The Hate U Give(27)

We’re loud with it now. Hailey’s trying to glare at us. She snorts.

“C’mon.” She gets up and pulls me and Maya up too. “Get’cha head in this game.”

I’m thinking, Oh, so you can drag me to play basketball during one of your feminist rages, but you can’t follow my Tumblr because of Emmett Till? I don’t know why I can’t make myself bring it up. It’s Tumblr.

But then, it’s Tumblr.

“Hey!” Hailey says. “We wanna play.”

“No we don’t,” Maya mutters. Hailey nudges her.

I don’t wanna play either, but for some reason Hailey makes decisions and Maya and I follow along. It’s not like we planned it to be this way. Sometimes the shit just happens, and one day you realize there’s a leader among you and your friends and it’s not you.

“Come on in, ladies.” Jackson beckons us into the game. “There’s always room for pretty girls. We’ll try not to hurt you.”

Hailey looks at me, I look at her, and we have the same deadpan expression that we’ve had mastered since fifth grade, mouths slightly open, eyes ready to roll at any moment.

“Alrighty then,” I say. “Let’s play.”

“Three on three,” Hailey says as we take our positions. “Girls versus boys. Half court. First to twenty. Sorry, ladies, but me and my girls are gonna handle this one, mm-kay?”

Bridgette gives Hailey some serious stank-eye. She and her friends move to the sideline.

The dance party stops and those guys come over, Chris included. He whispers something to Tyler, one of the boys who played in the previous game. Chris takes Tyler’s place on the court.

Jackson checks the ball to Hailey. I run around my guard, Garrett, and Hailey passes to me. No matter what’s going on, when Hailey, Maya, and I play together, it’s rhythm, chemistry, and skill rolled into a ball of amazingness.

Garrett’s guarding me, but Chris runs up and elbows him aside. Garrett goes, “The hell, Bryant?”

“I’ve got her,” Chris says.

He gets in his defensive stance. We’re eye to eye as I dribble the ball.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

I do a chest-pass to Maya, who’s wide open for a jump shot.

She makes it.

Two to zero.

“Good job, Yang!” says Coach Meyers. She’s come out her office. All it takes is a hint of a real game, and she’s in coaching mode. She reminds me of a fitness trainer on a reality TV show. She’s petite yet muscular, and God that woman can yell.

Garrett’s at the baseline with the ball.

Chris runs to get open. Stomach full, I have to push harder to stay on him. We’re hip to hip, watching Garrett try to decide who to pass to. Our arms brush, and something in me is activated; my senses are suddenly consumed by Chris. His legs look so good in his gym shorts. He’s wearing Old Spice, and even just from that little brush, his skin feels so soft.

“I miss you,” he says.

No point in lying. “I miss you too.”

The ball sails his way. Chris catches it. Now I’m in my defensive stance, and we’re eye to eye again as he dribbles. My gaze lowers to his lips; they’re a little wet and begging me to kiss them. See, this is why I can never play ball with him. I get too distracted.

“Will you at least talk to me?” Chris asks.

“Defense, Carter!” Coach yells.

I focus on the ball and attempt to steal. Not quick enough. He gets around me and goes straight for the hoop, only to pass it to Jackson, who’s open at the three-point line.

“Grant!” Coach shouts for Hailey.

Hailey runs over. Her fingertips graze the ball as it leaves Jackson’s hand, changing its course.

The ball goes flying. I go running. I catch it.

Chris is behind me, the only thing between me and the hoop. Let me clarify—my butt is against his crotch, my back against his chest. I’m bumping up against him, trying to figure out how to get the ball in the hole. It sounds way dirtier than it actually is, especially in this position. I understand why Bridgette missed shots though.

“Starr!” Hailey calls.

She’s open at the three. I bounce-pass it to her.

She shoots. Nails it.

Five to zero.

“C’mon, boys,” Maya taunts. “Is that all you can do?”

Coach claps. “Good job. Good job.”

Jackson’s at the baseline. He passes to Chris. Chris chest-passes it back to him.

“I don’t get it,” Chris says. “You practically freaked out the other day in the hall. What’s going on?”

Garrett passes to Chris. I get in my defensive stance, eyes on the ball. Not on Chris. Cannot look at Chris. My eyes will give me away.

“Talk to me,” he says.

I attempt to steal again. No luck.

“Play the game,” I say.

Chris goes left, quickly changes direction, and goes right. I try to stay on him, but my heavy stomach slows me down. He gets to the hoop and makes the layup. It’s good.

Five to two.

“Dammit, Starr!” Hailey yells, recovering the ball. She passes it to me. “Hustle! Pretend the ball is some fried chicken. Bet you’ll stay on it then.”

What.