Chapter 1
Rue
I probably know the least about sports out of everyone at Fallbrook Christian Prep.
This is the first basketball game I’ve ever been to, and I’m already a junior here. That’s because I avoid the sport at all costs, and my gut has been twisting in knots since the moment my friend, Mabel, begged me to come to see her new boyfriend in action. Because apparently, her sitting in the bleachers alone wasn’t an option. Though Fallbrook is an anomaly where the drama students—me and my friends—are well-liked, even more so than the athletes here, Mabel didn’t want to look like she didn’t have anyone to sit with.
I’ve been trying to follow along, but all the players look exactly the same in their blue and gold jerseys, and I’m bored already. But I wasn’t about to deny her, not when she and Dot are the last of my friends still speaking to me.
Mabel’s twin sister, Meredith, on the other hand? I’m sure she hates my guts. Thanks to Fallbrook’s anonymous gossiper, Little Birdie, revealing to the whole school that I’m hardcore crushing on Meredith’s boyfriend, I still haven’t figured out how to patch things up with her. Just thinking about it makes me feel nauseous.
So, now I’m stuck on these hard, sticky bleachers with Mabel, watching all these jocks chase a ball around a court like it will grant them immortality, or something.
Mabel squeals and claps next to me on the bleachers. Sneakers squeak across the glossy gym floor as the players scramble for the ball. I squint against the bright, fluorescent lights and try to understand what happened. “Did we just win?”
Mabel rolls her eyes. “No, silly. Tucker just scored a three-pointer!”
“Oh. Good for him.” I try to act excited, but she can probably see right through me. “I don’t get why people like coming to these things,” I mutter. “It’s like watching a bunch of dogs play fetch.”
She glares at me with those uncanny eyes of hers—one brown eye, and one green. I’ve been friends with Mabel since seventh grade, so I know she gets me. She’s not mad at me for insulting her boyfriend’s sport. She’s just annoyed I don’t like it as much as her.
“Oh no,” she says, pointing at the court. “Look, they’re fighting.”
My gaze snaps back to the players. A group of them is clustered together beneath the basket, and one player with a jersey that has the number twelve on it shoves an opponent in the chest, hard. The guy stumbles backward, and a whistle blows as the ref rushes over.
“Yeah…that guy just shoved him,” I say.That guy.As if I don’t know exactly who he is. As if he’s not the very reason I despise basketball.
“Terrible,” says Mabel. “And he’s the captain. Ezra Davis is known to get in fights a lot on the court.”
The knots in my stomach pull tighter.Ezra Davis.
I think she says something else, too. But I’m no longer paying attention.
I’ve spent the last four years avoiding anything related to Ezra like it’s contagious.And it hasn’t been too hard since Fallbrook is a huge school, and I tend to keep to myself. There are people in my own grade I don’t even know by name.
Yet, here I am, at one of his games despite my efforts.
As I look at him, a flood of memories resurfaces against my will. Most of them are good: Ezra and I making slime at his kitchen table in fourth grade. Sixth-grade us having popcorn wars in his living room. Playing tag in the park at age ten. Our endless video game marathons.
But tainting those happy memories are the seventh-grade ones that have me reeling. The ones that happened at the end of our friendship. Memories like him making the basketball team for the first time, and then his teammates teasing me for being shy and carrying a notebook everywhere. Him telling them I liked to daydream and jot my ideas down, and them spinning it into me being a weird stalker who wanted to write stories about them.
The worst part? When they all laughed at me that day in the hall, pointing and pretending to be scared of me, Ezra said nothing. He didn’t defend me or tell them they were wrong. He just watched.
Ezra Jerk-wad Davis.
Here he is, front and center at the game I didn’t want to come to in the first place. I thought about just telling Mabel about my history with him, so I wouldn’t have to come. But unfortunately, doing that would mean acknowledging his existence out loud. I’ve managed to mostly avoid Ezra since that day in the hallway. Partly, thanks to the fact that we’re interested in completely different things, and don’t have any mutual friends. And also, because I’ve made it my mission to ignore his smug, conceited face. The times we’ve had classes together, I’ve chosen desks on opposite sides of the room. When he’s walked by in the halls, I’veturned the other way. For the most part, it’s been easy to pretend he’s invisible. Until now.
I let my eyes fully rove over him for the first time in four years. His jersey is untucked, and he’s still shouting something at the ref, his thick brows drawn downward in an angry scowl. Sweat drips from his curly hair, which he shoves back from his golden-brown face like it’s annoying him. I can’t help but notice all the lean muscle he’s gotten, and how he fills out his jersey so much better than the way it used to hang off his skinny frame in middle school.
It’s weird letting myself look at him. This is probably the last time I’ll allow myself to take him in for longer than passing by in the halls.
Mabel’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “What are you wearing to Dot’s birthday party tomorrow night?”
“I have no idea. You?”
“Mere is going to let me borrow that cute cropped sweater I love.” Mabel’s voice sounds sheepish at the mention of her sister.
I nod, but just thinking of Meredith has me sweating again, and when one of Ezra’s teammates sinks a game-winning free throw, and the buzzer sounds, Mabel and I try not to lose each other in the thick crowd flowing toward the parking lot.
