COSMOS | Complete

CHAPTER 10: A & A

ASHER

Once I'm changed, Aaron drives us to the local park in his Bentz. He glances at my Nike shorts and t-shirt, eyebrows furrowing. "Huh. Feels like you're wearing a turtleneck."

"What?"

"All the girls I'm around have necklines down to the tops of their jeans."

I snort. "I'm so, so sorry, Aaron Blakely, that I am burdening you without shoving my breasts in your face. You must be in so much pain."

"You're right. I don't know how much longer I can last."

My lip threatens to curve up into a smile, but I press my mouth into a thin line. Giving Aaron the satisfaction of making me laugh is not a line I intend on crossing.

I say, "I don't know how to play."

Aaron shrugs. "We don't, either. I play football. We just throw rubber into circles."

We near the park, and Aaron skirts to my side of the car, opening the door for me. "Always the gentleman," I remark. "Pity, if I didn't actually know you, I might've tolerated you."

We walk over to the court, the rest of the players jogging over to meet us. The boys are crowded onto a crisp, new layer of cement, surrounded by clipped grass and little park chairs.

"Everyone, this is Asher. She's going to play basketball with us," Aaron announces.

All I say is, "I don't know how to play."

A tall, skinny kid raises his hand. "I play basketball. I could tell you all about it-"

"Basketball isn't ping-pong," Aaron replies. "Stop getting them mixed up."

Everyone laughs, except me. The kid looks as if he's been caressed by God, even though it's an insult.

Aaron paces to the center of the court, everyone circling around him like puppies, awaiting command. He squints against the sunlight.

"Asher, we have two teams. Every team has defense and offense. Losing team buys the winning team Steak and Shake."

"I'm sorry, Steak and Shake doesn't have salads," someone hollers, and the others guffaw.

"I'll eat a cheeseburger any day," I respond haughtily. "With a large fry."

The familiar boy looks mildly impressed. The others are gaping at me.

"Is that what got her that disease?" someone mutters, and the boys shake with laughter. Aaron rolls his eyes. "Stop being bitches," he snaps. "We're here to play ball. Act like it."

I think I hear a sniffle.

Clearing his throat, Aaron points to the familiar boy. "I'll be captain of Team A, and Chris is captain of Team B. I'll take this half of the circle, and you can take the rest."

We follow Aaron as he jogs down the court, coming to a halt in front of a rack of shiny, new basketballs.

The sun is blinding as everyone steps forward for a ball. Aaron runs over to me, sporting an extra ball, carrying it like a football.

"I can't believe you're doing this," he says.

"I'm proving you wrong. There's nothing I take pride in less."

Aaron ignores the jab. Behind him, the others are practicing their shots, turning to glance at him after every goal. Aaron acts as if they don't exist.

"Here," he offers. "Let me help you embarrass yourself less."

"I can play basketball," I grumble, accepting the ball. "Like you said – rubber in a circle."