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Thorne rubbed his hands in anticipation while I struggled to keep my cool. I didn’t even care if he picked me, I was so annoyed. And if he chose the Royals for his team, I’d dump him right here and now in front of everybody.
Ugh. But then Gabby would hit on him.
Scratch that. I’d sneak back into his hotel and shave his head in his sleep. Then I’d slowly claw his eyes out.
“Scarlett,” he called out, despite the scowl on my face.
Lucky,I thought. Looks like he’d live to see another day, as long as he didn’t choose the enemy next.
When Brandon went, he chose a fellow teammate from the football team and then it was Thorne’s turn again. Glancing up at him, I stared a hole through the side of his head, hoping to send telepathic messages straight to his brain. But he simply continued staring straight ahead, his gaze focused. Which was when I realized he didn’t know anyone’s name.
How convenient.
Stepping closer, I said, “Just tell me who you want, and I’ll tell you their name.” Unless, of course, it was a Royal, and then I was socking him in the arm.
“Batman shirt.” He pointed to Barry, and I smiled.
“That’s Barry.”
“Barry, you’re mine, buddy,” Thorne said, his voice carrying across the gym.
Barry pointed at his chest in question, craning his neck to check for a jock standing behind him, but when Thorne nodded and waved him over, I’d never seen a smile so bright. And if the dorks' joy at being chosen second for Thorne’s team wasn’t enough to make my insides melt, the shock on Gabby’s face was.
With her jaw to the floor, she glanced around her like maybe it was a joke, then closed her mouth again and crossed her arms over her chest while I fought real hard not to burst into hysterics.
When it was Thorne’s turn again, he pointed to the girl with the glasses, and my smile widened. “That’s Tammy,” I said, and this time when Thorne called her name, Gabby’s face turned beet red—from anger or embarrassment, I wasn’t sure. But whatever the cause, I loved it.
The draft went on for another five minutes, and I couldn’t have planned it better myself. Gabby stood among the last, red-faced, lips puckered like she’d sucked on a lemon. And when Thorne pointed to the last boy beside her, sending Gabby to the other team, I nearly died of laughter.
Thorne faced his newly minted team, his expression serious as his gaze flickered over the sea of faces. Out of the thirteen kids he chose, not one of them was athletic. There were Mathletes and AP students and the editor of the school paper. Comic book geeks and kids that spent their weekends in the library for fun—undoubtedly a group of nerds. Yet, he had chosen them.
I might be in love.
“Five minutes to warm up, and then it’s game time,” Mrs. Brian yelled from the sideline.
Thorne released a slow breath and grabbed a dodgeball off the rack, twirling it in his hands while he sized up his crew. “Okay, let’s talk strategy.”
Barry raised his hand.
“What’s up, Bar?” Thorne asked, tossing the ball from hand to hand.
“Um.” Barry cleared his throat, and his gaze darted to his teammates. “Is that really necessary? I mean, let’s face it, we’ve got no chance of winning this thing.”
Thorne’s jaw dropped. “No chance? Bar, did you really think I picked all of you guys just so we could lose? So we could surrender to them?”
Chastised, Barry turned his gaze to the floor while Thorne glanced around us to all of their expectant faces. And even I had to admit, things weren’t looking up.
“No,” Thorne answered for them. “Hell no! We might be the underdogs, but it’s about time the underdogs got a win. Am I right?”
Crickets.
I glanced around to stone-sober faces. My fellow teammates had all the enthusiasm of a wet noodle.
“You know how they always say nice guys finish last?” I chimed in, because maybe they needed to hear it from someone else—someone who wasn’t Brad Pitt level famous. “Well, that’s bullshit. It’s about time the nice guys win,” I said, pointing to the ground, making eye contact with each and every one of them. “I’m tired of these Royals running around acting like they own the place. Earlier in the year, Penelope, my best friend and fellow outcast, took their King. It poked holes in their defenses. Now they’re weak, and we’re going to swoop in and bring them down.”
Several heads bobbed. A murmur of agreement circulated among them while Barry—King of the Nerds—peered up at Thorne. “But . . . you really think we can beat them?”
“Not only will we beat them,” Thorne promised, “but we’re going to wipe the floor with them. Annihilate them. Show them that a ragtag group doesn’t need to be jocks or look a certain way or act a certain way or be friends with a certain type of people to win. We’re going to show them just what you’re capable of and what happens when they underestimate you.” Thorne raised his hand in a fist.
