Rory has always been an expert at knowing how to push my buttons. Turns out pretending I don’t exist is the most painful of them all. At least if she yelled, I’d know she felt something for me. Anger better than no emotion at all.
My patience, unlike my ego, is dwindling.
The most time I’d been around her for more than a single class period’s worth of time is practice. I’m not sure how Finn managed to convince her, but she’s been here every day for the last part of the week.
He and Eli are still talking to me pretty minimally, but I hardly notice. She’s here and that’s where my focus has stayed.
I can see more than the back of her head. At least she’s facing my way, unlike in class. Glancing up only occasionally from her homework in the stands. Eyes everywhere but on me.
By Friday I’ve officially lost it. I’ve already been more moody than usual because, you know,life. Then my father decides to call me out of nowhere. Demanding rather than ask that I start putting more effort in at Hardin.
I asked if he’s dying. He didn’t find it funny; I wasn’t kidding.
So, by the time my feet hit the court, I’ve been drawing up fouls left and right—not that Rory notices. Her tactic weighing a little extra on my conscience as it cracks.
Nope, never mind, that cracking sound is literal.
Not my bones. Some kid named Seth. All practice he’s been trying to out ball me. He’s kept up well but all it took is one cough—the smallest of noise—and I’m searching her out.
That fraction of a second of hesitation is all it took. Seth stealing the ball right out from under me. Coach Boone’s whistle already ringing around the gym as I pump my arms down the court.
His high-pitched disapproval unnecessary. I know what I did wrong.
Seth must have practiced up this summer because the kid’s gotten a lot better since last year. Not as good as one of the hellhounds because he still overcorrected. Catching up to him easily when his foot hooks left when it should have gone right.
Stealing the ball back, intentional. His elbow meeting the bridge of my nose as his feet leave the ground,unintentional.
At least for his sake, it better be.
The good, is I blocked the shot. The bad, is the large crimson drops painting the floor with the blood from my nose. The worse news, Rory hasn’t noticed any of it.
I search her out again. Wiping the excess with the back of my hand before I’m left disappointed, yet again.
Sure, I wasn’t expecting her to come charging down from her seat, but you’d think the excess noise would have at least stirred her attention.
Nope, she’s more focused on her discussion with Hailey.
Pinching the bridge of my nose with my fingers, I can almost laugh. My pride a fragment of what it used to be if I’m hoping for even a glance.
Usually, I can’t get people to leave me alone fast enough. Now all I want is awareness from the one person who refuses to give it to me.
The crouching of Coach below has me looking back down at my feet. Turns out while I’ve been focused on my own denial Seth has been lying on the ground. Arm clutched to his chest.
The on-staff medic is called over and we find out after practice that our top shooting guard is going to be out for six weeks, minimum.
So, on top of everything else, now I have an entire team worth of people mad at me too.
Fuck my life. Seriously.
My carefully managed core is collapsing and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. The kingdom is crumbling, and I’m being smothered under the weight.
I give Princess the weekend hoping she’ll come to her senses, but shocker, she never does.
It’s as clear as if she wore a bright, flashing sign on her forehead that I’m on her DNR list.
Do not resuscitate. He’s dead to me.
Too bad for her if she thinks this is over, then she doesn’t know me as well as I thought.