Freshman Year Read online

  “And your name came up somehow.”

  “Yeah?” I say quietly.

  “You’ll never believe what she said when we told her about a really tall girl named Abbey in our Spanish class who said her mommy wouldn’t let her play basketball because of all her bad grades last year.”

  Even though Jenn is the reason I’m in this jam, I refer to her advice on what to do when you’re caught in a big lie: I’m going to keep my damn mouth shut. There are only two more minutes until class starts. I can totally make it.

  Stef chimes in again. “Turns out you’re best friends with her little sister, Kate.”

  My mind races, as I try to come up with a new lie to cover the first one, but it’s becoming clear that lying isn’t really working out for me.

  The tag team continues. “Yeah, once Jenn recovered from laughing, she told us that you and her little sis have made honor roll since the day you were born.” Then Garrett shakes her head and tsks like my grandma does when I beat her at a game of cribbage. “I feel so betrayed.”

  “So, Abbey,” Stef pats me on the back, “I guess we’ll see you at tryouts. I can’t wait. Oh, and by the way, you’re a crappy liar.”

  The bell finally rings and Señora Cabrera bursts into the class dressed in an oversized skirt and matching blouse. “Hoy aprenderemos el vocabulario para las fiestas Mexicanas. Viva!” she shouts.

  “Viva!” the class shouts back, but I’m freaking out and can’t function. Not only have I just been caught in my first high school lie, but it appears I’m going to be trying out for the Gila High girls’ basketball team.

  Chapter Six

  After school on tryout day, Kate and I meet up in the locker room to get ready to humiliate ourselves on the basketball court. As I review chapter 10 of Basketball for Dummies, she gives me the play-by-play of today’s chemistry class and her nonexistent relationship with her pretend boyfriend, Derrick.

  “Anyway, after I told him I was trying out today, he totally told me to call him afterward to tell him if I made it. He said if I did make it, I could help him with his chem homework and he could show me some moves on the court. And then, oh my God, so I was all, ‘How about you call me,’ and then I grabbed his cell out of his pocket to add myself to his contacts and he was all, ‘Damn girl, be careful what you’re reaching for in there.’ Isn’t he so funny?”

  “Gag,” I say and turn the page. “Wasn’t he just shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat at lunch?”

  “That skanky slut Roxy?”

  “Right.”

  Kate walks over to the mirror to fix her hair for the tenth time in the past five minutes.

  “Abbey, don’t you see she’s totally insignificant?”

  I reread the page on layups, which is a shot I’ve been really focusing on since I’ve heard it mentioned often by Jenn while describing some of the “awesome” games she’s had. “Well, if you ask me…” I say absentmindedly to Kate.

  “Abbey, please,” she says, interrupting me midsentence like I knew she would because she never does ask me. “It’s obvious he doesn’t really like her because if he was really into her, he would be hanging out with her and the rest of his friends at lunch at the jock table, not making out against the gym because she’s a skank. And, by the way, I can’t believe you are reading that book in public. Your continuous geekdom is a huge disappointment to me.”

  I nod because I know she’s right. I am a complete geek for checking this book out from the library and reading the whole thing over the past week. I even practiced the foot- and hand-work for defense, jump shots, and layups in my backyard—all without a basketball. My mom thought I was choreographing a modern dance routine for PE, and I didn’t bother correcting her because I didn’t feel like explaining what I was really doing until I absolutely had to. Like this morning when I shoved the permission form in front of her while she mixed paints at her easel.

  “Anyway, he is so totally mine,” Kate says triumphantly, doubly pleased because her ponytail is centered on the back of her head and the curls are going the right direction. “And he’s so yummy. Have you seen his muscles, and his smile, and his tattoo? And have you seen his”—she looks behind her to make sure no else is around—“have you seen his ass?” she whispers. “Double yum.”

  “Double gross,” is all I have to say about that, and we head out to the gym to what could potentially be the most regretful day of my high school experience.

  Kate and I stop at the sideline of the court, as if it’s the edge of an ominous body of water. Like if we step out on it, something slimy and scary will grab hold of us and pull us under. We aren’t the only ones who seem afraid, either. No one else has dared to step on the glossy court.

  I can tell Kate is making spot judgments of the misfit pack of girls who are waiting for tryouts to start, so I check them out, too. A few girls have painted nails and makeup on like Kate, and others seem like your run-of-the-mill athletic types, but a couple others stand out to me. They have on superbaggy shorts, real basketball shoes, and low ponytails, not the high-on-the-head ponytails like Kate wears. After assessing the crowd, I conclude that I look more like those low-ponytail girls than anyone else. My ponytail is set sort of in between high and low, but I’m wearing baggy shorts and a T-shirt. Though my shoes are just my old cross-trainer Nikes.

  Kate looks over at me, and I hope she doesn’t notice me staring at the girls who I have decided to call “possible friends of Stef and Garrett.”

  But she doesn’t seem to care where I’m looking. “We own these tryouts, Abbey.”

  “Okay, sure.”

  “We do. Come on, say it. We own this.”

  “No.”

  “Say it, or I will tell everyone here you have a crush on Jake Simpson and you want to jump his bones.”

  “We own these tryouts,” I say meekly, but I am pretty sure I’m not going to own anything after tryouts, except maybe more time alone in my room.

  Coach Kimball enters the gym, or I should say glides because I’ve never seen anyone that tall look so graceful, and I’m happy to see it’s possible. She’s wearing a white polo shirt with a little green gila monster embroidered on the chest and perfectly fitted navy shorts. Like me, she’s got legs as tall as a saguaro cactus, and I feel like we have an immediate bond. But that feeling fades because a little ways behind Coach, pushing a rack of basketballs and dressed in the same outfit Coach has on, are two people I’m slightly sick to my stomach about seeing: Stef and Garrett.

  Coach Kimball blows her whistle, and we all forget our fear of the court and run over like trained dogs. Stef and Garrett stand beside her and are introduced as sophomores on the Junior Varsity team who are there to help her pick the freshman team. They look official with their clipboards and whistles, but all I can think about are the two of them hovering over me in Spanish, catching me in that stupid lie.

  Coach Kimball prompts Stef with a nonchalant nod and Stef blows her whistle signaling that she’s in charge now. “Let’s go. Lines of five, everyone,” Stef says with authority, and all us freshmen know just what to do because this is how Mrs. Schwartz leads us in stretches for PE.

  Kate and I hide in the back row like usual because our long legs make our shorts too short, thus revealing a little more leg and butt than we’d like. Bonus for today? It’s a good place to hide from Stef and Garrett.

  “Okay. Sit it, spread ’em, and touch ’em,” Stef yells. We don’t know what she means because that was something Mrs. Schwartz has never said, so we have to wait to follow Stef’s lead. She sits on the court, spreads her legs, and then stretches out to touch her toes. We all do the same.

  A girl passes a clipboard to me, but it takes me a second too long to notice, which gets Kate all irritated. “You better pay attention, Abbey,” she whispers to me, as she adds both our names to the list. “We’re making this team together. Got it? Who owns this?”

  I roll my eyes, but she looks a bit psychotic, so I give in. “Okay. God, we do,” I say, and
this time I mean it. After all, I’m here. I might as well do my best and try to get Garrett and Stef to forgive me.

  After we stretch, Coach Kimball blows her whistle. “Let’s start with ten warm-up laps, girls. And let’s see some hustle, okay?” The fact that she’s asking instead of demanding with threats like Mrs. Schwartz makes me want to do anything for Coach K, so I run laps like never before.

  On my seventh lap around the gym, I make sure Kate isn’t looking and then wave hi to Stef and Garrett, as I pass them. Garrett waves back and Stef grants me a smile, so I run even faster on the remaining three laps.

  Next are defensive slides. Garrett shows us how they’re done. I notice then that her long brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail that is a bit on the low side. “Start here on the sideline,” Garrett explains. “Bend your knees and get low. If you stay too high, you’ll lose the girl you’re guarding. Then point the lead foot in the direction you want to go. And never cross one foot over the other.” She shows us a couple of times and my confidence soars. It’s exactly how I’ve been practicing. “Okay, your turn,” she says, and we line up.

  Even though she told them not to cross one foot over the other, a few girls do and end up tripping and falling, but I stay low and shuffle with ease. Kate stumbles once but doesn’t fall.

  The last drill of the day promises to be my most challenging. Sure, I practiced the footwork for layups, but I don’t have a basketball hoop at my house, or a basketball for that matter, so I’m not really sure if I can dribble, run, and shoot at the same time.

  “Crap, I can’t do these,” Kate says after running to the back of the line with me.

  I’ve already tried and missed three times. “I know. I suck, too.” But no one has made any shots, which makes me feel a tiny bit better.

  “How are you supposed to do all that and get the ball in the basket?” Kate asks and wipes her face off with her sleeve. I’m surprised she isn’t complaining about how sweaty she is or how her makeup is running. She almost seems to be having as much fun as I am. Maybe basketball could be the one thing we could actually enjoy doing together.

  We scoot up in line, and I’m about to go again when Kate says, “According to Jenn, it’s all about finding a rhythm, but I can’t find a rhythm to save my ass.”

  “Rhythm?” I have about as much rhythm as I did when I was three years old, banging pots on the kitchen floor with wooden spoons, but I try to stay positive.

  I catch the bounce pass from Coach Kimball who says, “You can do it, Abbey,” and I begin my long dribble down the court. It’s my last shot of the day, my last chance to show them that I am worthy of wearing blue and white on the court. I start my fancy footwork and then, just as I am about to go up for the shot, the ball slips from my hand. I try to grab it but end up kicking it into Stef who is standing behind the basket to rebound.

  “Nice try, Abbey,” she says. I think she’s being sincere, but I’m way too embarrassed to even look at her, so I just run to the back of the line and try to accept that I probably didn’t make the team.

  Coach Kimball blows her whistle and calls us over to the bleachers. “All right ladies. Good effort. Get some water. We’ll be back in five with our decisions.”

  We all fall onto the wooden bleachers and gasp like fish out of water from our two-hour workout.

  “God, I blew it. I should have practiced more at home,” Kate says after cooling down. “You were pretty good, though. I guess that stupid book paid off.”

  I shrug and say, “I guess,” but the idea that I might be better than Kate at something makes me warm and fuzzy inside.

  Then some girls enter the gym with a bag of basketballs. They wave to Stef and Garrett, who are on the other side of the gym with Coach K, so I figure they’re on the JV team. They all look really tough and mature and have arm muscles, real basketball shoes, and seemingly confident attitudes. After they pass by us, I look down at my skinny twig arms and legs. And, because I suffer from white-girl syndrome, my skin is bright red and blotchy. That’s when I decide I can’t go through with joining the team. Even if I do make it, I’ll politely decline to save myself from being killed.

  “Gross, I’m all freaking sweaty,” Kate says, reverting back to her pretty-girl persona. “And I need some water in a bad way.” She gets up and walks over to the fountain.

  I’m dripping with sweat, too, so I peel my sweaty ponytail off my neck, put it up in a haphazard bun, and lift up the bottom of my shirt to wipe my face and neck. Of course, that’s right when Keeta walks in.

  I immediately throw down my shirt and try to look less nasty. Luckily she doesn’t notice me, but I watch each step Keeta takes as she heads to the girls’ locker room. I wonder what she’s doing in the gym but figure she just came to use the bathroom since, according to Jenn, they are the cleanest ones at Gila.

  Keeta stops at the water fountain, but Kate’s leaning over in front of her, gulping down the city’s entire water supply. As she waits, I take mental photos of Keeta in her baggy jean shorts, bright orange shirt, and long black hair gathered in a loose ponytail, which is sitting very low on her head. Kate told me once that no one can pull off orange, but Kate’s obviously never seen Keeta in orange.

  Finally, Kate wipes her face and makes her way back to me. I’ve just become aware of my gaping mouth, so I close it and throw in an eye roll for no reason.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Kate asks, as she sits down next to me.

  Keeta is bent over sipping water now. I try to look away from her, but I’m transfixed. “I’m fine. Why?”

  “Why’d you roll your eyes?” Kate asks and looks in the direction of the drinking fountain. “You know her or something?”

  Keeta slips into the locker room and I wait for the door to fully close before answering Kate. “Her?” I untie and then retie my shoelace and think of a safe answer. “Yeah, she’s the teacher’s aide in guitar.” And then add, “She’s weird,” even though it’s a lie.

  “Really? She looks cool.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I agree, and smile slightly.

  “What’s so weird about her?”

  How she makes me want to leap into her arms like a ballerina is what I’m thinking, but instead I say, “It’s nothing, I guess. She’s just…”

  “Oh, here comes Coach K.”

  “Oh good,” I say with secretly relieved enthusiasm.

  Coach calls us over and then waits for everyone to settle down and get quiet. “Okay, the following girls are Gila High’s new girls’ freshman basketball team.” She looks down at her clipboard and begins to read the names. “Courtney Marzan—”

  Courtney covers her face with her hands and squeals while Coach waits patiently for her to compose herself before moving on.

  “Ashley Reyes, Emily Barrett, Casey Pierce, Raquel Goodlander, Kate Townsend…”

  Kate gasps and grabs my arm. As we listen to the rest of the names, her grip gets tighter and tighter, making my arm tingly and numb like those blood pressure cuffs we used to play with at the drug store.

  When Coach K finishes reading her list and congratulates the girls on making the team, Kate releases my arm and looks at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Stef and Garrett glance at me then smile at each other, like they’re especially pleased I didn’t make the team. Man, they sure can hold a grudge.

  I shrug, trying not to act too bummed out. “It’s okay,” I say to Kate who still can’t believe it. “At least you made it.”

  But then Coach K continues. “Now, I know the rest of you may be disappointed, but here’s some good news. We had a lower turnout for the JV tryouts, so we need to fill two spots on the JV team. I agreed to let Coach Riley have the top two girls who tried out today to fill those spots.”

  “No way,” Kate and I say in unison.

  “So, I won’t torture you any longer. The two freshmen we would like to join the JV team are Tori Galvan and Abbey Brooks. Congratulations, girls.”

  Kate looks over at me again, but now
she has what appears to be a little jealousy added to her look of shock.

  I shrug again, but this time I’m smiling. I guess Stef and Garrett have forgiven me after all.

  Chapter Seven

  Today I’m riding my bike with great speed and excitement to the Tucson Mall because I finally get to shop for something I actually want: basketball shoes. Even my mom, who seemed to doubt I would even make the team, thought my Nikes were too old, and forked over some cash for shoes, workout shorts, and sports bras.

  Since Kate’s positive that I am incapable of finding anything at the mall on my own, she insisted on meeting me there. Then Marisol said she needed to come, and we didn’t want Sarah to feel left out so she’s tagging along, too.

  After I arrive at the mall, I lock up my bike, take the Macy’s escalator upstairs to the bathroom, and try to make myself look presentable. Part of this effort is for my friends, who think the mall is as sacred as church and you should always look your best. But I’m mostly doing it for one special person who may or may not be working at the Hot Dog on a Stick stand today.

  I brush and braid my hair to hide the sweat, apply my new tangerine-flavored Chapstick, and make my way over to our meeting spot. I join Marisol and Sarah who are already waiting on the purple couch in the center of the mall and wait for Kate.

  “Congrats on making the team,” Marisol says.

  “Yeah,” Sarah adds. “Snaps for even trying out, especially considering the situation with some of the girls.”

  I’m mad that Kate blabbed to them about that, but I hide any emotion and say, “Whatever. It’s not really that big of a deal, you guys.”

  “Well, sure, for them,” Marisol agrees, “but what about you, Abbey? I mean, it sucks for you.” And then she adds, “I’m just saying. You should be careful.”

  “It’s not like they’re going to…” I start to say, but then we see Kate descending the escalator, and I gladly drop the subject.

  She has her back to us and is laughing at something Dorkass Derrick said. He’s standing two steps above her, and I can tell he’s spending most of his time looking down her shirt from his convenient position. When they reach the bottom, she fakes a little stumble as the steps disappear, and he reaches out on cue to catch her before she falls. I have to fight the urge to regurgitate my granola bar. Maybe it’s because I’m jealous of what they have, but I think it’s mostly because I can tell he’s a sleaze. Kate throws her head back and laughs again. Her perfect brown hair cascades down her back, just like I am sure she had practiced in front of the mirror all summer. She hugs him good-bye, then slowly makes her way over to us.