She Drives Me Crazy(2)
“—Got it?” Danielle says bracingly, smacking me on the arm. And suddenly we’re taking our positions and the ref is blowing his whistle, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.
It happens too fast: The opposing point guard makes the signal, the forwards cross-swap to the wings, and Tally runs to set a pick against Danielle. She plants her feet and crosses her arms over her chest, becoming a solid screen that Danielle can’t move around. I chase after her, trying to keep up, but she rolls easily off Danielle and zips to the free-throw line to receive her point guard’s pass.
By the time I catch up to her, Tally has already taken her shot. It sails crisply and cleanly through the basket in a perfect, nothing-but-net arc. The gold section of the crowd—which is pretty much all of it—roars with delight. One of their supporters waves a sign that reads Tally it up!!! It makes me want to vomit.
Tally grins as her new teammates rush to high-five her. They’re now up by a whopping twenty points and my team has no chance of coming back. Danielle throws me a death glare, and I realize she must have warned me about the pick. I shrug defensively; she shakes her head and hustles to the baseline so we can pass the ball in for a new play.
It’s in that one stupid second—between picking up the ball and passing it in to Danielle—that I lose it. One of the Candlehawk players who’s hanging all over Tally cackles, “That girl didn’t even see you move! She couldn’t keep up with you!”
That girl. Like I’m some pathetic nonfactor who means nothing to Tally. She obviously didn’t think I was worth mentioning to her new teammates.
“Hey, asshole!” I shout to the Candlehawk player. She turns around, scandalized. So do the rest of her teammates, including a bewildered Tally. “My name is Scottie!”
I hurl the basketball like we’re playing dodgeball and I’m determined to take out their entire team. I feel one boiling second of satisfaction, but then—
Shrieeeeeeeeek. The ref blows his whistle and barrels toward me.
“Technical foul!” he shouts. “Unsportsmanlike conduct!”
The crowd starts booing me. The Candlehawk players throw me scathing, superior looks, except for Tally, who grimaces like I’ve become unhinged. My coach freezes where she stands, clearly unsure of what a technical foul is.
I can feel Danielle staring a hole into the side of my face, but I refuse to make eye contact with anyone as I hustle to the bench. The Candlehawk supporters are still jeering while our handful of home supporters are silent. I’m seething with anger, but there’s a hot prickle of shame running down my spine, too. I take my seat on the bench and keep my eyes fixed on the floor.
* * *
We lose by twenty-three points. I know it’s not all on my shoulders, but I can’t help feeling smaller than the tiniest ant as we line up to shake hands with the other team.
Tally meets my eyes as we file through the handshake line. There’s a look of secondhand embarrassment on her face, like she wants to recoil from me. I’ve seen that look only once before: last spring, when we went to our first real house party and the cheerleading captain had my car towed as a prank. I chased the tow truck down the street, fell and cut my knee open, and dissolved into sobs. Tally put her arm around me, but she seemed more concerned with shushing me than comforting me, especially once the crowd of onlookers grew. I remember feeling like I was both too much and not enough.
After that, I swore off the cool kids and their parties, but Tally tried harder than ever to join them. She never confirmed it, but I’m pretty sure the tow truck incident was the final straw that made her apply to Candlehawk. The humiliating nudge she needed to start over with something better.
“Scottie?” Tally calls when I’m slouching off to the locker room.
I freeze. “Yeah?”
She doesn’t quite make eye contact. “Can you wait for me outside?”
I breathe in sharply. I know it’s not a good idea, but I can’t pass up this chance for a moment alone with her. “Sure, okay.”
She nods and walks away. I continue on toward the locker room but stop in my tracks when some varsity cheerleaders swoop in from the larger gym next door. They must have just finished cheering for the boys’ game. I feel that sweeping blush the cheerleading squad has provoked in me since the towing incident last year, so I crouch down and pretend to tie my shoe until the group of them has passed me.
* * *
Outside, in the senior parking lot, I hike myself up on the retaining wall where people like to smoke weed. Tally will no doubt find me here, since the Candlehawk players insist on parking in our senior lot anytime they play us at home. In a different world, Tally would have parked in this lot every day, right next to my old green Jetta. Now she parks on the other side of town in a sea of Range Rovers and Escalades.
It’s a cool October evening. The marquee in front of the school office is lit up in shining white, spelling out a reminder that it’s Homecoming week, except someone has nicked the second o and replaced it to read HOMECUMING. Our principal will pitch a fit tomorrow, but it won’t stop people from messing with the sign. It’s just one of those things kids around here do.
I live in the town of Grandma Earl, Georgia. We’re famous for a gigantic emporium called Grandma Earl’s Christmas 365, which old Mrs. Earl opened, like, a hundred years ago to sell Christmas decorations year-round. It became such a landmark that the town was eventually named for it. It’s a little wacky, but I love this place. It’s home.