18A.N.: Hello :3
PICK AND ROLL
Chapter Five
Something bumped into my back. I wasn't expecting it, and the force of it sent me stumbling, falling onto my hands, hurting my wrists. Books sprawled out of my bag. After the initial flash of pain and shock, I got up and whirled around. "What the hell?" I demanded to the crowded hallway.
Bullying wasn't something that happened to me. At my old school, everyone liked me, and I had a team to back me up. I'd seen a few kids get in some messes and even stood up for some of them, but no one had ever tripped me in the corridors.
Obviously things were not the same here. I searched people's faces, trying to pinpoint who'd done it, but they all stared back neutrally, some of them whispering and pointing at my stuff strewn on the floor. No one said anything or offered to help. I didn't have time to spot the culprit because after a short pause they all resumed walking around me as if nothing had happened.
It followed me for the whole morning. My classmates would fall silent and someone would whisper "cheater" when I entered a classroom. The guy sitting in front of me in English said "you wish, bitch" when I asked if he had an eraser. Someone dragged my chair back when I was about to sit on it in History, making me fall in an undignified heap on the floor.
"You've sunk to the bottom of the food chain," Goss sentenced at lunch. "The basketball clique has put a bounty on your head."
I chewed on my burger, pissed. "They have?"
"Well." She waved her hand. "Unofficially, kinda. They've declared free season on Jay Ramirez. That's what you get for pushing Amanda around, I guess."
"I didn't do anything," I protested. "The bitch faked it."
Goss shot me a doubtful look.
"It's the truth! I was clearly better than her, she realized it, and she faked the fall so I'd get kicked out." Why did no one believe me?
"Hm," she said, smacking her lips. "It's possible, I guess."
"Goss!"
She shrugged. "Journalism lesson number one: the truth doesn't really matter - what matters is what people believe."
That didn't sound quite right…
"And unfortunately," she continued, "your version is a lot less popular than Amanda's version. So, whether you're telling the truth or not, I'm afraid you'll have a hard time convincing people."
I sighed. She was right. Apart from Goss, no one even seemed to like me. Nothing I said would make a difference.
Well, there was one. I glanced at the Asshole. He was sitting at the basketball table, like usual.
… Like hell I was going to him for support.
Next to him sat Nel, which reminded me. "Nel's been ignoring me all day. She watched someone trip me in the hallway, but didn't say anything."
Goss didn't seem to find this troubling. "Like I said, you're at the bottom of the food chain. She doesn't want to be dragged down by association. It's been her dream to sit at that table, you know."
No, I didn't. Sure, being popular was nice, but purposefully aiming for it was weird and superficial. I'd thought that Nel was kinda cool, with her quiet dignified sarcasm, but clearly I'd been wrong about her. "And you don't care?" I asked Goss. "About being dragged down by association?" She was having lunch with me after all.
She laughed. "Oh. No, see, I have a special status. I'm sort of outside the food chain. I drink cocktails with the popular kids and play xbox with the nerds and no one cares."
"Why?"
"Because I have too much dirt on everyone!" She pointed at me with her fork. "Except you, but I'm working on that."
The pushing, name-calling and whispering continued after lunch. It was humiliating. As I got used to expecting it, I started reacting faster, pushing and insulting back; I was a damn tall athlete and I could talk trash like the next girl. But still. Not fun, and it didn't make them stop. Angry Bitch better fix this soon, cause I wasn't gonna take a whole week of it.
When the final bell rang I went to my locker, intending to leave some books there before I went home. When I came in sight of it, however, I stopped dead.
Someone had graffitied my locker.
It was covered in sharpie - there were insults, "CHEATER" everywhere in big capital letters, dick drawings and words with such bad handwriting that I couldn't even tell what they were supposed to say - probably more insults. Every other locker was immaculately clean, which made my vandalised one stand out like a sore thumb. People stood around it, talking and taking pictures. I didn't even bother trying to find out who'd done it. I stalked forwards and yanked it open, shoved my books inside, slammed it closed and stalked off amid the whispers.
Idiots. They thought they were all high-class and superior, but in the end they acted the same way as the bullies at Green's.
At the end of the corridor I passed Keith. He stood against the wall, arms crossed, frowning at my locker. I shot him a glare as I walked past - this was partially his fault too.
He caught up to me on the steps outside the building. "Ramirez," he called.
I whirled around. "What?" I swear, if the words "I'm better" leave his mouth, I'm gonna punch him.
He stared at me for a moment, not saying anything. I rolled my eyes. "Listen, I'm pissed and I don't give two shits about what you have to say."
His lips thinned. "If you want to get it cleaned, ask the student office."
"Yeah, whatever." I turned to go.
"You should do it now. The Dean won't like it if she sees it."
"I'll just tell her you did it."
"It wasn't me."
"Whatever," I repeated. I was in an antagonizing mood. And it was partially his fault. He knew I was innocent, he could have done or said something.
Apparently, he didn't get the message that I didn't want to see his stupid face. "I don't even know what your deal is," he said, walking faster to catch up to me. "Why are you in this school? You clearly don't fit in."
It was the truth, but for some reason, when he said it, it annoyed me. "Humble and friendly. You've got it all." Before he could reply, I whirled on him, meeting his blue eyes. "You still owe me a rematch."
His eyebrows rose. "You want to play basketball? Now?"
"Yeah." I was angry, and I needed to work off the aggression somehow. Winning against this asshole would hopefully make the day suck a little bit less. "What's the matter? Scared?"
He barked out a laugh. It was very unpleasant, nasty, not like a normal laugh. "Please, Ramirez. Just because you got lucky with a few threes. I'm down to kick your ass anytime." He glanced down. "I'm guessing you brought shoes?"
I hadn't.
"Shit."
He laughed again, and this time it sounded surprised - almost genuine. It transformed his cold, statuesque features into something that was still cold, but more real, more tangible.
He was really good-looking.
So what, Jay? Doesn't change that he's an asshole. All the good genes must have gone to the looks department, because his personality clearly wasn't it.
I fumed. "Tomorrow then."
"The teams are using the gym tomorrow."
I rolled my eyes. "Just admit it, you're scared."
His jaw set. "It's free before school. Seven thirty."
"Fine." I walked away, and in the last second veered towards the student office. Might as well get the locker sorted out. I didn't particularly care about the graffiti - all the lockers had looked like that at Green's - but I was, to my shame, a little afraid of the Dean and I didn't want to be called into her office if I could avoid it. That woman was a witch.
I was caught off-guard when I saw Ollie sitting behind the desk. With everything that had happened over the last few days, I'd forgotten about him, but boy was he a sight for sore eyes. "If it isn't the newbie. Jay, right?"
"Hi," I said.
His black hair was charmingly messy again, and it didn't seem like it was done on purpose. He wore a white shirt too, but it had a different cut than the last one, the neckline was less formal and the top button was undone.
He cocked an eyebrow. "I don't mind if you just stand there and admire me, but I'm assuming you came because you needed something…?"
I blushed. Was he flirting or just messing? "Yeah, I-" Wait a sec. If I told him about the locker, he'd know I was, as Goss put it, at the bottom of the food chain. Crap. I didn't want the hot nineteen-year-old to think I was pathetic.
Well. There's no possible future in which he's interested in you anyway. "Do you have, like, rubbing alcohol or something?" His eyebrows climbed higher. I slumped, feeling the weight of the day on my shoulders. "To remove sharpie. Someone drew on my locker."
He nodded without missing a beat. "Sure. I'll let the cleaners know. Number 461, right? Don't worry about it."
Oh. Cleaners. Right. At least I wouldn't have to go back and see it again, and he wasn't making a big deal out of it, which was a relief. "Right." I gave him a small grateful smile. "Thanks."
"Hold up, don't leave yet," he said as I turned towards the door. I turned back and he smiled wide, a bit crooked and… sheepish? With his messy hair and unbuttoned collar, every version of that smile was sin. "I forgot to ask you to fill in the extracurriculars form last time." He pushed a piece of paper across the desk.
"Right," I drawled, walking closer and sitting down on the chair in front of him. My heart pounded. I can totally do this. "I wonder why you forgot. Maybe you were too distracted admiring me." Amazingly, I managed not to scramble the words.
He laughed, full, earnest and warm. "Good one, kid." He met my eyes and wriggled his eyebrows. "In all honesty, maybe I was."
I still couldn't tell if he was serious or not. I shook my head, smiling to myself, and picked up the pen.
And didn't write anything, the pen hovering over the page. "Actually," I said with a sinking feeling, "I can't fill this in yet." I pushed the form back towards him.
"Need more time to decide? I thought you were keen on basketball."
I grimaced. "Yeah, that didn't work out so well. I…"
Maybe best leave it at that. He was friendly, open and chill, and I had the feeling that he wouldn't mind if I talked to him about it. Actually, I wanted to vent. But I was still worried that he'd think I was a loser. Normally I didn't care too much about what people thought of me. But bullying? That would make me look helpless and pathetic, and I wasn't. "It'll sort itself out eventually."
"They're the ones who painted your locker?"
I shrugged.
His eyes had lost their usual playfulness. He stared at me all serious and intense - unusually so, for him, and he spoke quietly. "It may not look like it from the outside, but this school is a bit rough, especially on newcomers. Trust me, I know how it feels." At my questioning look, he elaborated. "I was in your shoes not too long ago. Transferred here for my last year."
I grinned goofily. A kindred soul! Could he get any cooler? "Neat."
He leaned back, smiling again. "Hm." He glanced sideways at his colleague sitting in the back and lowered his voice. "So if you need me to break someone's legs…"
I pretended to be offended. "Excuse me, I'm perfectly capable of doing that on my own."
"Course you are," he replied, grinning lazily as I walked out.
The gym building was unlocked again, the doors sliding open automatically, just like the first time. I headed to the player entrance with a strange sense of deja vu.
I didn't put it past him to try to pull something, like have his friends ambush me as soon as I set foot in the gym, or just not show and then laugh at me for taking it seriously. But deep down, I knew he wouldn't. He was too competitive. He'd be there - and sure enough, as I walked through the corridor the sound of someone dribbling a ball wafted to my ears.
But unlike the first time, I was dressed in basketball shorts and a training shirt and my hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail. My shoes squeaked on the clean parquet. The look on his face when I beat him was going to be epic.
I was so ready for this.