Rumor Has It (Rumor Has It #1)(7)
Matt nudges my elbow, pointing at Emma Sanchez walking out. Running into me isn't the worst thing that could've happened. She's pretty and not to sound like a douche, but she could be hot if she tried. But she doesn't try. She wears what she wants and doesn't care what other people think of her. You have to respect that on some level. We both watch as she walks out the door, her purple skirt covering over nylon stockings. Okay, I retract my previous statement. That's hot. And her Star Wars shirt covers her curves perfectly. Or maybe I'm remembering her chest bumping into me.
I give Matt an agreeing nod, as we leave class and head to calculus. On the way there I reply to my mystery texter, and I’m almost positive it’s a girl.
See, they called me a jerk. Now, this isn't a scientific theory, more of a hunch. I don't think a guy would say that. But the last text I sent was telling them I thought they're a girl and haven't received a reply. I wonder if it is and I scared them off?
Mr. Hilton walks around and collects all of our assignments, and I happily hand mine over. Getting through the last class of the day goes by slow, and I can't wait for the bell to ring, eagerly anticipating practice.
I love basketball. And while most people in the LA area are Lakers fans, I'm a Clippers fan. After my dad left, my mom took me to as many games as she could. It's something I'll always remember fondly and appreciate, not only because I always looked at it like it was our bonding time, but she knows next to nothing about basketball. All she knew was that I liked basketball, and Clippers tickets were cheaper than Lakers tickets, so that's where we went.
As soon as the bell rings to end the school day, my phone chirps.
UNKNOWN: Excuse me?
I grin, still almost positive it’s a girl. I look around the hallway, seeing several girls on their phone. I wonder who it is. Maybe it’s someone I know. Someone I thought was hot.
ME: You called me a jerk. A dude would’ve called me an asshole or dick, but u said jerk. Hence, girl.
Smiling, the typing prompt appears on my screen. But the longer the typing message is there, the more I begin to feel a little weird. Is it wrong to assume they’re a girl, based on a word? I mean, I have girl friends who curse all the time.
UNKNOWN: Fine, yes. I am a girl… But that must mean you're a chauvinistic waste of the male population ME: And proud! ;)
UNKNOWN: Disgusting >:\
I smile again, making my way to our locker room.
ME: So…
ME: What’s ur name?
UNKNOWN: I’m not giving u my name.
ME: Then what should I call u?
UNKNOWN: What should I call YOU?
ME: BigBaller27 ;P
I chuckle at myself as I open my locker and pull out my jersey. Maybe I’m being a little too revealing, putting my basketball number as my handle. No, first they’d have to watch our games, and even though we have a few good players, we don’t win much. Plus, twenty-seven could be anything. A day of the month. Whatever.
UNKNOWN: Didn’t need much time for that.
UNKNOWN: What r u? Some rich kid?
UNKNOWN: OMG! This isn’t Tommy Harrison, is it?
I know who Tommy is. A rich kid, but his parents live in Woodbridge, so he still goes to school with us. He has a few friends, but they all act superior to everyone else because they have money. Jeremy could be a dick at times, but at least he didn’t act like he was too good for us.
BigBaller27: Y? U got a thing for Tommy?
The bubble that shows them typing pops up, then it goes blank. It appears again, then blank again. She’s definitely trying to think of the right thing to say, in case this is Tommy. I decide to play it cool and put her mind at ease.
BigBaller27: Relax. I’m not ur crush
UNKNOWN: Ew, gross X(
The response makes me laugh again. Even though I have no idea who this person is, it also calms something that I didn't realize I'm feeling. Why am I relieved that a girl I don't know and have only talked to for one day, doesn't like a douchebag like Tommy Harrison? Putting my phone in my locker, I head out to practice.
First practices of the week are usually pretty brutal, except when we have a game the next day, which we do. After running a few drills, we go over plays that worked for us, and stuff we didn’t execute properly at our last game, which we barely won.
I'm the team captain and starting shooting guard. Jeremy plays center, Lucas is our point guard, and Matt's our backup power forward. It sucked at the beginning of the season, learning we all made the starting lineup, except Matt, but as usual with him, he rolled with the punches.
"I'm still playing." He laughed after the starters were announced.
Even though he played it cool, I could tell it bugged him. It bothered me too because he isn't even much of a basketball fan. He's been a starting wide-receiver for our varsity football team since he was a sophomore. And he's our class president. He only joined the basketball team because I asked him too.
After practice, we hit the showers and Jeremy tells us about a party happening this weekend.
“Dude, you just had a party.” I look at him, wrapping a towel around my waist, heading for my locker.
“Yeah, but this isn’t my party. It’s Tamara Winston’s.” He wiggles his eyebrows.