Page 7 of Top Scorer
I wink, not bothering to correct the “proverbial bed post” comment, although it’s the farthest thing from accurate.
The fuckboy reputation sticks to many single hockey players, whether it’s deserved or not.
More importantly, I never once associated Ligaya with “easy.”
She’s my Terror, after all.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
CHAPTER 5
LIGAYA
Toby and I are walking the campus perimeter after school, logging our steps in our fitness app. Rehearsal starts at five thirty, and this might be the only chance I have to see the sun today. The air is autumn-crisp, and the leaves are vibrant reds. These are the perfect conditions to clear my head.
“So, Tristan Thorne, hockey hunk. What’s up with that?” Toby’s side-eye is as subtle as a mime trying to get your attention.
So much for a clear head. It’s polluted by Tristan’s whisper, saying over and over again,You’re so fucking beautiful.
“We went to high school together.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
“No!” I scoff and nearly stumble. “We were friends, sort of. We had different circles, but my mom was the housekeeper for the Thorne family. Before the laundromat was a stable source of income, she cleaned a few houses.”
“So, what happened?”
My chest tightens at the memory. I try to keep it simple, although the past never is.
“When Tristan’s sister got diagnosed with cancer, my mom spent a lot of time with her. Olive passed away at the age of ten. Tristan was fifteen or sixteen, I guess? We were both freshmen.”
Toby winces. “That’s horrible.”
“It was. I tried to be there for him, but he didn’t want anything to do with me. Everything changed. His dad being an asshole and his mom being oblivious did not help. My mother stopped working for them, although she’s always had a soft spot for Tristan.”
“Because she watched them grow up?”
“And she wasthere, Toby. At the worst of Olive’s sickness, my mom was there.”
I choke up at the memory of my mother stressing about the Thorne kids. When Olive died, she spoke up to Mr. and Mrs. Thorne about addressing Tristan’s grief.
That got her fired.
“So how did that connection turn you against Tristan?”
“We stayed out of each other’s way the first three years of high school. Then, the summer before senior year, we found ourselves at the same party. We hadn’t talked privately for years, but somehow he got me to admit that I’ve had a crush on this guy, Liam.” I pause, grimacing at how ridiculous it sounds now. “The first week of school, I received a note from Liam—or I thought it was from him—telling me to meet him by the softball field. When I got there, I did find him . . . shoving his tongue down another girl’s throat.”
Toby gapes in exaggerated shock. “No!”
“That was the first of Tristan’s many pranks. Senior year was hell.” I tick them off on my fingers. “He saran-wrapped my car. Messed with my theater makeup. Submitted a poem to the newspaper like it was from me. An absurdly mortifying poem about Liam who, at that point, I couldn’t even bear to look at.”
“That’s genius-level trolling.” Toby stares at me in amazement. “Did you report him?”
“Hell no! There’s no justice in reporting him,” I exclaim. “I pranked him back.”
He rubs his hands together. “Oh my god! What did you do?”
“The usual stuff. Taping the nozzle of his water bottle. Glitter bombs. One time I glued the arm of his jersey to the body. He almost dislocated his shoulder trying to get into it.”
