Don’t Let Go

19. Tyler

19

Tyler

My phone was off for the rest of the weekend. I didn’t want to think about Iris, Quincy, or anyone else. I took off from that party like a bat out of hell, and I didn’t give a damn about any of them.

I didn’t give a damn.

I didn’t give a damn.

But I did give a damn.

It was now early Monday morning. I maybe slept three hours, but I felt wired like I downed four energy drinks. I was nearly bouncing off the walls, and it was only a matter of time before I woke up Rory.

I took a walk outside to escape the swirling pessimistic thoughts from that dreadful party and everything else going on inside my head.

The weather was perfect at dawn, cool, and the air smelled like fresh rain. If I looked past the grotesque buildings and telephone poles, I could see the palm trees reaching for the sky. If I stared at those three tall palm trees and breathed fresh air, I felt like I was in California for a fragment of a second. Every summer, my father let me tag along with Quincy’s family to their beach house. It looked like that tradition was over.

I kicked the grass and found a basketball hidden behind a tree. I picked the ball up feeling its bumpy exterior, and squeezed, checking its air pressure. Not bad. The ball had a good bounce on the cement. The Giordano family had a basketball hoop installed on top of their garage. I had the carport—hell, I had the whole street to myself. It was meant to be. I needed to play ball to help relax, and this was my chance.

Shooting hoops always gave me a kind of natural high. I ran and weaved as if avoiding invisible opponents before making another basket.

Clapping came from my left, making me freeze in place. Lorenzo and Franco applauded as if they were sideline fans.

“Thanks,” I replied, more like a question than a statement.

“Winston, right?” Franco asked, rubbing his chin as he studied me.

I dribbled the ball from my left hand to my right and back again. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just realized you’re the star player from Lincoln High. They call you the Steel Hand or somethin’.”

I laughed and stopped dribbling, holding the ball between my hip and forearm. “Used to. Now I’m just someone who can play some mean ball with no team.”

“That’s a setback,” Lorenzo said, shaking his head.

“Yup. Gives South Ridge a chance, though. God knows they’d never win if they went up against someone like you,” Franco said and then caught himself. He frowned and added, “No offense.”

They wanted to yank my damn chain. I pinched the bridge of my nose and decided to change the subject. “It’s whatever. Why are you up at the crack of dawn, anyway?”

“You’re the one bouncing a ball before the roosters sound off. My room is right there.” Lorenzo pointed to the window above the garage.

“Oh. Sorry.” I passed the ball to Lorenzo. “I gotta get ready for school.”

“You should attend a South Ridge game. They’re playing tonight, I think. Ask Rory. She’s in the band. She’ll know,” Franco said before attempting to spin the ball on his finger and failing. It bounced off down the carport toward the street.

As he chased it, I moved for the front door. Lorenzo shook his head as he watched his brother. “Fool.” He lightly hit my arm. “Watching a game live could help. You never know.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

How could I sit on the bench as a game played out? All I’d think about was the moves I could do that they were failing at and how to pull tricks and take the ball down the court, scoring some serious points.

I entered the house and passed by Sofia in the living room. Before she could say a word, I went up the stairs two at a time and entered my room. Rummaging through the drawers, I found some dark-washed jeans and a Nirvana shirt to wear.

Someone was in the bathroom, so I held my toothbrush and toothpaste and waited. The water rushed from the sink, and someone sang softly. I couldn’t make out the words because they were in Italian.

I closed my eyes, enchanted by the song, when the door flew open, and a cloud of perfume and hairspray hit me. Rory stood before me with a brush in one hand and a makeup bag in the other. Her wild mane was all over the place, and her eyes were as green as the emerald earrings my mom used to wear when I was little. She looked surprised to see me for a second before composing herself and staring me dead in the eye. “Did you enjoy playing basketball before the sun came up?”

“Damn.” I sighed. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I forgot how loud the echo of a bouncing ball can be.”

She raised and then dropped her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I was already awake.” She took a couple of steps closer; she was only a breath away when she whispered. “The wicked never rest.”

Her green eyes had a splash of blue in them if you looked closely. I licked my lips and lifted my hand lamely. “I gotta brush my teeth.”

She flashed a warm smile. “You do that. Do you want a ride to school? Our only detour is dropping Lizzy off first.”

Somehow, we changed places. She had her back to the hallway and the bathroom was behind me. “Yeah. I’ll take you up on that. I can’t keep taking my car in to get repaired.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t boost it.” She pointed her hairbrush at my chest. “We leave in forty minutes, be ready to go soon.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

She turned.

“Wait,” I said, the word slipping through my teeth.

Rory spun around, her hair flying around her shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Your brothers mentioned I should watch the basketball game tonight. I—”

Her face paled. “Oh? You don’t need to. It’s probably nothing like what you’re used to.”

It seemed like she didn’t want me anywhere around the game. That intrigued me to attend to see why she didn’t want me there.

“They said you’re in the band. That’s not worth the trip?” I raised an eyebrow, daring her to continue with her argument as to why I should miss it.

She ran her brush through her hair, studying the slightly curled ends too closely. “It’s nothing special. Come. Don’t. I’m—”

“I’m hungry!” Lizzy whined. She threw herself onto the last step and dramatically acted like she was dying by putting a hand to her forehead.

Rory rolled her eyes at her little sister. “I gotta go before the wolves come and bite me.”

“Why do you always cook? Isn't that why cereal was invented?”

“Cereal isn't real food.” She pointed to herself with the brush. “Besides, without me, they’d starve or claim they were anyway.” For a moment, we locked eyes. She nibbled at her bottom lip. “Come down for breakfast, and then we’ll get going. We don’t want to be late.”

I watched Rory return to her room. The way she carried herself was something to envy. She was gorgeous, and she knew it. Damn, if only she wasn’t with that asshole.

It was the top of the fourth period. South Ridge was up by ten points. I found a place to sit on the bleachers so I could see Rory in the band. She was one of the trombone players and the prettiest one of them all. Her black and red uniform brought out the gold in her hair. Her forehead wrinkled as she focused on playing when the whistle was blown for a time-out. She moved the trombone’s slide with ease, making it seem like playing came naturally, like riding a bike.

Only a few minutes remained in the game. Paolo stole the ball and tore it down the court. He was blocked from making a shot, so he passed to a tall guy who charged and jumped, making the basket. When he came back down, he was body-slammed by an opponent and fell to the ground. He cradled his right leg, rocking himself in pain. The ref blew the whistle, and a medic took the player off the court.

During the last minute, the other team made a few points, but in the end, South Ridge won by six. Everyone cheered and stomped their feet on the wooden bleachers. I scanned the gym and didn’t see any banners or jerseys hanging around to show they had won a state championship game or stepped foot in one since their school was established.

Rory had her instrument in one hand and its stand in the other as she walked toward the band room with the others. I jogged to catch up with her. Her eyes locked on me, and she froze.

“Hey. I wanted to say you played pretty good.” I sounded like a moron.

She blushed, setting her stand down. “You could hear my trombone out of the entire band?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. She caught me. “Sometimes...”

Her eyes darkened. She was about to say something else when I was pushed back. I took a step to the side to keep from falling.

Paolo was in my face, red with rage. “Stay away from her. She’s mine.” He hit his chest with mine. His teammates lingered to watch but slowly wandered off to wherever their locker room was.

All the fans had mostly filed out. Luckily, there was no one to encourage a fistfight. I cracked my knuckles, staring him down. I wasn’t going to let some punk ass think he had the upper hand.

“Bring it,” I spat.

Rory grabbed her stand and nudged Paolo with it. “Just go to the locker room. I’m going to put my stand away.” She moved toward the band room. “Go home, Tyler.”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw South Ridge’s coach talking to a woman wearing a pearl necklace and a too-low-cut dress for a high school basketball game.

Paolo had to see him, too, and gave up.

“Next time, there will be no saving you. I will kick your ass. Leave Aurora alone.”

I wanted to give him a smart-ass remark, but the woman left, and the coach spotted us.

Paolo disappeared, and I was alone in the gym with the coach. He eyed the spot on the basketball court where one of his players fell.

The coach nodded at me. “That was an intense game, wasn’t it?”

I straightened up. “Yes, sir.”

He looked me over. “Do I know you, son?”

Their coach was about six inches taller than my old one and had about twenty pounds on him, but he had more muscle than anything else. There was a hint of gray in his beard.

I shoved my hands into my front pockets. “I’m not from around here. I transferred from Lincoln High.”

His eyes widened like he’d found the golden ticket in the Wonka chocolate bar. “Oh? What’s your name?”

“Tyler Winston, sir.”

He scratched his chin. “Is that right? I’m sorry to hear about your pops.”

He figured out who I was. Great. Just what I needed: pity from a coach I had never met.

“Thanks.” I eyed the door, hoping this painful exchange of words would end soon.

He smacked my shoulder. “See ya around, kid.” He clenched his clipboard and disappeared into the doorway that douchebag Rory called a boyfriend went through.

I might not have been able to leave this godforsaken school, but I’d be damned if I set foot in this gym again. It was too excruciating to watch the game live, and I was thankful none of those wannabes wore my number. That would’ve been a stake to the heart.

The basketball lay abandoned on the court. I picked it up and dribbled it a few times before shooting it across the court and into the net. Perfect shot. I closed my eyes and remembered the roar of the crowd going berserk for those moves.

I opened my eyes and saw no one.

No one but the coach. He returned and watched me with a Cheshire cat smile on his face.