MY COCKY BASKETBALL PLAYER

Chapter 7

I walked home from the session with my hands shoved in my pockets.

The cold didn't bother me. The anger kept me warm.

He made me wait an hour. One hour. Standing outside his gate like an i***t while he shot baskets. And when he finally showed up, sweaty and slow, he didn't even apologize.

"I was busy."

That was it. That was all he said.

I replayed the session in my head. The way he barely tried. The way he watched me. The way he asked why I cared. The way I told him it was just a job. The way he smirked at that. Like he didn't believe me. Like he knew something I didn't.

I told myself I wasn't going back.

I don't need this, I thought. I don't need him. I don't need his attitude or his smirk or his stupid basketball.

But I knew I'd be there next Saturday.

Because of the money. Only the money.

***

That night, I couldn't sleep.

Not because of him. Because I was angry.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment. The way he leaned back in his chair. The way he said "I was busy" like it was nothing. The way he didn't apologize. Not once. Not even a fake one. Not even a "sorry I'm late." Just "I was busy." Like my time didn't matter.

I thought about quitting. I thought about calling his mother and telling her I was done. That her son was impossible. That I couldn't do it anymore. That I'd rather work double shifts at the café than spend one more Saturday in that house.

But then I thought about the jar in my closet. The money I'd been saving since I was fourteen. The tuition that kept getting further and further away. The university I'd been dreaming about since I was a kid. The life I wanted. The life I needed.

I couldn't quit.

I sat up. I turned on the lamp. I grabbed my notebook. I wrote down every reason I hated him.

He's arrogant.

He's lazy.

He's cruel.

He made me wait an hour.

He didn't apologize.

He watched me like I was a joke.

He smiled when I said I needed the money.

He doesn't care about anyone but himself.

I stared at the list. It was long. It was all true.

I closed the notebook. I turned off the lamp.

I lay back down.

I hate him, I thought. I hate his smirk. I hate his silence. I hate the way he looks at me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. I hate that I have to go back. I hate that I need his family's money. I hate that I can't quit.

I hate him.

I said it again. And again. Until I believed it.

***

Sunday morning, I woke up still angry.

I tried to focus on homework. I had a paper due next week. I had tests to study for. I had things that mattered. Real things. Things that had nothing to do with Derek or his stupid basketball or his stupid smirk.

But my mind kept drifting back to that study room. To his face. To his silence. To the way he looked at me when I walked in.

He looked at me like he was waiting for something. Like he expected me to fail. Like he wanted me to walk out.

I didn't. I stayed. I taught. I sat there for an hour while he ignored me.

Why? Because of the money.

I hated that answer. But it was the only one I had.

***

Gemma texted around noon.

"How did the session go?"

I stared at the message. I could lie. I could say "fine." But Gemma knew me better than that.

"He made me wait an hour," I typed.

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

"WHAT?"

"He was at practice. He came home late. Didn't apologize."

"That's so rude. You should quit."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

I stared at the question. Why not? Because I needed the money. Because my tuition was riding on this. Because I couldn't afford to quit. Because I had no choice.

But I couldn't tell her that.

"I just can't," I typed.

"You deserve better than this, Nora."

I knew that. I knew I deserved better. But "better" didn't pay for tuition. "Better" didn't fill the jar in my closet. "Better" didn't get me out of this town.

"I know," I typed.

She didn't push. She just sent back a sad face.

I put my phone down.

I spent the rest of the day trying not to think about him.

I failed.

But not because I liked him. Because I was still mad.

***

Monday morning, I walked into school with my head down.

I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to feel anything.

But I saw him anyway.

He was in the hallway with his friends. Maya was there, standing too close, laughing at something he said. He was smiling. That same smile he gave the crowd at his games. The one that said he knew everyone was watching.

I looked at him. He looked at me.

For a second, neither of us looked away.

Then he did. He looked back at Maya. He laughed at something she said. He didn't look at me again.

I felt something twist in my chest. I didn't know what it was. I didn't care.

I kept walking.

I heard him laugh again. Louder this time. I didn't know if it was about me. I didn't care.

I didn't look back.

***

Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. They blurred together.

I saw him in the hallways. Sometimes he looked at me. Sometimes he didn't. Most of the time, I didn't look at him at all.

I told myself I didn't care.

I told myself I hated him.

I told myself I was only going back for the money.

All of it was true.

None of it helped.

***

Friday night. I couldn't sleep.

Saturday was tomorrow. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to see his face. I didn't want to sit across from him while he ignored me. I didn't want to smile at his mother and pretend everything was fine.

But I would. Because of the money.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I replayed the last session again. His silence. His smirk. The way he said "I was busy" like I was supposed to accept it.

I hated him. I hated everything about him.

But I couldn't stop thinking about him.

Not because I liked him. Because I was angry. Because he got under my skin. Because he made me feel small. Because he made me feel like I was nothing.

I hated that most of all.

***

Saturday morning. Gray and cold.

I stood outside his gate again. Same gate. Same house. Same dread.

I pushed it open.

I knocked.

His mother answered. She smiled when she saw me. "Nora. Come in."

I followed her inside. Same hallway. Same photos. Same polished floors.

"He's in the study room," she said. "He's been waiting."

I didn't know what to do with that. I just nodded.

I walked to the study room. I pushed the door open.

He was there. Sitting at the desk. Phone in hand.

He looked up when I walked in. He didn't smile. He didn't say hello. He just looked at me.

I sat down. I opened my notebook.

"Let's start," I said.

He didn't answer.

I started teaching.

He didn't listen.

***

The hour was worse than last time.

He didn't mock me. He didn't laugh. He just sat there. Silent. Phone in hand. Eyes on the screen. Ignoring me.

I taught to a wall.

I asked questions he didn't answer. I explained things he didn't care about. I wrote problems on paper he didn't look at.

Halfway through, I stopped.

"Are you even listening?"

He looked up. "No."

"Then why am I here?"

He shrugged. "My mom."

I stared at him. My hands were shaking. I wanted to scream. I wanted to walk out. I wanted to tell his mother I was done.

But I didn't.

I kept teaching.

He kept ignoring.

The hour ended.

I packed my bag. I stood up.

"Same time next week?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

I walked out.

His mother was in the hallway. "How did it go?"

"Same," I said.

She nodded. She looked disappointed. But not surprised.

I walked home.

***

I got home. I sat on my bed. I stared at the wall.

I hate him, I thought. I hate him so much.

I checked my phone. No texts.

I told myself I was relieved.

I wasn’t