does he want to join the NBA like me? How is his dad doing after my dad's company ran him out of business—because I know he did, and I know he likely did it on purpose because he has some vendetta against Roman Vell.
It’s not like I can follow through on those thoughts. Not only am I not ready to let my friends in on the secret I’m still trying to figure out, but I know whatever I do here will get back to my father. Buddying up to his enemy's only son isn't going to win me any favors. Not when he's already warned me to keep my distance.
I'm not sure why I can't stay away from him like I've been told. Maybe part of it isbecauseI've been told to stay away, which makes me want to do the opposite. It opened up an insatiable curiosity about why my father hates his family so much, when none of them seem that bad from the outside.
Or maybe it's because there's something about Marcus Vell that ties me up in knots, and I've never felt like this before. It's kind of nauseating, actually.
