You in Five Acts(25)

I rubbed my hands together, feeling the tingle of blood starting to flow again. Even if I completely embarrassed myself, at least it would warm me up. “OK,” I said. The last of the light was gone from the sky, anyway, so everything was starting to look dim and pixelated, comfortingly obscure.

“You first,” Diego said, throwing me the ball. He jogged back to the hoop and I trudged over to the free-throw line. “You probably need to blow off some steam after rehearsals with William Fakespeare.”

I laughed, bouncing the ball once, hard, just to feel it rebound into my hands. “He’s all right,” I said. “And Liv gives him so much shit, I actually feel kind of bad for him.” I took a shot, which fell short of the basket by a good inch or two.

“That’s H,” Diego said, deftly catching the ball before it hit the ground. We switched positions. “You can’t say he doesn’t kind of deserve it, though.” He grinned and aimed.

“Maybe,” I said, watching the ball sail through the dark. It spun around the periphery of the hoop a few times before veering off to the left.

“H for me, too,” Diego said. “See, I’m not that good.”

“Or you’re letting me off easy,” I said.

He laughed, brushing the hair out of his eyes as we swapped again. “Sure, I’ll let you believe that,” he said. I dribbled the ball back out to the line just as the lamp came on at the opposite side of the court, sending my shadow stretching out in front of me.

“Must be six,” Diego said. “They’re on some kind of timer.”

“You come here a lot, then?” My next shot miraculously made it through the net—not exactly a swisher, but good enough—and I jogged back to the hoop on a swell of pride.

Diego shrugged. “Beats going home sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.”

He leapt up and threw the ball in a perfect arc into the basket. “See? I’m not letting you win, Hollywood.”

I winced a little at the nickname. I knew it was a joke, but I also knew that Diego, and all of you probably, thought I was rich. Outside of L.A., it was a common misconception that one movie gig meant you were living the life, even though the truth was that I hadn’t been paid that much for Saving Nathan to begin with, and the money had been siphoned from savings a few years back to start Mom’s agency. At my old school, I was one of the least rich kids, and a flat-out joke once Dad and I moved into Oakwood Apartments, the infamous housing complex in Toluca Hills where wannabes from places like Nebraska and Tennessee moved when they were just starting out with a dollar and a dream—“starting out” being the operative phrase. When you ended up in a place like Oakwood, it was a sign that something had gone horribly wrong.

I missed the next shot, overthrowing so aggressively that the ball ricocheted back at me in a straight line.

“Don’t try so hard,” Diego said. “If you want it too much . . .” He grabbed the ball and spun around, shooting so fast it didn’t even seem like he was aiming. It sailed through the net with a satisfying swoosh.

“See now you’re just showing off,” I grumbled as he ran to retrieve the ball.

“Nah, just lucky.” He smiled and tossed it back to me. “I was gonna say that if you want it too much you’ll overshoot, but that’s not always true. I mean, look at Ethan, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said, dribbling a few times before taking a shot that rebounded swiftly off the hoop. My pulse raced; thinking about Liv and Ethan together gave me something akin to ’roid rage. “I don’t really know what their deal is.”

“Seems like they’re talking,” Diego shrugged. “Anyway, I hope so. It’s inspiring to think he finally made it out of the Friend Zone.” He dribbled and took a shot that glanced off the rim.

“I never have,” I said. That was true, mostly. I’d been friends first with a few of my girlfriends, but not real friends, just that vague in-between stage when you’re hanging out and flirting and calling it friendship. Kind of like how it felt with you. I took a deep breath and launched the ball high into the air. If it makes it in, she likes me, too, I thought—so stupid and pointless, but I couldn’t help myself. It swished through the net and I grinned like an idiot.

“Well if you can’t, there’s no hope for me,” Diego said.

“Wait,” I said, walking backward as we swapped positions again. “You’re a straight guy who dances. You’re telling me you can’t get girls?”

“Some girls,” he said. “Not the girl.” He reached the line and made his shot, which bounced gently off the backboard and dropped through the hoop. Diego’s eyes lit up, and I wondered if he’d made some secret bet with himself just then, like I had.

“So it’s someone specific,” I said.

“Don’t jinx it,” he laughed.

“No names,” I promised, even though it didn’t take much deduction to figure out that it could really only be one person. Every time she went anywhere, he followed her. You’d told me that she was the only reason we collectively agreed to freeze our balls off on the fountain bench every lunch period. And that night at your party, after she’d left, he’d kind of checked out, getting drunk and quiet and all but ignoring the cute girls begging him to dance. Then again, I had checked out, too. That had been right after the kiss. I grimaced and took my shot, barely making it after a few teasing rolls around the rim.