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Jessica yelled, “Your serve,” and threw a volleyball over the net. It landed between the three of us, and Kiyana said, “Why don’t you go first, Xiomara?”
“You can call me Xi,” I blurted.
Her smiled didn’t disappoint. “Okay, Xi.” She took the ball and tossed it my way. My only saving grace was that by some miracle I caught it.
That’s where the good luck ended.
I took the ball with me toward the back of the pool and tossed it up like I’d been taught to serve in gym class. Unfortunately, I missed it all together, and it smacked back in the water, spraying chlorine in my eyes.
Jessica giggled, but the other girls shot her warning glances, and she quieted.
“It’s okay,” Kiyana said, giving me an encouraging smile. “You’ve got this.”
Behind Kiyana’s back, Shelley gave me two thumbs up. I could only imagine the amount of excitement I would get from her—and the amount of flack I would get from Van and Ronnie, who were now watching us play.
Great. A bigger audience.
Taking a deep breath, I held up the ball, lifted it in the air, and smacked it as hard as I could with my hand. It went up, sailing through the air, and landed smack in the back of Kiyana’s head.
She let out a cry and held her head.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I muttered quickly. “I’m so sorry.”
She shook her head, wincing. “Um, Shelley. Why don’t you serve first?”
I wasnevergoing to live this down.
Six
Kiyana
I lay in my bed,trying to go to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Xi in her cute little swim shorts that had lacy cutouts on the sides. Her olive-green tankini top that offset her deeply tanned skin. The way the sun bounced off the water and into her dark brown eyes, making them look almost amber.
A tapping sound came at my window, and my heart stalled. I’d read this story inHot Beatmagazine. About the girl who was murdered in her bed. As if it could save me, I pulled my blanket over my head, hoping whoever it was would have mercy on me.
(And yes, I know I’d be the first to die in a horror movie. Sue me.)
But the tapping persisted. And then there was a ding on my phone alerting me of a text message.
If my location was given away, I might as well be able to call 9-1-1. So I peeked above the covers, grabbed my phone, terrified of a text from an unknown number giving me the text-version of the super villain’s monologue.
Stefon: Let me in!
I let out a relieved and annoyed breath, walking to the window, pulling back the curtains, and seeing him standing there in a T-shirt and sweatpants like he’d just gotten out of bed himself.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed, pulling the window open. “My grandparents are in the next room!”
“As if they could hear me!” he grunted as he climbed through.
“I thought you were a murderer!”
He straightened and looked around my room. “Why aren’t your parents here then?”
My cheeks got hot, and I looked down.
“Were you really sitting here thinking a murderer was at your window and you decided tohide? How are you going to survive college?”
