MY COCKY BASKETBALL PLAYER

Chapter 9

Monday morning. English class.

I was half asleep when Mrs. Carter walked in and wrote one word on the board.

PROJECT.

The whole class groaned. I sat up a little straighter. I liked projects. Projects were predictable. Projects had rubrics. Projects had deadlines.

"Partner project," Mrs. Carter said. "Worth half your grade. You'll be working in pairs. I've already assigned them."

I glanced at Gemma. She grinned and crossed her fingers.

Please, I thought. Please let it be her.

Mrs. Carter started reading from her list.

"Gemma and Priya."

My heart sank.

"Marcus and Dev."

I didn't know them. I didn't care.

"Nora and Derek."

The class laughed. Someone in the back said, "Good luck."

I looked up. Derek was already looking at me. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. That smirk was already on his face.

I looked away first.

***

"Library. After school. Don't be late."

That was all I said to him before class ended. He didn't respond.

I got to the library at 3:15. I found a table in the back. I set out my notes. My laptop. My research. I organized everything by topic. I had three tabs open. I had a pencil and a highlighter and a backup pencil.

3:30. No Derek.

3:45. No Derek.

4:00. He walked in.

He didn't apologize. He didn't even look sorry. He pulled out the chair across from me and dropped into it. Then he put his feet up on the table.

"You're late," I said.

"I know."

"Twenty minutes late."

"I know."

I stared at him. He stared back.

"So what are we doing?" he asked.

I pulled out the assignment sheet. "We have to pick a historical event and analyze its impact on modern society. We need a thesis, research, a ten-minute presentation, and a written report."

He nodded slowly. "Sounds like a lot of work."

"It is."

"For you, maybe."

I felt my jaw tighten. "For both of us. It's a partner project."

He smiled. Not a nice smile. "You seem to have it under control."

I closed my eyes. I counted to three.

"Can you at least help with the research?"

"Sure."

"Can you look up sources for the civil rights movement?"

"Sure."

"Can you send them to me by Wednesday?"

"Sure."

He said sure three times. He didn't write anything down. He didn't take out his phone. He just sat there with his feet on the table.

I knew he wasn't going to do anything.

But I didn't say it. I just opened my laptop and started working.

He sat there for another ten minutes. He scrolled through his phone. He yawned. He made a comment about the librarian's shoes.

Then he stood up.

"I'm gonna go."

"We're not done."

"You're not done," he said. "I'm done."

He walked out.

I watched him go. My hands were shaking. I wanted to throw my laptop at the door.

Instead, I kept working.

***

I stayed in the library until it closed. I found twelve sources. I wrote four pages of notes. I had a rough outline by the time I walked home.

My mother was already asleep when I got in. I ate cold leftovers standing at the kitchen counter. Then I went to my room and kept working.

Tuesday morning, I saw Derek in the hallway.

"Did you get my message?"

"What message?"

"I sent you the research last night."

He shrugged. "Haven't checked."

"You should check. We have a lot to do."

"We?" He laughed. "You're doing fine on your own."

I felt my face burn. "It's a partner project. You have to contribute."

"I will. Eventually."

"When?"

"When I feel like it."

He walked away. I stood there. People pushed past me. I didn't move for a long time.

***

Tuesday night. I sent him the research.

Wednesday night. Nothing.

Thursday night. I sent him the outline.

Friday morning. Nothing.

I saw him in the hallway that afternoon. He was with his friends. Laughing. He saw me. He didn't stop laughing.

I walked up to him.

"Did you get my messages?"

"Which ones?"

"All of them."

He shrugged. "I've been busy."

"Busy doing what?"

He looked at me. That smirk again. "Not this."

His friends laughed. I felt my face burn.

"I've done all the research," I said. "I've done the outline. I've written the whole report. All you have to do is show up and stand there."

"Sounds easy."

"It is. So do it."

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he said, "Fine."

I didn't believe him.

***

Saturday. Tutoring.

I walked to his house. I knocked. His mother answered. She smiled.

"How's the project going?"

I froze. "What?"

"The English project. Derek mentioned it."

I stared at her. "He mentioned it?"

"He said you're doing a great job."

I didn't know what to say. He mentioned it. He told his mother I was doing a great job. Like it was my project. Like he had nothing to do with it.

"He's been working hard," she said. "I can tell."

I wanted to tell her the truth. That he hadn't done anything. That he hadn't even opened my messages. That he was going to stand there on presentation day and take credit for my work.

But I didn't.

"That's good," I said.

She led me to the study room. Derek was already there. Sitting at the desk. Waiting.

I sat down. I opened my notebook.

"Did you do the reading I gave you?"

"No."

"Did you look at the outline?"

"No."

"Did you do anything?"

He looked at me. "I told my mom you were doing a good job. That's something."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to walk out. I wanted to tell his mother everything.

Instead, I started teaching.

***

Presentation day came.

I walked into class with my notes. My slides. My report. I had spent three weeks on this project. Three weeks of late nights and early mornings. Three weeks of doing everything myself while he did nothing.

Derek walked in thirty seconds before the bell. He didn't have anything with him. No notes. No report. Nothing.

"You didn't bring anything?"

"Didn't need to."

I stared at him.

"We're up first," I said.

"I know."

"Just stand there. Don't say anything. Let me talk."

"Wasn't planning on talking."

We walked to the front of the room. I set up my slides. He stood next to me. Hands in his pockets. Smirking.

I started talking. I explained our thesis. I walked through the research. I analyzed the impact. I was good. I knew I was good.

Derek stood there. Silent. Smirking.

He didn't say a word.

When I finished, Mrs. Carter nodded. "Excellent work. Both of you."

Both of you.

I wanted to scream.

***

After class, I was packing up my things when he walked up to me.

"See?" he said. "We make a good team."

I looked at him. "You didn't do anything."

"I showed up."

"That's not doing anything."

He smiled. "It's more than you thought I'd do."

He walked away.

I stood there. My hands were shaking. I wanted to run after him. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to tell everyone that he did nothing. That I did everything. That he didn't deserve any credit.

But I didn't.

I just packed my bag. I walked out. I went home.

***

That night, I sat on my bed. I stared at the wall.

He did nothing. He took credit for my work. And the worst part? He didn't even care. He didn't even need to try. He just showed up and smiled. And everyone believed him.

I pulled out my jar. I counted the money. It was still not enough.

I thought about quitting. I thought about telling his mother I was done. I thought about walking away from all of it.

But I couldn't.

Because of the money.

Because of the jar.

Because of the future I was trying to build.

I put the jar back in my closet. I lay down.

I hate him, I thought. I hate his smirk. I hate his silence. I hate the way he takes credit for things he didn't do.

I hate him.

I said it again. And again. Until the words didn't feel like anything.