Page 119 of Ruthless Court

“You have two days to decide whether you’re mad at Hannah, Sandy, or Bookworm.”

“They’re probably not the same person. She might have multiple personalities.”

“You have strange types, Haverhill.”

The door shuts behind him.

I pull up Hannah’s profile again.

Then Bookworm’s face in class replaces it.

Glasses sliding down her nose.

Lip caught between her teeth while she studied my game.

Her fingers wrapped around the opposite end of my pencil.

The jolt when our hands touched.

I blamed the cold room.

The parking lot wasn’t cold enough to explain why I felt the same pull when Hannah looked up at me.

I set my phone facedown.

Thursday is too long a wait.

* * *

Monday’s practice starts badly.

I miss my first three shots.

Turn over a pass I should make blindfolded.

Then drive left, see the help coming, and abandon the play before it develops.

Coach’s whistle cuts through the gym.

“Haverhill.”

I stop beneath the basket.

“What was that?”

“Bad read.”

“No. A bad read happens once. You’ve made that one for three weeks.”

He points toward the sideline.

“Sit.”

My teammates go quiet.

I jog off and drop onto the bench.

Coach runs the offense without me.