MY COCKY BASKETBALL PLAYER

Chapter 6

My mom knocked on my door for the third time that night.

"Derek. Are you listening to me?"

"I'm listening."

She pushed the door open anyway. She always did. She stood there with her arms crossed, that look on her face. The one that said she was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of hoping.

"She's coming back. The tutor. I talked to her mother. She said yes."

"I know."

"Then why do you look like I just told you we're moving?"

I didn't answer. I was staring at my phone.

"Derek."

"I heard you, Mom."

She walked closer. Sat on the edge of my bed. I felt her weight sink into the mattress.

"She's different," she said quietly. "I can tell. She's not like the others."

"The others quit."

"Because you made them."

I didn't have a response to that.

My mom reached out. Touched my arm. "I know you're smarter than this. I know you're better than this. You just don't want anyone to see it."

I pulled my arm away. "You don't know anything."

She stood up. She looked at me for a long moment. Then she walked to the door.

"She'll be here Saturday," she said. "Try not to scare her off."

The door closed.

I stared at the ceiling.

I thought about her. The tutor. The girl with the serious face and the tired eyes. The girl who picked up her books without saying a word. The girl who stood there when Maya splashed her. The girl who looked at me in the hallway like she was waiting for something.

She was still coming back.

After everything. After the mud. The note. The laughter.

She was still coming.

I grabbed my phone.

"Saturday. Don't bother coming. I don't need a tutor."

Three dots appeared.

"I'm coming."

"Why?"

"Because you don't get to decide that for me."

I stared at the screen.

She was stubborn. Annoying. Full of herself.

I smiled. I didn't mean to.

Fine. If she wanted to come so badly, I'd make her regret it.

***

Saturday morning. I woke up to sunlight and my mom's voice.

"Derek. She'll be here at two. Please be ready."

I heard her keys jingle. The front door opened. Then closed.

She was gone.

I lay there for a while. Thinking. I should be ready. I should be dressed. I should be waiting.

Instead, I grabbed my basketball.

I walked out the door.

***

The court was empty. Quiet.

I started shooting. It felt good. The ball in my hands. The rhythm. The way everything else faded.

But she didn't fade.

I kept seeing her face. The way she looked at me when I bumped her books. The way she didn't cry. The way she just stood there.

I shot harder.

1:30.

I kept playing.

1:45.

I kept playing.

2:00.

I kept playing.

***

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I knew who it was.

I didn't answer.

My phone buzzed again.

I ignored it.

I imagined her standing at the gate. Alone. Waiting. Confused.

Good. Let her wait. Let her see how it felt.

2:45. My phone buzzed.

Mom.

"Where are you? She called me. Said no one's home. She's waiting outside. In the cold."

I almost felt something.

Almost.

"I'll be there soon."

I shot a few more baskets.

Then I started walking home.

***

I saw her before she saw me.

She was standing by the gate. Phone in her hand. Shoulders tense. She was wearing that jacket. The thin one. Like she didn't have anything warmer.

She was shivering. Just a little. She probably thought I couldn't see it.

I could see it.

I walked toward her. Slowly. I knew how I looked. Sweating. Shirt sticking to my chest. Hair messed up. I'd been out there for hours.

She looked up.

Her eyes met mine. Then they dropped. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to notice.

Then they came back up. Hard. Defensive.

"You're late," she said.

"I was busy."

"I waited an hour."

"I didn't tell you to."

"I called your mom."

"I know. She called me."

She stared at me. She was trying to stay mad. I could see the anger in her eyes. But something else was there too. Something she didn't want me to see.

I stepped closer. She stepped back. Just a little. Just enough.

"Are you going to let me in?" she asked.

"You're still standing there."

She walked past me. Her shoulder brushed my arm. She felt small. Cold.

I followed her inside.

***

She knew the way now. She walked through the hallway like she'd been here a hundred times.

I grabbed a towel. Wiped my face. I didn't bother changing.

We sat in the study room. She opened her notebook.

She started teaching.

I watched her. The way she talked. The way her hands moved when she explained things. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear.

I tried to focus. I tried to ignore her.

I couldn't.

"Why do you care so much?" I asked.

She looked up. "I don't. It's just a job."

"Then why didn't you leave?"

"You weren't worth leaving."

I blinked. "What?"

"You think you're the first person to be rude to me?" she said. "You think an hour of your attitude is enough to make me quit?"

Her voice was calm. But her eyes were fierce.

"You're not special, Derek. You're just another rich kid who thinks the world owes him something."

I stared at her.

She went back to her notes.

Something had changed in the room. The air felt different. Heavier.

I watched her fingers move across the page. Her handwriting was small. Neat. Perfect.

She was so serious. So focused. So... there.

I couldn't look away.

***

The hour ended.

She packed her things. She stood up.

"Same time next week?" she asked.

I didn't answer right away. I was still looking at her.

"You're coming back?"

"I said I would."

"Why?"

She paused. Her hand hovered over her bag.

"Because I need the money," she said. Her voice was quiet. Honest.

Something in my chest tightened.

"For what?"

She didn't answer. She just looked at me. Then she said, "See you next week."

She walked out.

***

I sat there in the empty room.

She needed the money. She didn't cry. She didn't complain. She just sat there and took it.

I thought about her thin jacket. The way she shivered. The way she walked past me like I was nothing.

I thought about the look in her eyes when I asked why she was coming back. Like she wanted to tell me something. Like she couldn't.

She was different.

And for some reason, that scared me.

I sat there for a long time.

I could still smell her shampoo. Something floral. Soft.

I told myself I didn't care.

I was lying.