0 9
another player in the game
Sweat rolls down my temple and I hunch down, resting my hands on my knees.
"Trey!" I yell. "Just. Hit. The. Ball!"
"You're not throwing it properly!"
"TREY!"
We've been stuck in this godforsaken field court for the past thirty minutes. The scorching sun is burning my skin to shreds and I'm already tan enough as it is. Thankfully no one occupies the space other than us; we decided to stay after school so I can finally teach Trey how to play.
If Justine partakes in some classes, then that means she has to have some skill. And I need to make sure Trey is always on par with her.
But it's nearly impossible when he can't even get a single shot.
"Don't blame me for your lack of eye coordination," he spouts. "You've been hitting the ball to my right. Every time. I'm in the middle, Adelaide."
"Don't use my name against me." I gesture wildly to the sun. "It's too bright here so excuse me for being a little blind!"
"There's an invention for that, you know," he retorts. "It's called sunglasses. Ever heard of it?"
"Ever heard of shut up?"
"Not quite, care to explain?"
This boy.
"Lesson over," I surrender, feeling weak and dehydrated.
As Trey and I exit the court and walk our way through its front gates, we keep debating over silly little things — which of Marvel and DC is the better comic franchise, our theories on the missing Malaysian airplane, Leonardo DiCaprio's lack of Oscar awards, and even about Joffrey's death in the latest Game of Thrones episode. (I thought it was the perfect death; Trey says he deserved worse.) There's never nothing that we don't talk about.
Talking to Trey Gonzalez, I conclude, is like talking to the world.
We near the centre of the football field when I spot them. A group of tall, built guys wearing school jerseys, heading our way. I'm not near enough to spot their faces but I can hear their faint laughter and conversing.
"Let's walk by the tracks," I suggest, already moving sideways.
"No." He literally tugs at my sleeve and pulls me back beside him. "Don't tell me you're afraid of a bunch of brainless jocks."
"No," I bluff, lying. "They just look like trouble."
"From what I hear, you seem to like trouble."
I scoff. Did I ask for all the problems to happen to me as I participated in almost every high school event possible? No. People sneering, making fun of me, and hating me for no reason? No. Trouble just seems to find me.
We still end up walking straight towards them and the jocks — are they still considered jocks if they're not football players? — aren't moving away, either. I try to channel Trey's confidence in me. They're nothing to worry about. But I wonder what we look like to them. If one of them comments... no.
Do not worry.
But when we're closer than ever, I finally recognise one face. Messy blonde hair, bright green eyes, a permanent scowl — Jude Reynolds is leading the freakin' pack.
One guy looks at us, noticing our presence. He instantly smirks.
Do not —
"One of your girls, Trey?" he quips.
"She's a girl, yes, as you can see," Trey replies immediately. "But if you're referring to this fictional group of girls that you think I own, then no, she's not a part of it. If you want to hook up with one of these assumed girls, however — theoretically — I could ask nicely and they'll be happy to abide my favours."
The brown-haired guy just stares at him, no response. I'm thinking — hoping — this conversation is finished, but he spats, "You're so fucking full of yourself, Gonzalez."
"I'd prefer the term honest," he says, unfaltering. "We all know that in a sense, I'm one of Dalton High's most valuable assets. And from our little circle here I have more sway than all of you combined."
It takes time to like Trey. It really does.
One moment he's charming as ever, and then there's moments like these where you want to snap his head off. But it sort of becomes easier to handle once you get used to him.
Here's the catastrophe: they're not.
"Who do you think you are?" The brown-haired guy bristles.
"Trey Ramiro Gonzalez. Straight-A student, five foot eleven, a Model United Nations member, fluent in Spanish, the occasional ladies' man." He pauses. "Everyone knows that already. So the question here is who are you?"
"The guy that's going to fucking punch you in the — "
"Finn, knock it off," Jude warns, but his tone isn't friendly either. He gives a seething look at Trey, whose smile falters. He knows he's the brother of his potential girlfriend. Jude then proceeds to look straight at me and suddenly asks, "Can I talk to you?"
I gulp. "Sure."
All the other guys are quiet. In this moment, he really did resemble the alpha of a wolf pack.
When we're on the sidetracks, Jude doesn't waste time on small talk. He goes straight to the point, blunt and brutal.
"Trey Gonzalez is your guy?" he gapes. "The fuck?"
"How did you — " I pause, then decide it's useless. "You know what, never mind. Yeah."
"I fucking hate the guy."
I squint at him. "You said you didn't want to get involved."
"Yeah, but that's before I learned he was Trey fucking Gonzalez. Jesus."
"He may be a little conceited in the head — "
"A little?"
I flinch. "Okay, maybe a lot. But you said it yourself, Justine can handle herself. Right?"
He makes a little pained sound. "If they actually end up together, I'm going to fucking lose it at some point." Then he gazes at me closely. "And I know she can handle him. Can you?"
"Me?" I ask incredulously. "Let's hope so. I've handled worst people before. Have you seen TJ?"
"That's not what I fucking meant," he snaps. I recoil just a little bit, still not used to his constant f-bombs, and his eyes soften just a fraction at my reaction. "Just be careful, Addie."
"Why do you care?"
"I really don't," he says, deadpanned. "I'm just saying." I must look skeptical because he sighs, running a hand on his messy hair. "Look, don't fucking overanalyse this. I would say the same to any other girl, alright?"
I shrug. "Okay."
He looks at me one last time, probably seeing if I actually understand, before he jogs off to his friends. Jude grasps his friend's shoulder — Finn, the one who engaged with Trey first — and manages to convince him and the rest of his track team to walk away without any fist-fighting. But I don't miss Finn giving Trey one of the nastiest scowls ever, chilling me to the bone.
As Trey slowly traces his path to me, I look at his curly hair and brown eyes and I replay Jude's words over again.
That's not what I fucking meant.
But what else would he mean other than handling Trey the way he is?
***
"I'm not suggesting you to follow me — nor will I ever. "
"Okay."
"You'll only write things that I want you to write."
"Oka — "
"If I catch you take note of something that was not approved of me, I will come after you."
I swallow. "O-okay."
Justine and I walk in the now-crowded hallway, a pencil and notepad clutched in my hands. She scares me enough to make me obey her, but there's one note I couldn't help write.
Justine Reynolds has superpowers.
Because as we walk — or in her case, strut — guys and girls back away for us. It's like the parting of the Red Sea. She doesn't say a word, but says it with everything else. Her body language. That look in her eyes. I feel small in her comparison.
"Where are we going again?" I ask.
"One of my favourite to-go places."
I hesitate. "And why aren't your friends with you?" Especially Iris and What's-That-Other Girl's-name.
"They're not into this stuff," she dismisses them, waving a quick hand.
"Oh."
When we stop in front of big blue doors, Justine opens them, revealing a small court. A small section on the left and right sides holds the bleachers. Wait. There's an indoor court? Trey never bothered to tell me and let us burn to death in the sun?
I feel like hitting something.
"Ow!" Justine lets out, rubbing her shoulder. "What was that for?!"
Oh my God. "Sorrysorry," I ramble. "I have bad reflexes."
She gives me a weird look.
"Anyway," I clear my throat. "I'm starting to catch up that you wanna play badminton, but someone beat you to it."
"Yeah," she mutters, distracted. Her eyes zoom into the crowd. "Give me a sec."
Without waiting for a reply, she marches towards the group of people in the middle of a badminton match. She doesn't even wait for the ball to hit the ground. And then I'm witnessing another superpower of hers: mind control. Literally the four players stop what they're doing.
Justine doesn't have to do much. I can't hear what she's saying, but I recognise the sweet tone she's imitating. It works like magic. The players nod wildly and grab their stuff before rushing towards the door, zipping right past me.
I blink.
She comes back and winks. "You were saying?"
"You scare me sometimes." I blurt out without thinking. "Are you sure you're completely human?"
I'm about to slap myself in the face when she responds flatly, "Ninety-nine percent sure."
"What's the other one percent?"
"The scary part."
And the weirdest thing happens. She cracks a smile. At me. Without it being sarcastic or condescending.
I'm in an alternate universe.
But she surprises me again when she picks up a racket and throws it at me. Thank God my reflexes improved this time, but it still hits me on the chest.
"Wha — what?" I heave.
"You're going to play with me, silly." She definitely enjoys messing with me, picking up another racket and spotting a lonely shuttlecock lying on the floor. She begins juggling the ball on the racket, on and on, until the ball gets higher.
"Newsflash," I call out. "Sports is not my thing."
She doesn't cut her gaze off the ball. "I thought everything was your thing."
Ouch. "Fine," I give her a sweet smile. The things I do for Trey Gonzalez. Or maybe it's just my own competitiveness taking control. "You're on."
But we don't even start since the doors open again, both of us equally surprised. That surprise immediately doubles when we see the person who just stepped in. Well, at least for me it does.
"Following me now, Trey?" Justine catches the shuttlecock, watching Trey with a curious gaze.
"Nonsense," he confutes. But how did he know? I didn't tell him anything. "I just saw some people running out of here like their lives depended on it. I figured the only person who could do that was you."
Huh. Pure luck. Justine keeps a straight face. "And why aren't you running like everybody else?"
"Because you're my destination."
Jesus, Trey!
She scoffs. "Well, you're too late. I'm taking the full court. And I have a player already." She nods her head at me and I squirm a bit.
Trey looks at me like I ruined his Christmas.
But he quickly hides his emotions. He returns his steady gaze to Justine and, to my astonishment, has a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I didn't know Addie was a player. She must've stolen my beloved title. Now what will all the ladies say?" He holds a hand to his chest. "I'm terribly hurt."
"But we can always find another," he continues. "The more the players, the more games we can play."
Are Justine and Trey having a telepathic conversation or something? Because they're just looking at each other, with a look that seems like only they can decipher. I feel like there's a clear allegory I'm missing out on. Now I'm just dumfounded. Great.
Third wheel life is not the life to go.
Trey grabs a racket. "That's why I'm playing."
The court is silent. I'm scared to open my mouth.
"You're right," Justine says, swinging her racket. "All we need is to find another player."
Trey doesn't contain his million-dollar grin. Justine plucks out her phone and calls, being really vague about the person she's inviting, but the arrogant boy doesn't seem to be bothered by it. That is, before the person actually shows up.
There are three ways to describe his entrance. One, regal kindness: when he greets Justine with a smile. Well, as far as his smile gets. Two, genuine surprise: spotting me. Maybe he thought I wouldn't get this far, but either way, he acknowledges me with a simple nod.
And then three: jaw-ticking, fist-clenching nuisance. When he locks eyes with Trey.
"What the fuck?" Jude snaps.
"Hey, brother," Justine replies. She's grinning like crazy. "Trey wanted another player so we can all play, and I had the most brilliant idea." She's not looking at him when she says this. She's looking at Trey.
Trey looks like he's one second away from raging. But he's not Jude. He buries his emotions under a blank mask. So the little spark of anger in his eyes and his stiff posture is as much as you can get from him.
Justine smiles more, and she starts the game without waiting for anyone's consent. I barely hear the teams: me with Trey, her with Jude.
When we're in our respective sides, I nudge Trey, who's been quiet and observing. "Don't underestimate her. She plays games as much as you do."
I hope that sounds as wise and mysterious as it sounds in my head.
"I know now," he says. Justine must've found out about Trey and Jude's dislike — sorry, hatred — towards each other. I don't know how, but she did.
Across the court, she grins like a Cheshire cat, and makes her first move.
A/N: The game is so on. Who do you think's gonna win?