Try Me (Extracurricular Activities #2) - Neve Wilder
Prologue: Mark
Three and a half years ago
Shoe rubber squelched on the court’s polished sheen as Lee threw in from the sidelines. The tight cluster of bodies around him broke in every direction like a human version of a pool game.
I raced toward the net, countdown clock ticking in the back of my mind as our best forward, Andy, snagged the ball midair and dribbled downcourt in a mad dash. Maneuvering around my guard, I got into position.
Oh yeah, we had this game locked.
Suddenly, I stumbled forward as someone slammed into my shoulder out of nowhere. I let out a frustrated growl as a spike of pain rebounded through my rib cage.
Chet Pynchon whizzed past me in a blur of insane speed, dark hair, and a wild, unapologetic smirk he flashed over his shoulder at me like the reckless bastard he was. I was annoyed, yeah, but there was something else to it, too. Some niggling undercurrent I didn’t have any business thinking about in the middle of a clutch game.
I shot a glance at the ref to see if he was going to make a call on Chet for plowing into me, but his eyes were on Andy as he rolled onto the balls of his feet to go for the three-pointer.
The ball launched from his fingertips, and instinct drove me deeper toward the net to assist if I needed to.
But nothing came.
In the time it’d taken me to blink, Hawthorn Prep’s massive fucking center had knocked the ball from its midair arc into Chet’s waiting hands.
He sped down the court with nary a soul to stop him except Manny LaGuardia, and I knew right then that wasn’t gonna happen. Manny was too big, too slow, where Chet was as sleek and swift as a fin cutting through midnight water. Manny’s eyes said he knew it, too; they widened in panic, and then his lip set in a curled sneer that said he was gonna do something stupid. Fuck.
Manny barreled determinedly toward Chet while the rest of us hopelessly tried to catch up to the stealth play that probably just screwed our chances for the win.
Through the chaos of elbows and shouts that followed, the ref’s whistle shrilled. Manny jumped back, wrenching free of the tangled bodies and raising his palms in a display of innocence that was absolute bullshit.
From the ground, Chet gasped for air and rolled onto his side, expression dark. A second later, a smile curved his lips as he spied the ref, and I knew exactly what he was thinking: worth the pain to bag this game. Chet rarely missed a free throw, and Manny’s fucking temper definitely just handed Hawthorn the game.
Chet took the hand his teammate extended and rolled nimbly upright, victorious smile cracking wide like a dam.
It crumbled in fury a second later when the ref inexplicably called Chet for traveling.
Manny’s gaze jumped over to me, widening with delight while I blinked in confusion.
“That’s bullshit!” Chet roared.
My jaw dropped open, and the gym got so quiet I heard the blood rushing through my ears. Chet had every right to say it, but the ref awarded him a technical foul for the outburst and kicked him off the court.
We won the game easily.
Silver Ridge was just big enough for five different high schools, each with their own rivalries, but too small for them to be truly vicious. We all partied together on weekends, then returned to our respective locker rooms and hallways and talked smack about each other on Mondays. You learned to navigate around the occasional scuffle. Or, if you were in the mood, join the fray.
Tonight I wasn’t.
I didn’t know what I was in the mood for. I couldn’t stop thinking about the game, about the helpless fury burning in Chet’s expression after the ref’s call.
The cup of punch in my hand left a chemical-laced cherry-sweet aftertaste clinging to my tongue and burned my throat with every sip as I watched the people around me: classmates I recognized but rarely talked to, teammates I saw daily, girls in dresses that kissed their toned mid-thighs or leggings that made their legs look endless. I searched the crowd for Erin and glimpsed her shoulders, the nape of her neck and upper back revealed by the scoop of a white tank. I didn’t know how she wasn’t freezing.
She glanced back at me as if sensing my attention and gave me one of those coy smiles that posed a question: Now? Later? We weren’t anything, not really.