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The last time I saw Cassia play basketball was in middle school. She didn’t try out for the high school team, even thoughshe easily could have made it. Not asking her why she hadn’t was the biggest test of my resolve back then.
In answer, she sends the ball flying. I track the movement as it arcs and falls directly through the basket.
It hits the asphalt driveway with a loudsmack. When I glance at Cassia with a brow raised, she smiles.
“Thank God. It would have been really embarrassing if I’d missed.”
Laughter spills out without permission as I retrieve the ball and pass it to her again. “Why did you stop playing?”
I regret the question instantly. Cassia’s expression turns somber as she rubs her fingers against the rough rubber, pressing hard enough tiny circles are probably indenting into her skin. “Just outgrew it, I guess.”
I scoff. She might as well have told me it’s none of my business. “Sure.”
Her eyes narrow. “It’s true. Sports take up a lot of time. I knew I needed great grades in high school to get into a good college.”
“Colleges also like admitting student athletes,” I point out. Digging the hole I’m in deeper, based on her annoyed expression.
“Why doyouthink I stopped playing?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Yearslater. You must have drawn conclusions at the time.”
I exhale, looking away and running a hand through my hair. “You want me to say I thought it had something to do with me, Cassia? Fine, I thought it might have had something to do with me.”
“You think I make my decisions based onyou? I’m not that pathetic, Holden.” She spits the words, and I realize I’ve colossally fucked up by bringing this subject up. There’s no satisfaction that I’ve cracked her sweet exterior. She’s mad andhurt, and it’s my fault. The realization sits in my stomach like a lump of lead.
“I don’t think you’re pathetic.”
“Gee,thanks.”
I inhale and exhale deeply, trying to release some frustration. Trying to come up with some way to salvage the conversation. But Cassia isn’t done.
“You think the fact I gave you a blowjob means Iwantyou? Means I’veforgivenyou? God, you’ve got a lot of nerve, Holden. But you always did, didn’t you? You’ve always done whatever the hell you want. Fuck the consequences. Fuck other people’s feelings.” She shakes her head and drops the ball. It bounces a couple of times and then rolls away toward the bushes. “Just don’t talk to me. We’re not even friends,remember?”
Cassia storms past me and inside. I listen to her and say nothing. I’m not sure what I would’ve anyway. Do I try to explain? Tell her the distance between us was my fucked-up way of trying to look out for her? Or do I focus on basketball, on my future, and go back to doing my best to ignore her?
I grab the basketball and slam it against the backboard so hard the whole hoop rattles.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CASSIA
I’m scrolling through my music library, looking for a playlist to listen to, when someone takes the seat next to me. I gape at Holden, watching as he adjusts the seat and pulls a water bottle out of his bag.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, glancing around at the surrounding empty seats.
“Sitting.”
“Why are you sittinghere?”
“It was open.”
“So is half the bus,” I tell him.
The PTA chartered ten coach buses for the senior trip to New York City. There are tons of other seats available. Most people are taking advantage of having a row to themselves to stretch their legs out or set their bags on the seat instead of the floor. Yet Holden—six foot two Holden—is folded into the cramped seat next to me, so close I can smell cinnamon and feel his body heat.
He swallows a sip of water and then turns toward me. “I’m sorry.”
